More than Gravity - in_sects - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1 Chapter Text

Draco opened the door wearing navy pajama bottoms and an oversized grey jumper.

“Thank Godric,” Ron said, hugging him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t owl,” Draco said. “I’ve been ill.” He looked pale and drawn.

“Do you have the flu?” Ron knew it was going around.

“Something like that.”

“Do you need anything?” Ron asked. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m fine.” Draco moved away. “You don’t have to stay. I just need rest.”

“I’ll leave if you want me to,” Ron said seriously. “I’d like to stay.”

There was a heavy pause.

“You can stay,” Draco said.

He walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. Ron followed him, looking for signs of illness.

“Is that my jumper?” Ron had lost his Auror Academy jumper weeks ago. Since it was part of his PT uniform, it wasn’t difficult to replace, but he’d never dreamed that his fastidious boyfriend had taken it.

“I—yes,” Draco said.

“You stole my jumper.” Ron was smiling.

“I was cold.” Draco said. “I grabbed the first thing I saw—”

“I don’t mind.” Ron slipped his hands under the jumper to find Draco’s warm skin. “In fact—I like it.”

Draco was blushing.

“Can I take it off you?”

“I feel unwell.”

"Sorry,” Ron said, contrite. “Do you want to lay down?”

Draco led the way to his bedroom. The duvet was turned down and there was a soft glowing lamp on the bedside table. Empty potions vials littered the bed. Ron started to gather the vials, then stopped short.

“This is dreamless sleep,” he said.

“I’ve been having nightmares about the war,” Draco admitted.

“So, when you said you were sick—you mean depressed.” Draco usually managed his depression with workaholism, spending long hours in his lab developing healing potions for people with curse damage. If things got really bad, he would withdraw from Ron and stop going to work.

Draco didn’t reply.

Ron undressed and climbed into bed beside him.

“Put your head here,” Ron said, indicating that Draco should lay on his chest. Draco looked like he wanted to argue but then he arranged his body the way Ron wanted.

“Is it hurting again?” Ron asked. "Your Mark?"

Draco sighed. “You know the healer said that was psychosomatic.”

“Does it hurt or not?”

“Not right now,” Draco said. “I think I can sleep.”

“Good.” Ron stroked his back. “You sleep. I'll keep watch.”

Chapter 2 Chapter Text

Draco was running out of time to find a present for Ron’s birthday. He’d been shopping in Diagon Alley all morning and the most inspired idea he’d come up with was a book about chess openings. Surely, he could do better than this?

“Shopping for Ron’s birthday?” Draco turned to see Hermione Granger eyeing him with amusem*nt. She was wearing a traditional robe over a smart muggle skirt suit and sensible heels. Her formerly bushy hair was styled in a sleek knot at the base of her neck.

“Is it his birthday?” Draco asked without interest. He reshelved the book.

Granger’s amusem*nt only increased.

“Harry’s throwing a party for Ron on Friday. You should come.”

“As wonderful as that would be, I’m working on Friday.”

“Ron considers you a close friend,” Hermione said, a little reproachfully. “I know he’d love to see you there.” She handed him a folded scrap of paper. “Harry’s house is under a fidelius charm. This is the address—in case you find yourself at a loose end on Friday.”

Draco waited until Granger’s back was turned to cast incendio on the scrap of paper. Then he changed course to the Domestic Magic section of Flourish & Blotts. He had a new idea for Ron's birthday.

“It smells brilliant in here,” Ron said, putting down his overnight bag. “Is that roast beef?”

“I’m still cooking.” It embarrassed Draco that the meal wasn’t finished and Ron could see him working like some kind of house elf.

Ron hugged him from behind. “You’re bloody handsome,” he said affectionately.

Draco wrinkled his nose. “You have time to shower before dinner.”

“Tetchy.” Ron kissed him and headed for the loo.

"I didn't know you could cook,” Ron said later, when they were seated at the table.

Draco had chosen a simple linen tablecloth in Gryffindor red and charmed a few candles to provide a romantic atmosphere. The table was crowded with dishes: roast beef, gravy, Yorkshire Puddings, roast potatoes, peas and carrots.

“It’s hardly that difficult,” Draco said dismissively.

“I appreciate it,” Ron said. “This is my favorite gift by far.”

Draco took a sip of wine to hide his smile.

“After dinner, I thought we could listen to the Cannons match,” Ron said.

“Are they broadcasting it?” Draco asked. The Cannons were at the bottom of the league. Their games weren’t always available on the wireless.

“I have a special charm to access the match,” Ron explained. “Lee Jordan’s birthday gift to me. You remember him from Hogwarts? He covers quidditch for The Daily Prophet.”

Draco remembered him, but thinking about Hogwarts triggered his depression. He needed to change the subject.

“That was good of him. Speaking of old friends, I saw Granger at Flourish & Blotts. Judging from her trademark Gryffindor subtly, I gather that she’s deduced that we’re in a relationship.”

“And if she has? Would that be so bad?” Ron watched his face carefully.

“I’d prefer to keep things private,” Draco said.

Ron reached out and squeezed Draco’s hand. “I just want you to be comfortable,” he said. “I know your family wouldn’t accept you and I don’t want you to have to deal with any more stress. Especially now that the healers want you to stop occluding.”

“When you occlude, you’re not consciously aware of the pain anymore, but it’s still somewhere in your body,” his healer had explained. She thought the pain he felt in his Mark would lessen, maybe even go away, if he could learn to tolerate his feelings. She’d warned him that experiencing emotions after suppressing them for so long would be difficult, but Draco hadn’t been prepared for just how much of an understatement that was. Without his daily occlumency practice to numb him, he scarcely recognized himself. He felt volatile. Being intimate with Ron felt raw and confusing because of how conflicted Draco was about showing vulnerability to another man.

He was grateful that Ron was always so kind and understanding. He squeezed Ron’s hand back, hoping that would be enough to communicate some of the tenderness he felt.

Chapter 3 Summary:

p*rn with feelings in this chapter.

Chapter Text

Harry and Ron were the last trainees left in the changing room.

“Do you have any more of that cream Malfoy makes?” Harry asked. “My back is killing me.”

Ron bit back a smile. He ruffled through his knapsack, then tossed a silver tin to his best mate. “Keep it.”

Harry caught it easily. “Thanks.”

Draco had invented the muscle cream to help Ron’s body recover from the rigors of Auror training. Ron had shared it with his mates and now Draco was supplying the whole department. The cream alleviated muscle fatigue, but the best part in Ron’s opinion was the warm, tingling sensation it produced on the surface of the skin.

“Speaking of Malfoy, is he coming on Friday?” Harry asked.

Ron frowned. Draco was under so much emotional strain that he hadn’t even bothered to tell him about the party. The guests would be survivors of Dumbledore’s Army or mates from Auror training. As a recovering Death Eater, Draco would feel shame and fear in their company. Ron didn’t want to put him through an ordeal like that, particularly because Ron would have to pretend like he didn’t care about Draco the entire time.

“I haven’t asked him. I don’t see the point.” Ron closed his locker.

“No one would make it awkward for him,” Harry promised.

“He doesn’t like to socialize,” Ron said, wishing Harry would drop the subject. Ron wanted to be open with Harry about everything in his life but loyalty to Draco required him to say nothing. The stress made him short-tempered.

“I could have a word with people ahead of time,” Harry offered, impervious to hints. “Honestly, I don’t think it’s necessary? Most people have accepted that Malfoy is different now. St. Mungo’s uses his brews, for Godric’s sake.”

“I’ll ask him,” Ron said, mostly to make Harry shut up.

“Thanks mate.” Harry hid his face in his locker. “I know he’s important to you and I’d like to know him better.”

Ron realized then that Hermione wasn’t the only one who had rumbled him.

Ron apparated to Sanus Potions, the firm Draco had founded with his trust fund after the war. Ron had come here first with Bill, full of suspicion because Draco Malfoy claimed to have developed a treatment that could improve the appearance of his scars. Draco had proved true to his word and his changed demeanor had intrigued Ron. It had been the beginning of everything.

Since it was after hours, he expected to find Draco alone in his lab and he wasn’t disappointed. He took a moment to enjoy the sight of his boyfriend in his lab coat and goggles. Ron really liked the goggles. They messed with the posh image Draco projected, mussing his hair and making him seem almost unbearably cute.

“It’s me,” Ron said, not wanting to startle him. “Can you take a break?”

Draco quickly removed his goggles. His self-consciousness only made him cuter. “Is everything alright?” Draco asked. “You don’t usually visit me at work.” He cast a statis charm on his cauldron.

Ron walked closer. “I have a question for you,” he admitted. “But first I’d like to try something.”

“Try something?”

Ron held up an unopened tin of muscle cream. “You’ve been under so much stress lately that I wanted to give you a massage.” Draco’s cheeks turned pink. “Can we go to your office?” Ron asked. “Or your flat?” He pitched his voice low and seductive.

“Definitely the flat,” Draco said, taking Ron’s arm so that they could travel by side-along apparition.

Draco cast a charm to light the glowing lamp on his bedside table. Ron dropped his knapsack and started to remove his Auror uniform.

“Wait,” Draco said, stopping him. His cheeks pinked again. “Can you keep it on?”

“Like a man in uniform, do you?” Ron teased, removing Draco’s suit jacket instead.

“I like everything about you,” Draco said seriously. Ron smiled, delighted. It was unusual for Draco to express affection openly like this.

“Can I take this off you?” he asked, running his hands over Draco’s shirt. The question was a formality since Ron couldn’t massage Draco’s body while he was wearing it, but he wanted to signal his respect for Draco’s boundaries.

“Yes, please—only don’t touch my Mark,” Draco added a trifle anxiously.

“I won’t,” Ron promised. “Lay on your stomach.”

Draco submitted gracefully and Ron had to adjust himself in his trousers. Draco wasn’t acting like himself tonight—he was affectionate and bloody eager.

Ron started slow, with long, flowing strokes up Draco’s neck and back. His boyfriend exhaled shakily, but eventually his breathing settled into a deep and even pattern. The cream ignited on Ron’s fingers and he tried to imagine how Draco was feeling: hopefully warm and tingly and cared for. Ron found the knots of tension in Draco’s neck and back—he had to hold odd positions while brewing—and loosened the tightness with gentle pressure.

Ron moved so that he could massage Draco’s arse. The supple flesh felt so good in his hands. He pulled Draco’s cheeks apart, savoring the view of his boyfriend’s tight hole. He brushed his tingling fingers there, enjoying the choked sound Draco made in response.

“Can I use this cream inside you?” Ron asked.

“Y-yes,” Draco said.

Ron coated his fingers. He kept his nails short and blunt so they wouldn’t scrape Draco when he worked them inside his body. He was patient and experienced and before long Draco was squirming against his fingers, ready for more.

Draco could be tense and resistant even when he openly avowed his desire. He had private qualms about submitting to Ron that Ron really wanted him to dispense with. But just now, Draco was so relaxed and trusting that Ron’s co*ck and heart throbbed together in painful longing.

“I want you so much,” he said roughly.

“You can f*ck me so long as you don’t take off your uniform,” Draco said breathlessly.

Ron pulled Draco’s hips up so that his arse was presented but his head was bowed down. The vulnerable position made Ron feel protective and possessive at the same time. He could get so deep this way. He unbuttoned his trousers and pulled out his aching erection. He coated his prick liberally with cream—he was large and even though he had prepared Draco he would need lots of lube to slide home—and pressed the head against Draco’s rim.

“Relax pet,” he said, using his private nickname for Draco. He stroked his hand reassuringly over Draco’s thigh. “Let me have you like this.” Draco obeyed his instruction—taking a deep breath—and Ron pressed inside. Draco’s body still resisted, but once Ron’s crown breached the rim his progress was smoother and quicker. Once he was fully seated, he paused to give them both time to adjust.

“I’m not going to last,” Ron admitted as he stared to f*ck. “You’re too f*cking hot.”

“I want you to do it,” Draco said brokenly.

Ron’s heart couldn’t stand it—Draco saying these things and taking him so deeply inside his body. They felt so close—just what Ron always wanted from sex with Draco, but not something Draco was always able to give him. He reached around to Draco’s co*ck and stroked him in time with his thrusts. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” Draco came over Ron’s fingers. His arse fluttered around Ron’s prick, tripping Ron’s org*sm. He held Draco’s body too hard at the end—he always lost control a little when he came—but apart from one pained grunt, Draco didn’t complain.

When Ron recovered, he pulled Draco into a cuddle. “You’re amazing,” he said, kissing all over his boyfriend’s face. “So good and perfect for me.” He knew Draco would want to get up and shower soon, but he hoped he would let him express some of his affection first.

Chapter 4 Chapter Text

Draco was hiding in his office. He had plenty of work to do but he couldn’t focus on potions. Feelings and memories kept intruding on his thoughts in an unwanted and wholly unacceptable way. Without his mental magic he couldn’t block them and focus like he normally would.

He wondered how normal wizards functioned in the world. Occlumens were rare, after all, so people had a way of coping with this. With feelings.

He wished he could take a focus potion or even a calming draught, but his healer had anticipated him. She said that any magical means of avoiding his feelings would backfire, causing more pain in his Mark. He was stuck with this.

He tried to let the feelings come, like his healer advised, but it made him feel deranged. He even had physical symptoms. Increased heartrate. Difficulty breathing. Sweating. Shaking.

Draco started one of his healer’s many breathing exercises. After about five minutes, he felt better. Calmer.

He was still insane.

He worked with lots of normal witches and wizards. They had relationships and families and work commitments and they managed it all. Draco, on the other hand. Draco had always known he was different. Defective.

He tried to let the feelings come…

“Why isn’t there any food in your flat?” Ron was wearing Draco’s green silk dressing gown because his uniform was filthy. It complimented his coloring much more than Draco’s. Draco wanted to give it to him but Ron would never accept such an expensive gift.

“My mother’s elf brings food sometimes. Otherwise, I get something at work.”

“You skip breakfast?” Ron was horrified by the idea.

“I’m not sure bacon sandwiches with Potter five days a week is altogether healthier.”

“I made you tea at least. I wanted to make you something substantial, after last night.” He lowered his voice even though they were alone in the flat. Ron was so comfortable expressing emotion but Draco needed to be careful. The more he expressed these feelings with Ron, the harder they were to control everywhere else in his life.

“Last night you said you had something to ask me.” Draco welcomed the opportunity to change the subject.

Ron looked pained. “Harry’s hosting my birthday party on Friday. He and Hermione—they both want you there.” He moved closer so that he could hold Draco’s upper arms. “I didn’t tell them about us but they figured it out. They won’t tell anyone. They just want to know you. The way you are now.”

There were lots of confused feelings here, but the biggest hurt was the sense of exposure. People who hated Draco knew his secret, the one he had hidden since he was fourteen years old and finally understood why he had felt different all his life.

His parents. He was their only child. Their only heir. All his life he had been lectured about his duty to the line. The pain of knowing he couldn’t meet their expectations.

He had seen his father torture and kill muggles in the war. His father said—wizards like Draco were worse than muggles. If he wanted to survive, he had to hide.

Draco thought there was no help anywhere until his aunt taught him to occlude. With occlumency, he could compartmentalize his emotions. He could disassociate from his body. He could escape the painful tension inside him and get on with it.

Now Draco couldn’t occlude. He had to feel everything. It was overwhelming. It was frightening. He couldn’t even work, and if Draco couldn’t work, he couldn’t live with himself.

He tried to explain some of this to Ron, but he wasn’t sure how much Ron had understood. It was so difficult to talk about.

He wanted to occlude. It was so easy and familiar, and it would solve all of his problems. All except one.

His Mark.

At first it just burned. He’d been terrified. Was this a sign that the Dark Lord had returned? The healers assured him that the cause was more mundane, but it was getting worse and worse all the time. Pain potions had no effect. If it kept on, Draco wouldn’t be able to work. If he couldn’t work, he couldn’t live with himself.

Draco occluded.

He worked for twelve hours straight.

Then he apparated to his flat and passed out.

Chapter 5 Chapter Text

Draco woke in a private room at St. Mungo’s. His mother was seated by the bed. She looked elegant in her green dress robes but there was something strained in her expression.

“What happened?” He tried to sit up and discovered a searing pain in his left arm.

“I asked Mipsy to bring dinner to your flat. When she couldn’t wake you, she apparated you here,” his mother explained.

Draco remembered his occlumency binge at Sanus. He’d managed to go more than two weeks without calling on his mental magic. Now he was back to day one.

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself, darling.” Her voice was chiding but he could tell she was afraid. “I want you to come home for a long visit so that I can cosset you.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Your mother is right.” Draco hated that he had to lie prone and endure his father looming over him. “I will arrange for the healers to discharge you to the Manor. We can afford to provide the best of care for you at home.”

“What's wrong with me?” He wanted to know what the healers had told his parents.

“A mind healer came.” His father sounded like the idea of a mind healer was extremely distasteful to him. “She claims that she has been treating you for stress.”

“My business is only a few years old,” Draco said, thinking fast. “It requires a lot of time and attention. Perhaps I have been overdoing it. That doesn’t mean—”

“We will discuss it later,” his father said. “For now, focus on regaining your strength.” His voice was dry, an indication that Draco’s strength wasn’t impressive at the best of times. Draco didn’t even disagree. Without occlumency he was incapable of functioning normally.

A healer in lime-green robes entered the room. “Awake at last, Mr. Malfoy?” She smiled and cast a diagnostic charm.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About ten hours,” the healer said. “I’m glad to see your pain level has decreased. We need you to eat and drink. Is there anything you’d like?”

“I’d like to go home to my flat,” he said, as forcefully as he could. “How soon can I be discharged?”

“Not yet I’m afraid,” she said, an amused professional humoring a difficult patient. “I’ll have one of the elves serve dinner. Will your parents be joining you?” She looked at Lucius and Narcissa.

“We can’t stay, darling.” His mother sounded regretful. “The Hogwarts Charity Ball is this evening.”

Draco felt intensely relieved. His father had been working to be reinstated to the Board of Governors since the end of the war. He would never skip the ball and miss an opportunity to solidify his power.

“It’s fine, mother. I’m not a child.”

Lucius looked approvingly at Draco. “We will return tomorrow.”

“Until tomorrow, darling.” His mother kissed his forehead. Her cloying scent of night-blooming jasmine reminded him of things he didn’t like to think about. He wanted to occlude but the pain in his arm reminded him to stop.

“Goodnight mother. Father.”

He needed to get out of here. Few things frightened him more than being trapped at the Manor and he didn’t trust the healers at St. Mungo’s to withstand his father’s implacable will.

He turned to the healer. “I need to speak with healer Roundtree.”

“She’s off-duty,” the woman explained. “I’m healer Flocks—”

“No,” Draco said curtly. “Accio parchment. I’ll owl her.”

Healer Flocks looked like she wasn’t used to taking attitude from patients, but Draco had learned to use his family’s wealth and position to intimidate others a long time ago. He folded the parchment and held it out to her imperiously.

She took it resentfully, but she left the room quickly enough.

Time to get to work.

“Will you add me to the wards?” Ron asked when Draco let him into the flat. “I hate waiting by the door.”

“You want—?” Draco didn’t finish his sentence. Ron was carrying a shiny bag that bore the legend TESCO.

“I wanted to make sure you had food,” he explained. “It’s just eggs and bread and a few other things. Oh, and chocolate.” He smiled. “I know you love chocolate, Draco. Don’t pretend you’re not pleased.”

“Muggle chocolate,” Draco said disdainfully. He was wearing navy-blue pajamas with a subtle satin stripe. His skin was pink like he had just gotten out of the bath.

“What are you working on?” Ron asked, to distract himself from thoughts of Draco’s body. It wasn’t fair that his boyfriend owned so many pairs of luxurious and tantalizing pajamas.

The sitting room was covered with potions journals from the continent. Draco swore to anyone who would listen that German potioneers were the best and most advanced and that England had a lot of work to do to catch up.

“I’m trying to find a viable alternative to the wolfsbane potion,” Draco explained. “There’s a child in Devin. She’s allergic to monkshood.”

“You keep working,” Ron said. “I’ll make dinner.”

“I’m not a great cook but I can make an omelet,” Ron said self-deprecatingly when they sat down to dinner.

“Thanks,” Draco said. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

“I missed you last night,” Ron admitted. “Did you work late?”

Chapter 6 Summary:

Rape roleplay in this chapter. Please take care of yourself.

Chapter Text

When Ron got out of the shower, he found Draco naked on the bed. He looked at Ron like he was the only person in the world who could give him what he needed. f*ck. Ron climbed on top of him and kissed him passionately. Draco’s lavender aftershave made him smell expensive and unattainable.

Draco broke the kiss to stretch his arms above his head, crossing his hands at the wrists. His Dark Mark was completely exposed. The submissiveness of the pose made Ron feel painfully hard.

“I prepared myself while you were in the shower,” Draco said. “You can easily push inside.” He raised his knees up, offering himself.

“Draco—” Ron hadn’t intended for this to happen. Draco had looked so vulnerable at dinner that Ron wanted to show him a pure form of love. His total devotion.

“Or maybe I should be punished,” Draco offered. “For touching myself without permission?”

Ron groaned. He stroked his hand up and down one long, lean thigh. Draco pushed his legs open, giving Ron more access to the sensitive area.

“Please play the game with me,” he said. There was an edge of desperation in his voice.

Ron couldn’t refuse him anything. He lined his co*ck up with Draco’s hole and pushed inside. Ron would have used much more lube to prepare Draco, but judging from his moans, Draco enjoyed the burn.

“I’ve taught you to take me in so many different ways,” Ron taunted. “Have you finally learned to like it?” He f*cked in an unhurried, leisurely way. Draco was just a toy for him, after all; that was the game.

Draco shuddered under him.

“Pity.” Ron started to f*ck harder. “It would have been better for you if you had.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. He was breathing fast and hard. “You don’t have to do this. He’ll pay to ransom me—”

“No,” Ron said harshly. “I’ll never let you go. There isn’t anything in the world I want more than this.”

Draco cried out inarticulately. His co*ck was leaking where it was trapped between their bodies.

“Look at me,” Ron ordered. “I want you to know who owns you.”

Draco opened his eyes. “Ronald Weasley,” he sobbed.

“That’s right.” Ron pushed him down and away. “You can’t deny who’s doing this to you or how good it makes you feel.” He repositioned Draco so that he could f*ck him from behind, stopping only to cast the lubrication spell. Draco was completely helpless in this position; Ron controlled the depth and speed of penetration, and he was determined to be utterly ruthless until Draco came untouched on his co*ck. Judging from the way Draco was shaking and gasping, that wouldn’t take long. Ron delivered one, then two stinging slaps to Draco’s arse. His body tightened reflexively around Ron’s co*ck in response. “Do you like that, pet?” he asked. “Does it make you feel like a slu*t?” Draco came in several bursts, crying and trembling. Ron gripped his hips hard and close—he would probably leave bruises on the delicate skin—and spent his own release deep inside Draco’s body.

Now that he was coming down from his org*sm, Ron felt sick with himself. He’d behaved lustfully and selfishly—when he’d wanted to be tender. Draco, however, seemed entirely satisfied. His smile—a rare sight—made Ron’s heart clench.

“You gave me what I needed,” he said to reassure Ron.

“I love you,” Ron said, and pulled him close.

Chapter 7 Summary:

Draco makes the understatement of the century in this chapter.

Chapter Text

The next day, Harry and Ron were assigned to patrol Knockturn Alley. There was an unsubstantiated report of Death Eater activity in the area, and their boss, Gawain Robards, couldn’t spare anyone more important to investigate it.

The Death Eater Ron most wanted to apprehend was currently living a life of luxury in Wiltshire. The Ministry had seen fit to grant him a full pardon after the war—after he changed his allegiance at the eleventh hour and ratted on all his mates. Ron pressed his lips together in a hard line. When he thought of Lucius Malfoy flaunting his wealth and being feted at society galas, he wanted to throw punches and unforgiveable curses. That arsehole had served up Draco to the Dark Lord to be tormented and abused without a second thought. Ron was willing to bet that he was the reason Draco hated himself and felt an intense—and in Ron’s view, totally irrational—need to hide. Not for the first time, Ron wished that Draco would come to his party tonight, not as a guest or a friend, but as his boyfriend. He wanted to spend time with him—he always did—but he also wanted to show the world that he, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter’s sidekick and an afterthought among his brothers, had been the one to win this beautiful, clever and complicated man.

“Would you come ‘round for dinner at Draco’s on Saturday?” He asked Harry when they broke for lunch.

“Should I bring Gin?” Harry asked, suddenly intent.

“Not this time. I thought maybe Hermione, if she wants to come,” Ron said. Draco had agreed to Ron’s plan reluctantly, but Ron was determined to prove to him that his friends would treat him with decency and respect.

“I’ll be there,” Harry said. Then, a bit awkwardly: “Should I bring anything?”

“Wine?” Ron guessed. This would probably go better if they were all a bit pissed.

Draco had quite a few potions to check on this morning, but before he continued to his lab, he stopped at his PA’s desk. He couldn’t remember how many NEWTs she had or even what her Hogwarts house had been. Draco had chosen her because she respected herself. Most people in her position could act a bit servile and he couldn’t stand that, particularly when it was directed at himself.

“Ms. King,” he said. “You’re a fashionable witch.”

“Yes, sir?” She looked confused.

“What are you doing for lunch? I thought—”

“I have a boyfriend.” She looked offended.

Draco laughed. “You’re a lovely witch but that’s not what I was driving at. I need help choosing muggle clothing for a party. I’ve never shopped at a muggle store, you see, and I wouldn’t know what to buy even if I did.”

She relaxed. “What kind of party?”

“I'm hosting a dinner party with someone I'm involved with romantically. This person’s friends—they think I’m a bit stuck up. I don’t like muggle clothing as a rule, it’s so informal and raggedy looking, but I think I will be received more warmly if I dress that way.”

“You want me to take you shopping?” There was a hopeful glint in her eye.

“Actually, I was hoping you could go yourself and buy several different things. Then I could choose something from here.” He hunted for something in his suit pocket. “I have a card from Gringotts—they tell me it will be accepted as payment at any muggle store.”

She smiled, taking it from him. “Leave it to me, sir.”

36 hours earlier...

“Can you tell me why you’re so eager to leave hospital?” Roundtree asked. “It’s not pleasant, I grant you, but you’re not exactly in fighting trim, are you, Draco?”

"No,” he agreed.

“So why?” She waited expectantly.

“I can’t go back to the Manor,” he explained. “He lived there with us, and I—.” He took a steadying breath. “I know I’ll use occlumency if I’m forced to go back.”

“Forced? Draco, forgive me for saying this, but you are of age. No one can force you to live anywhere you don’t choose to live.”

Draco looked down. “You’re right, of course.”

“But?” She prompted.

“It doesn’t feel like that,” he said in a rush. “As pathetic as it is, I’m afraid of him.”

She looked thoughtful. “You’ve used occlumency to manage your feelings about your father since childhood. It’s possible that you’ve created some distortions in your mind about him as a result. Have you given any more consideration to legilimency therapy? It’s designed to repair damage like that to your mind.”

Draco hesitated.

“Let’s start there,” she said. “Bring up your most recent memory of Lucius and share it with me. Maybe I can help you see him in a new light.”

Draco was reluctant to agree. His fear of Lucius was deeply tied to his secret. He couldn’t share one without sharing the other.

“Anything you share in therapy is protected by patient-healer confidentially,” she reminded him.

“Healers never break the oath?” He asked cynically.

“I suppose you’ll just have to trust me,” she countered.

Draco allowed her into his mind. She was respectful and only touched the memories he had agreed to share.

“You’re not surprised,” he observed when she broke the mental contact.

She smiled. “He was with you at your first appointment. When you were in crisis.”

“Yes, as a friend.” Draco resented being described as “in crisis.” He’d been a bit wound up—but only because his Mark was burning like the Dark Lord was alive and calling out for him.

She raised one manicured eyebrow. “He was awfully caring and concerned for just a friend.”

Draco blushed to the roots of his hair. Damn Gryffindors and their congenital lack of discretion.

“It will take many more sessions to fix, but this distortion in your thinking is something we can work on in therapy. If you agree.”

Draco agreed, and Roundtree signed his discharge paperwork.

Chapter 8 Summary:

It's a fluffy chapter.
Thank you to everyone who is reading this story. It's fun for me that other people enjoy this.

Chapter Text

When Ron arrived at Draco’s flat on Saturday, he found a hangover potion waiting for him on the kitchen worktop. “Thank Godric,” he said, downing it quickly. He was still feeling the aftereffects of his raucous birthday party. Draco’s brews were always better than what you could buy at the apothecary.

“The lasagna’s done,” Draco said. “I prepped the asparagus, but I still need to chop vegetables for salad.” He was wearing a marinara-splattered apron and his hair was adorably mussed. Ron stole one of the parmesan knots on the cooling rack and Draco swatted his fingers angrily. “Those are for dinner!”

Ron put his hands up. “Let me do the salad,” he said. “Why don’t you have a glass of wine?”

Draco was letting the chianti breathe in a decanter on the table. He’d used his magic to stretch the furniture so that it could seat four rather than just two. Ron recognized the linen tablecloth from his birthday as well as some impressive charmwork on a few floating candles. Soft, nostalgic music drifted through the air. Draco had put in a great deal of effort and Ron was touched.

“It looks really good in here,” he said. The compliment backfired, making Draco suddenly tense.

“I’m going to dress for dinner,” he said. Then he stomped off to the loo.

“You should’ve let me help more with dinner,” Ron said when he returned.

“I just wanted to get on with it,” Draco said tersely.

Ron reached for him. “This isn’t a test,” he said gently.

“Isn’t it?” Draco pulled away.

Ron let it go."Give me some ground rules. Are we showing affection openly as a couple or not?”

“Not,” Draco said.

Ron was disappointed but not surprised. “Can I tell them how we got together?”

“Fine.”

"Wait," Ron said, looking Draco up and down. "Are you wearing jeans?"

"Is that what you call muggle trousers?" Draco asked. Ron realized he was wearing a plain black jumper as well, with no shirt or tie in sight.

"You don't have to change yourself," Ron said.

"They're just clothes," Draco answered. And yes, I do.

When their guests departed, Draco asked why Ron and Hermione’s relationship had failed.

“I don’t want to sound like a cad,” Ron said.

“Don't stop now that you're being interesting."

“We weren’t sexually compatible,” Ron said, deeply embarrassed.

"Was your dick too big for her?" Draco's voice dripped sympathy.

Ron huffed a laugh. “Hermione is a modern witch,” he said. “She found my jealousy and possessiveness irksome.”

“She didn’t like your best qualities?”

“Come on,” Ron said, groaning.

“What else?”

“She’s so good and justice-minded,” Ron said, struggling to articulate his feelings. “I couldn’t express my dominance with her. It would be wrong and completely unwelcome.”

“It’s not wrong,” Draco said seriously. “Isn’t that what you’re always saying to me? If what I want isn’t wrong, how can what you want be wrong?”

“Well, you can’t call it fair or enlightened. What I want.”

“So? Who wants that. If anything, you can go harder. Do your worst. I’m not delicate or fragile. I can take it.”

Ron didn’t say the obvious joke, but he thought it. “You’re pleased,” he said instead.

“I suppose I am,” Draco acknowledged. “It’s not fun coming second to the brightest witch of the age. You’ve made me feel much less insecure about all that.” He traced an airy gesture with his hand.

“Good. Because—Draco. No one has ever…” Ron blushed. “Satisfied me like you do,” he finished.

Draco smiled, but when he spoke his words were serious. “You know that I’ve only ever been with you. That’s how I want to keep it.”

Chapter 9 Chapter Text

The next time Ron saw Harry, he waited expectantly for him to make some comment about Draco. He didn’t disappoint.

“You know how you left the room briefly?” Harry asked.

Ron braced himself.

“Hermione asked him something like: “So, why do you like Ron?” Harry imitated her direct and unironic manner perfectly.

“Oh no,” Ron said, covering his face with his hands.

“He said: “He has the purest blood.” In that cut-glass diction of his. Like he was dead serious.”

Ron groaned.

“I think she understood that he was joking,” Harry said. “But then she went on to explain that everything made sense to her now, because the way he bullied you in school was a classic case of overcompensation.”

“Godric Gryffindor.” Ron didn’t think you could die of embarrassment. Right?

“I don’t think he understood what she was talking about,” Harry said. “Did he like you back in school?”

“I don’t know,” Ron said. “We don’t talk about school days. Draco’s trying to be a different person now.”

“Good for him,” Harry said, and the conversation moved on to other things.

“What was your nightmare about?” he asked once Draco’s breathing evened out.

“We’re doing a lot of work on my father in therapy,” Draco said. “It’s bringing up memories I forgot I had. Things I used to be able to occlude away.”

“Go on.” Ron stroked Draco’s back gently.

“They'd go into the village,” Darco said haltingly. “Bring someone back for Nagini." It took an effort of will to say the next part. "The muggle was almost always tortured first.”

“They made you watch?”

Draco started crying.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Ron said.

“You don’t understand,” Draco said angrily. “I didn’t just watch.”

Oh. Ron kept right on stroking. “He would have killed you if you refused,” he said at last.

“You wouldn’t have done it.” Draco was furious.

“Maybe.” Ron was thoughtful. “It’s not something you can know hypothetically.” He wasn’t sure how to phrase what he wanted to say next, but he thought it was better to say something imperfectly than leave Draco alone with his pain. “I know you think I’m so good and heroic, but I did things in the war that I regret. Things I’m ashamed of now.”

Draco made an outraged noise.

“It’s difficult to live with,” Ron continued. “Much more difficult than the bad things that were done to me.”

“Roundtree wants me to go to a support group for people with unresolved trauma from the war,” Draco said. “But how can I show my face? People who go to things like that—they’re victims.”

Ron thought it was a lot more complicated than that, but now wasn’t the time to explain to Draco that he was far from the only person to make an accommodation with Voldemort’s regime in order to protect himself or his family.

“I think you can go,” he said instead.

Draco was sitting at his desk with ten or so reference books open in front of him. A charmed quill took rapid notes on a parchment near his right hand.He was trying to think of ways to substitute ingredients in existing healing potions to make them cheaper to produce but no less effective. Ron had given him the idea. He’d said that healing potions had been difficult for his family to afford growing up. If Draco could succeed at this, it would go a long way to helping him feel better about what he had done in the war.

Ms. King poked her head into his office.

“Sorry to disturb you,” she said. “Your father’s here.”

“What?” Draco’s heart beat painfully in his chest.

“He says he needs to speak with you right away,” she said.

Draco cast a spell to tidy his desk and store the parchment. “How’s my tie?” he asked, straightening it with a shaking hand.

“You look good,” she said. “Should I bring him in?”

Lucius entered the office looking irritated and unimpressed. He’d never liked Sanus, but Draco had been left a legacy from an uncle on his mother’s side that meant he wasn’t dependent on his father for money.

“You left the hospital like a sulky child,” Lucius said. “Why didn’t you owl to inform me of your intentions?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Draco said. “I was eager to return to work. All other considerations slipped my mind.”

Lucius looked at Draco like he knew he was lying, but it wasn’t worth his time or effort to correct him.

“Your mother and I have decided to start marriage negotiations on your behalf,” he said. “We agree that you need to be cared for, but now that you are of age, it is more appropriate for that to come from your wife than your parents. We have several candidates in mind, but your mother requested that I ask if there is someone you particularly wish to marry.”

“I haven’t thought about it,” Draco said. “Surely, there’s time before I need to be married? My business requires all of my attention now.”

“Potion brewing is a fine intellectual exercise,” he said dryly, like he didn’t believe what he was saying at all. “Your duty to the estate comes first. Why do I have to remind you of this basic fact?”

“You don’t have to remind me, sir.” Draco was glad that he could hide his shaking hands under the desk. “I know my duty.”

“Good.” Lucius bumped his silver-tipped cane on the ground. “If you have no particular witch in mind, I will be on my way. Your mother expects you to visit her this week. Do not disappoint me again.”

Chapter 10 Chapter Text

When Ron apparated to Draco’s flat that evening, he found him still wearing his suit and drinking a large tumbler of firewhiskey.

“Let’s skip dinner and go straight to bed,” he said before Ron could ask him any questions about how he was feeling.

When they reached the bedroom, it suddenly transformed to look like the Hogwarts quidditch pitch. Ron spun around. Draco was wearing his Slytherin quidditch kit.

“What’s this?” Ron asked.

“I wanted to recreate your dream,” Draco said, referencing something Ron had told him about months ago. He held up a vial. “I made a potion that suppresses the gag reflex. You can f*ck my face with abandon.”

Ron was incredibly turned on but also concerned. Draco was insecure about giving oral sex. Because of his inexperience, he couldn’t take much of Ron’s co*ck into his mouth, and he tended to moan and gag on it more than anything else. Ron privately loved it—and the way Draco would blush and stammer when Ron gave him instructions. “I told you that dream made me uncomfortable,” Ron reminded him. “I don’t want to be so aggressive with you.” It was true. Some part of Ron liked the idea of forcing Hogwarts-era Draco to suck his co*ck, but it wasn’t a part of himself that Ron wanted to fully embrace.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Draco said, frustrated. “It feels good to me when you’re in control. Like I can relax and just… trust.” He said the last word like he was still uncomfortable with the idea.

Ron hugged him. “I need to be worthy of that,” he said seriously. “You’re not a very trusting person in general.”

“How can I convince you that this is something I want?” Draco asked irritably.

“I’m convinced. But you have to agree to do it my way.” Ron pulled Draco’s hair gently, and Draco lifted his chin, giving him access to his soft, pale throat.

Chapter 11 Chapter Text

Harry was sitting at his desk with a worried expression on his face. The Daily Prophet was open to the society page in front of him.

“Sandwich?” Ron asked. He always got an extra bacon sandwich for Harry at the street vendor’s cart.

“Thanks,” Harry said, accepting it from him.

“Did they write more rubbish about Gin?” Ron took a bite of his own sandwich. The Prophet frequently ran meanspirited articles about Harry and Gin’s relationship. Sometimes they speculated that Gin was gaining weight, or that she had cheated on Harry. One memorable article about a pregnancy scare had sent his mum into a tailspin. Ron usually tried to be the voice of reason when Harry was angry, but when his baby sister was attacked it was difficult to keep a level head.

“Before I show this to you, I want you to remember that everything they print about me and Gin is rubbish,” Harry said.

“Okay,” Ron said, accepting The Prophet from him. There was a picture of Lucius Malfoy leaving a high-end solicitors office. The article said that he had commenced marriage negotiations for his son and heir, Draco Malfoy. The writer went on to speculate about the various rich and pureblood witches who might be considered for the alliance.

Ron felt like he had been hit. This couldn’t be true. Could it?

“Alright, mate?” Harry asked. He sounded concerned.

“Yeah,” Ron said, dropping the paper back on the desk. “It’s rubbish, like you said.”

“Thank you for meeting me here,” Draco said, kissing his mother’s cheek. The tearoom was a place they frequently visited in Draco’s childhood after shopping in Diagon Alley. Narcissa had a steaming cup of Earl Grey in front of her and an untouched blueberry scone, which she offered to Draco.

“They were always your favorite,” she said with a smile. “You should eat more, darling.”

“I’ll have Earl Grey as well, thank you,” Draco told the waitress. He picked up his knife and fork and cut a small bite of scone, then placed it in his mouth and chewed mechanically. Draco knew he was losing weight, but depression suppressed his appetite.

“Your father told me about your conversation. Is it true that there is no one for whom you feel a decided partiality?” Her voice was light and teasing, but Draco felt a terrible hurt open inside him.

“There isn’t any witch, no.” He put down his knife and fork. “Mother—this marriage idea. Now is not the right time.”

“You remind me of my cousin Regulus,” she said, still smiling. “He never wanted to be married either. It’s not such a terrible fate.” She was so dry and amused. How could he make her understand?

“I’m perfectly serious. I’m not going to be married.” He tried to keep his voice calm and level, but without occlumency, he was so emotional and uncontrolled. He hated it.

“What do you mean?” She looked confused. “Of course you are going to be married.”

Draco stood up. She looked even more confused, but now worried as well. “I’m sorry, mother,” he said. Then he walked quickly away.

“Draco!” she called after him, sounding absolutely shocked.

Draco left the café and started walking in a random direction. Denying how important Ron was hurt. It just hurt. For a long time, Draco just walked and felt pain.

“Have you made any progress with the visualization exercise we talked about?”

Roundtree wanted him to develop a detailed meditation that he could turn to for solace whenever he felt anxious or sad. The answer was obvious: Ronald Weasley. As an occlumens, Draco had the ability to freeze memories in his mind. They were called indelible images. He’d never been tempted to use the ability before Ron. Early in their friendship he had created many such images out of the smallest things—like Ron smiling at him across a chessboard—thinking at the time that there was no greater happiness available to him. Now he had a wealth of such images. Many of them X-rated.

For his meditation, he settled on the memory of Ron squeezing his hand across the table in his flat. His words so measured and reasonable, banishing the exaggerated fears and doubts that tormented Draco. His large, strong body the ultimate source of comfort and safety. His support and affection undeniable. His loyalty and courage—the qualities Draco respected most.

How could Draco deny that he loved this man?

But Draco knew the answer. He was a coward and he always had been. When he thought about what his father would do to him if he found out—what he had seen his father do to countless others in the war—he felt panicked and sick. Draco had abused occlumency for so long that he still viewed his father like a child would, as someone all-powerful, someone he was far too weak and helpless to oppose. Roundtree was trying to help him correct the distortion in therapy, but the process was slow and painful, and it brought up memories Draco would rather stay buried.

Chapter 12 Summary:

p*rn, now with rising action!

Chapter Text

Ms. King looked up to see a grim-faced Auror approaching her desk. It was Ronald Weasley, the famous war hero. He and Mr. Malfoy had been on good terms until about six months ago, when the Auror suddenly stopped dropping by the office to play chess and drink butterbeer with the boss. He had such a tense energy that she wondered if he were here now in an official capacity.

“Is Mr. Malfoy available?” he asked.

Before she could reply, the devil appeared. He was wearing her favorite suit: the green one that was so dark it was almost black. The boss was a bit of an enigma. He worked all the time, and never disclosed anything personal about himself, so she was surprised to see his face relax when he looked at the Auror. “Ron,” he said, like he had never seen a more welcome sight. Her eyes widened. This was interesting.

“Can we talk in your office?” Ron asked. Ms. King was disappointed to hear the Auror cast a silencing charm before he closed the door. It was the end of the day, but she would have found an excuse to linger at her desk to overhear that conversation.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Draco said, unexpectedly hugging him.

“Is everything okay?” Ron asked, softening immediately.

“I told my mother I’m not getting married.” Draco sounded a little crazed. “By now she’s probably put it together.”

“You came out to your mom?” Ron was shocked.

“I felt like I had to,” Draco explained. “My parents are putting a lot of pressure on me to get married.”

“Yeah, I read about it in The Prophet,” Ron said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Draco shook his head. Ron realized he was crying.

“Hey,” he said, moving so that he could get a better look at his boyfriend’s face. “It’s going to be okay.” If anything, his words seemed to upset Draco even more.

“Are you worried she’s going to tell your dad?” Ron asked. Draco didn’t reply. He was shaking.

“It’s okay if she does. I’ll help you with him.”

“You’ve fought him before,” Draco said, like the idea gave him comfort.

“Yeah,” Ron said. “But we’re not kids anymore. I can really f*ck him up now.”

Draco laughed, shocked and pleased.

Ron cupped his face and brought their mouths together. Draco opened eagerly for his tongue and Ron groaned. He wanted to f*ck his boyfriend so badly.

“Can I have you here?” Ron asked. “On the desk where we used to play chess?”

Draco made a needy sound. Ron was so turned on that he popped the buttons on Draco’s shirt trying to get it off him.

“Let me do yours first,” Draco said, using magic to unfasten Ron’s uniform.

“That’s cheating,” Ron said. He retaliated by banishing Draco’s clothes. “I’m going to miss that suit,” he admitted before kissing him again.

“I have others,” Draco said breathlessly.

“How do you want me to enter you?” Ron asked. He needed to be inside. Now.

Instead of answering, Draco turned over on his stomach and presented his alluring ass. Ron groaned. He loved this position. Knowing his boyfriend wanted it too only made it hotter. He massaged his hands over the supple cheeks, enjoying the way the resilient muscle sprang back into place. He cast the lubrication spell on his fingers, then pulled one of Draco’s cheeks aside to admire the tight pucker.

“I’m going to wreck this,” he said. Draco moaned as Ron’s finger breached him. “At home, you always want to clean up right away. I’m finally going to be able to enjoy my handiwork,” Ron said, adding more fingers.

“You want to see...?” Draco couldn’t say it, but he was clearly turned on by the idea.

“I’m going to make your little hole so loose and messy,” Ron promised. “And I’m going to make you stay like that so that I can f*ck it again without any prep.”

“A-again?”

“Three times if I’m able,” Ron said decidedly. “I want to see my come dribble down your thighs.”

Draco moaned and wriggled under him.

“Do you think I can make a Malfoy heir?” Ron asked, lining his co*ck up with Draco’s entrance. “I’m going to try.” He loved the way Draco’s body shuddered and gave way to him. He’d meant to go slow, he always meant to go slow and savor Draco, but it was impossible. It felt too good. He needed it too much.

“Tell me how it feels,” he ordered.

Draco made a helpless sound. He was always so mortified that Ron expected him to talk during sex. Ron loved it. “Full,” Draco gasped. “Good.”

“Keep going,” Ron said, f*cking him more teasingly to encourage him to talk more.

“Like you’re in control,” he babbled. “Like I’m yours.”

“Yes,” Ron said, snapping his hips hard and fast. “I’m going to make you feel so used and sore, pet. You’ll never forget that you’re mine.”

Draco came. Ron pulled out so he could paint himself all over Draco’s hole and cheeks. He looked so pretty like that. “I wish I had a picture of you like this,” Ron said.

“Salazar,” Draco said. Ron smiled. He only ever said that when he was hugely satisfied.

Draco turned around and they kissed lazily in the afterglow. The only problem with desk sex was that there was nowhere to doze and recover for the next round. “Can you conjure us a bed?” Ron asked. Draco was just better at that kind of magic. At most kinds of magic, if he was honest.

“Just let me get my breath back,” he said, smiling at Ron with heart-stopping sweetness.

The next day at work, Draco had to avoid his office because just being near his desk made him hard. Thankfully, there were always plenty of potions to brew. He found himself smiling at odd moments, distracted by thoughts of his incredibly sexy and insatiable boyfriend.

He was smiling like that when Harry Potter apparated into the lab.

“W-what?” Draco said, almost dropping a test tube full of bubotuber pus. Harry’s hair was more than usually disheveled, and his uniform was torn and dirty. He looked like he was barely holding it together.

“You need to come with me now,” he said, striding purposefully toward Draco.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked. “Where’s Ron?”

“He’s at St. Mungo’s,” Harry said. “He took a hex in the field. We need to go there now.” He took Draco’s arm. “Are you ready to apparate?”

Chapter 13 Chapter Text

“The curse was meant for me,” Harry explained, walking briskly to some unknown location within the hospital. Draco could only follow and try to process what he was saying. He felt like he was watching events unfold from outside his body rather than taking part in them as an agent. It was a familiar feeling. He’d often used occlumency to disassociate during the war. “We’ve been patrolling Knockturn Alley for weeks without incident,” Harry continued, sounding anguished. “No one took the threat seriously.”

“What’s the curse?” Draco asked. This was the most important fact.

“It’s the Septicaemia curse,” Harry explained. “It’s one Death Eaters—”

“Used often in the war,” Draco continued for him. “It poisons the blood, and without treatment it will prove fatal within twenty-four hours.”

Harry winced. “So, there’s a treatment?” he said, leading Draco to a private family waiting area. The room was full of ginger-haired Weasleys. Draco recognized William, who he had treated at Sanus, as well as Percy, the former Head Boy. Granger was holding hands with a crying woman who had to be Ron’s mother. His father Arthur was hugging Harry’s partner Ginevra. Draco stopped dead when he saw George Weasley. He was looking at Draco with an expression of extreme hatred.

“What’s he doing here?” he asked Harry.

“Draco’s alright,” William intervened.

“I want him out of here now,” George said, stepping toward Draco menacingly.

Harry pushed into George’s personal space, effectively stopping him. “Draco is Ron’s boyfriend,” he explained. If Draco hadn’t been feeling so disassociated, he might have been panicked by this casual outing of himself. Right now, the only thing he cared about was Ron.

“Where are the healers?” he asked the room. He needed to talk to someone about curing the curse as soon as possible. He couldn’t react to the shocked and horrified way most the Weasley clan received the news that he and Ron were together.

“You just missed her,” Granger said, standing up.

“Well?” Draco said. “Are they working on the antidote?”

Granger’s eyes filled with tears. “They say they can’t brew the potion,” she explained. “After the war, the Wizengamot made it illegal to own or brew a potion containing the Toxipurgus plant. They wanted to prevent anyone from using the Septicaemia curse ever again. It caused so much horror in the war.”

“What are you saying?” Draco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was a treatment for what was killing Ron. What else mattered?

“The healers can’t make the antidote,” Granger said. “No one can. Even if you had the Toxipurgus plant, which the Ministry has made unobtainable, brewing the potion carries a mandatory minimum sentence of ten years in Azkaban.”

Draco couldn’t believe that considerations like this would weigh with anyone. All Ron needed was a potion. It was simple. Draco knew what he had to do. He turned and walked out of the waiting room.

“That’s just what I expect from a Malfoy,” he heard George say contemptuously at his back. “First sign of trouble, they scarper.”

Draco apparated to Knockturn Alley and walked purposefully to a run-down flat with heavy black curtains. He was looking for Casper Gimp, a former snatcher and long-time fixer for the Malfoy family. If anyone knew where to lay hands on the Toxipurgus plant, it would be him. Draco wasn’t sure that Gimp would agree to work for him, but if he needed persuading, Voldemort’s inner circle had taught Draco how to cause extreme pain and suffering without fatally injuring a person. Draco had sworn to himself that he would never cast aggressive magic again, but that didn’t matter now. Only Ron’s life counted for anything.

“Young master Malfoy,” Gimp said, surprised to see him. “What brings you to the bad part of town?” Draco’s father would never have come looking for one of his servants. He always summoned them to his presence to await his pleasure.

“I need the Toxipurgus plant,” Draco explained tersely. “I know you have it.”

“Toxipurgus plant?” Gimp said, sounding like he didn’t know what Draco was talking about. “That’s big-league stuff. Not my line at all.”

“If you don’t have it, you know who does,” Draco said. “I encourage you to cooperate before I start breaking your bones.”

For the first time, Gimp looked afraid. “This isn’t your style,” he said to Draco. “Aren’t you a good boy now?”

Draco cast Iron Grip, a curse that made the victim feel like they were being crushed to death. Gimp cried out in agony. “You have sixty seconds before I crush your lungs,” Draco said calmly. “Give me the plant.”

“Stop and I’ll do it,” Gimp gasped.

Draco released him.

Gimp moved painfully to a battered cupboard, then brought out a delicate white and green bloom that Draco recognized. “What are you going to do with it?” Gimp asked resentfully. “You can’t use that plant without facing the harshest penalties. That’s why I still have it.” He was probably thinking about what Lucius would do to him if Draco got in trouble. Draco wanted to laugh. His fear of his father was so distant now. Every feeling was distant, except for the absolute conviction that nothing would stop him from saving Ron’s life.

“Dormire,” Draco said, casting the sleeping curse on Gimp. He wouldn’t wake until tomorrow at the earliest. By then, Draco’s plan would be fully advanced, and nothing Gimp could say would jeopardize Ron.

Back at Sanus, Draco ordered Ms. King to dismiss the staff, and to write a formal memo attesting to the fact. He didn’t want any of his employees to face criminal penalties for what he was about to do. She tried to argue with him, looking worried. “Do it now,” he said. “Then get out of here.”

He walked to the lab. Luckily for him, he had the base of the potion already prepared. Draco made healing potions for St. Mungo’s all the time. Time was of the essence with this kind of brew, so he kept as many base potions available as he could. He estimated that it would take him no more than three hours to complete the antidote.

When Draco finished, he apparated back to St. Mungo’s. He felt exhausted, like he had almost reached the limits of his strength, but happy because he was going to save Ron’s life.

He found the room where Ron was dying. His family was clustered around the bed, crying and holding each other. Draco needed to get close to administer the antidote. He would have to push past them.

He cast Protego Maxima on himself. Ron had been right. This charm was beyond him, especially now, when he was at the limits of his strength. He felt the charm burning him from the inside as it called on the last reserves in his magical core. He pushed through grieving relatives, then picked up Ron’s hand. He stuck the needle into Ron’s vein and sank down the plunger. He could hear the sound of outraged relatives beating against his shield. He didn’t think he could hold it for long.

Before his shield failed, he saw Harry Potter cast Protego Maxima on him, relieving the pain in his magical core, and allowing him to finish Ron's treatment. Once he was done, he sank to his knees on the floor and lost consciousness.

Chapter 14 Summary:

Sorry/not sorry for the melodrama?

Chapter Text

When Draco woke again, he found himself in a holding cell in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Unlike his last stay after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco had a host of creature comforts in the cell with him: pillow, blanket, even a tray of food and a carafe of water. Draco smiled. If the Aurors were treating him like this, it meant his plan had worked. Ron was alive.

He took an inventory of his physical condition. He was still tired, and he knew from the pain in his magical core than he had an injury there. Other than that, he was good. An unaccustomed sense of self-respect buoyed him. Draco had saved Ronald Weasley’s life. As far as he was concerned, he had saved the world.

In the back of his mind, there were other, less pleasant feelings, fears about his future and heartbreak that he would never see Ron again, but he used occlumency to push them down and away. Even while he was undergoing treatment with Roundtree, Draco had taken comfort in knowing that if things got bad enough, he could occlude until he wasn’t there anymore. It was such a relief to call upon his mental magic and only feel the things he wanted to feel. He would pay for it later, of course, with pain in his Mark. Draco couldn’t bring himself to care.

An Auror he didn’t recognize entered the room. “Hello Mr. Malfoy,” he said in a friendly way. “Is there anything you need?”

“No, thank you,” Draco answered, just as pleasantly.

"Are you feeling well enough for a visitor?” Draco’s heart seized. Could it be Ron? Surely not. He would need to recover at St. Mungo’s a long time yet.

“Why not?” Draco answered.

When the Auror returned, he wasn’t escorting Ron or Harry Potter or anyone like that. It was Lucius Malfoy. Draco’s father was dressed immaculately in a black suit and long formal cloak. He looked incredibly angry, but for once, Draco wasn’t afraid. It struck him as funny that he would have this confrontation with Lucius at the DMLE, safe behind bars with Auror guards ready to protect him at a moment’s call.

“Hello father,” he said, allowing some of the amusem*nt he felt to enter his voice.

“Draco,” his father answered, completely unamused. “Did I allow your mother to indulge you too much as a child? Is that why you never became a man?”

Draco laughed.

“Are you feeble-minded as well?” Lucius said, angrier than ever.

“What do you want?” Draco asked.

His father had spots of color on his face, a sure sign that Draco would soon feel the brunt of his martial magic. “I want to know if it is true that you are bent for that blood traitor Weasley. I confess I did not believe you could be so craven, only it is the only explanation I have for why you are here now.”

“If you’re talking about Ron, then yes,” Draco said. “I bend for him as often as he allows.”

Lucius looked sick. “You have disappointed me more than I can say,” he said. “You are wholly unfit to be my son and to bear my name.”

“If there’s nothing else,” Draco said, making a dismissive gesture.

“If only we could part so easily,” Lucius said. “Your mother, however, is stubbornly attached to you, even though you are a complete disgrace to your blood.”

“So, tell her I’m going to Azkaban,” Draco said flippantly. “She’ll understand. It’s a family tradition.”

“Enough,” Lucius said. “No doubt you deserve that fate, but we have other plans for you.” He held up a sheaf of paper. “If you sign this marriage contract, I will use my connections to get you out of here. It is more than you deserve, but the estate must come first.”

“That’s blood magic,” Draco said, noting the red ink on the contract. “Do you honestly think I would rather act as a stud for a society witch of your choosing than go to Azkaban?”

“The Weasley family isn’t in a very strong position,” Lucius said, resorting to a crude threat. “I would hate for some misfortune to find them due to your intransigence.”

Now Draco wasn’t amused at all. He knew his father was more than capable of ruining the lives of everyone Ron cared about. He walked up to the bars of his cell and extended his hand for the papers.

Chapter 15 Chapter Text

When Ron was aware of his surroundings again, he asked for Draco. Harry and Hermione took turns explaining what had happened. Ron hated that he was so weak and helpless. Draco was so intensely private that Ron knew he would hate for Harry and Hermione to know about his mental health struggles or history of occlumency abuse, but Ron needed to make them understand how urgently Draco needed help.

“You don’t understand about Draco,” he said. “He never expects anyone to help him. I’m afraid of what he might do to himself if…” It was too painful to go on.

“Leave it to me,” Harry said, squeezing his shoulder. “I’ll use every ounce of influence I have at the Wizengamot to get him released.”

Ron relaxed. Harry wasn’t just famous, he was powerful. He never took advantage of it, so he had plenty of political capital to spend. The thought that he would use it to help Draco made Ron feel deep gratitude and love for his best mate.

“I’ll go now,” Harry said, putting on his cloak. “I don’t want you to worry.”

“What is it about Draco Malfoy?” Kingsley Shacklebolt asked, shaking his head. “You’re the second wizard to come to me today seeking his release.”

“The second?” Harry felt a growing sense of dread.

“Oliver Kelpis was here earlier with a formal pardon from the Wizengamot.” Shacklebolt indicated a parchment on his desk with a heavy golden seal. “Between you and me, that man is bought and paid for by Lucius Malfoy.”

Harry’s heart rate increased. “Is Draco still at the DMLE?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Shacklebolt said. “Would you hang around in his place?”

Even though he was filthy, Draco didn’t bother to change clothes or shower before going to the hospital to see Ron. He only paused at the entrance to cast a disillusionment charm on himself. He didn’t want to be removed by hospital security. The last time he was here, he had forcibly and illegally treated a patient.

Draco was relieved to see that the Weasley family wasn’t keeping vigil in Ron’s room. He didn’t know how much time had passed since he was last here—perhaps they were all catching up on sleep? Ron was alone. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling with a worried expression. He looked paler than normal, and his freckles—Draco’s favorite thing in the world, probably—stood out starkly on his face. Someone had brushed his red hair. It looked soft and clean.

Draco removed the disillusionment charm.

“Come here,” Ron said roughly.

Draco used his magic to make the bed big enough for two. Then he removed his suit jacket and shoes and climbed in beside Ron.

“That’s better,” Ron said. He used one of his big hands to guide Draco’s head down to rest against his heart. “I’ve needed you so much, Pet.”

Draco couldn’t speak. Everything hurt, but he couldn’t bear to occlude while he was with Ron.

“I knew he’d get you out,” Ron said, meaning Harry Potter.

“He’s very powerful,” Draco answered, meaning his father.

“Hermione said you did the impossible.” Ron sounded awed. His fingers brushed against the stubble on Draco’s face, like he was enjoying the unusual sensation. “You’re the most amazing wizard.”

“I love you,” Draco said. It wasn’t easy to talk like this, but he wanted Ron to hear it from him at least once.

“Don’t cry,” Ron said, deeply touched. “I’m going to be okay.”

He was always so gentle. It made Draco’s chest hurt more.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ron said. “I’m going to have mandatory time off to recover from this curse. What if we went somewhere just the two of us?” He’d asked for a holiday in the past, but Draco had always refused, citing the need to work.

“I’d like that,” Draco answered.

Ron relaxed. “Do you mind if I sleep? I think I finally can, now that I’m not frantic about you.”

“Yes,” Draco said. “You should sleep.”

When Ron woke again, Draco was gone.

Chapter 16 Chapter Text

Several weeks later…

Ron woke with an ache in his chest. He’d dreamed about their first time. Again. It was rare for Draco to let Ron make love to him without any kind of game, but the first time, he had shown Ron his naked vulnerability and accepted Ron’s affection without any defense. It still made Ron’s chest hurt to think about it, especially now that Lucius had forced Draco into an arrangement that was little better than rape.

Ron wished he could have a nightmare about the war. Anything other than this. It was agonizing to think about how much he loved Draco. Ron longed to go to him and offer him every form of support, but Draco had removed that option by signing a blood magic marriage contract. Those contracts were almost never used in modern times because of the cruel way they enforced fidelity to the chosen spouse. Just being near Ron would hurt Draco now, as the binding magic of the contract would punish him for loving someone other than his wife. The only option available to Ron was to stay away.

He knew he wouldn’t sleep again tonight. He decided to go for a run. Hard physical training was the only way Ron had found to cope with his heartbreak. It gave him the illusion of doing something, and sometimes even blanked his mind, allowing him to escape the pain in his chest.

Even though it was the middle of the night, his brother George was in the kitchen. They shared the flat above Wheezes. Ron could afford his own place, but he didn’t want to leave his brother alone. His grief over Fred’s death was still raw. He worried about what George might do to himself if he were left to his own devices.

“Alright, George?” he asked, using the summoning charm to find his trainers.

“Don’t look at The Prophet,” George advised.

“Good advice at any time,” Ron tried to joke.

“There’s a picture of him.” George never referred to Draco by name. “Dancing with that bint at some kind of party.”

“Better for me if we don’t talk about it,” Ron reminded him.

Ron didn’t move to pick up the paper, but he knew he would have to look eventually. Being able to see Draco, if only in the society page of The Prophet, was something Ron needed. His face was always carefully blank in the pictures, making Ron feel certain he was abusing occlumency. Knowing that he was the reason Draco was hurting himself again was one of the worst feelings Ron had ever experienced, but it also fed a new coldness in Ron that was privately obsessed with hurting Lucius Malfoy. Ron hadn’t told anyone, but his new diet and exercise regime were aimed at helping him regain his strength as quickly as possible. He felt like he was hurtling toward a confrontation with Lucius Malfoy that would only end with one or the other of them dead.

He couldn’t tell anyone what he was feeling. He was certain that even his best mate Harry would try to stop him.

Chapter 17 Chapter Text

The first thing Draco noticed about Amelia Rosier was that she was extremely pretty. She had blue eyes, long black hair and eyelashes and fine, porcelain skin. Draco knew most men would find her appealing, but he felt nothing, except perhaps a discomfort with her extreme youth. In fact, she was only a few years younger than him, but because she had spent the war years at Beauxbatons he felt like she was a baby. Totally innocent.

They were introduced at Malfoy Manor.

“I’m not a virgin,” she said as soon as Narcissa left them alone in the room.

“Pardon me?” Draco said, almost spilling his tea.

“I slept with almost all the boys in my graduating class. I thought losing my honor would help me avoid a fate like this one.” She gestured to his mother’s well-appointed sitting room. “For some reason, your family doesn’t seem to care.” She looked challengingly at him. Because of her extreme youth, it had the opposite effect to the one she intended. Draco was amused and a little fond.

“No, my father wouldn’t care about that. He’s glad for a woman to take me on any terms,” he said dryly.

She looked abashed and he hurried to reassure her. “I’m in love with someone else,” he explained. “Someone unsuitable.”

“Is that why your father insisted on making the bond asymmetrical?” she asked shyly. She was referring to the fact that the bond enforced Draco’s fidelity and not hers, and that the bond was designed to send him into rut every night until they conceived an heir.

“He’s very controlling,” Draco agreed. “That’s another reason not to marry into my family. I feel certain that he will try to exert the same level of control over my wife.”

“How wonderful,” she said, equally dry. “If only my parents weren’t determined to marry me off to the highest bidder, I might be able to take your advice.”

The next thing Draco noticed about Amelia was that she was afraid of him. He found her reading in the garden one day. She dropped her book upon seeing him, and when he stooped to pick it up for her, she flinched away from him. He put his hands behind his back, hoping to reassure her nonverbally that he wouldn’t try to touch her. He took to putting his hands behind his back whenever they shared the same space. Being forced into an arranged marriage with a Death Eater couldn't be pleasant, he imagined.

They had dancing lessons together. He had to touch her then. She was so stiff and uncomfortable in his arms that he felt he had to address the situation directly.

“I won’t force my attentions on you when we are married,” he told her. She looked up at him in surprise. “I’ll make the unbreakable vow if you like,” he offered.

“But the bond,” she said. “My mother said…” she was too embarrassed to go on.

“It will make me feel lustful until we conceive an heir,” Draco said euphemistically. “Do you know what an occlumens is? I can control my feelings. All my feelings. You have nothing to fear from me.”

It was worse than he expected. After they were married, the magic of the bond forced him to feel lustful, as he put it, every night. He was able to control the feeling with occlumency, but when he came back to himself, he was weak and exhausted, and his Mark burned unrelentingly. The work he had done with Roundtree had restored his mind such that using occlumency wasn’t as detrimental as it had been, but his condition was rapidly deteriorating. He spent longer and longer stretches of time sleeping or unconscious, and when he was awake, he was quiet and strained.

Draco wasn't sure how much longer he could go on.

He started thinking about ways he could end his suffering.

Chapter 18 Chapter Text

Lucius Malfoy sat at the head of his imposing dining table and surveyed the people seated around him. His son—if son he could be called—was seated at his right hand. He looked broken and leashed, exactly as Lucius desired. His wife Amelia was seated on his left. Lucius enjoyed thinking about what happened to that filthy whor* each night when Draco transformed into little better than an animal. She too had disgraced her blood and was now paying the price.

He would have to take a firm hand with the child when it came. Even Narcissa couldn’t be trusted to raise the heir properly. He blamed her totally for the way Draco had turned out.

Lucius savored his wine.

He so enjoyed restoring justice to the world.

“Firewhiskey?” Harry asked, pouring himself a dram.

“No thanks,” Ron said. He’d been teetotal ever since the healers told him that avoiding alcohol would help him recover from the curse faster.

“I’ll take some of that,” Hermione said. She tossed it back in an uncharacteristic style.

“So, what’s the big secret?” Ron asked. His friends had insisted on meeting at Grimmauld Place like the war was still raging.

Harry reached into his pocket and put a swirling blue sphere on the table.

“You got it.” Ron had been trying to get his hands on a ward breaker for weeks, but they were kept under careful guard at the DMLE.

“We have a plan to rescue Draco,” Harry explained.

“Tell me.” Ron’s heart was beating fast. He'd brainstormed various rescue plans with his friends for weeks but nothing they had thought of so far would work.

“I can’t find a way to destroy the marriage bond,” Hermione said, “but I think there may be a way to transfer it?”

“Transfer it?” Ron asked eagerly.

“Yes, assuming you want to be married to Malfoy,” she said, a little doubtfully.

“Yes,” Ron said quickly. “I want that.”

She nodded. “There are several steps. Do you know who holds the contract?”

“Lucius,” Ron said instantly. He didn’t know it for a fact, but he felt certain that Lucius would keep control over Draco in any way that he could.

“We need his blood,” Hermione said. “Not much but—a little.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Ron smiled wolfishly.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look.

“And there’s a potion,” she said. “Do you think Malfoy’s staff at Sanus would brew it for us?”

“Yes,” Ron said. “I’m sure of it.”

“It also depends on…” she paused. “Do you think Malfoy has consummated his marriage?” She sounded a little awkward.

“No,” Ron said roughly, thinking of all the times Draco had told him—in and out of bed—that he would never want anyone else.

“Good,” Hermione said.

Ron reached for the firewhiskey and poured himself a dram. “To Draco,” he said, offering a toast. Draco already belonged to him in all the ways that mattered, but by this time tomorrow, Draco would also be his in law.

The thought filled him with a fierce and possessive joy.

“Auror Weasley!” Ms. King said. “I’m afraid Mr. Malfoy isn’t here.” The boss had deputized his most senior potioneer to take his place weeks ago when he suddenly announced that he was going to be married. In the three years Ms. King had worked for him, the boss had never taken a vacation, so it surprised her that he hadn’t shown his face at work in over a month. It was only natural for him to take time off for a honeymoon, only his attitude about his upcoming marriage had been... grim. She supposed pure-bloods were just different—they married for money or family position rather than love.

"I'm here to commission a potion," Ron said. "I need your best."

"Certainly," Ms. King said, using her magic to call for Mr. Kapoor, their best potioneer.

Ron held his breath while the man reviewed the recipe Hermione had made.Hermione had warned him that this was the riskiest part of the plan. The potioneer would likely know exactly what they were planning.

“Will you do it?” Ron asked.

“Right away,” the man said.

Chapter 19 Chapter Text

Harry, Ron, and Hermione paused at the entrance to Malfoy Manor. Harry held the ward breaker in one hand, but he hesitated to use it.

“An estate this old is likely to have other defenses,” he said. “When we get inside, Hermione’s priority is finding Draco. You and I take point on any physical threats we encounter.”

“Lucius is mine,” Ron said, holding Harry’s eyes until he nodded his agreement.

“Let’s go,” Hermione said.

The wards came down quietly. The breaker was designed to help the Aurors maintain the element of surprise. Harry was suspicious about how easily they had fallen, but Ron was encouraged. It was like the estate knew him and wanted him to rescue Draco.

They strolled up the front walk to the mansion. Ron knew from things Draco had said that Draco’s suite of rooms was on the second floor, and that his father’s study was on the first floor, adjacent to the library. Hermione took off for the stairs. He and Harry checked rooms on the first floor systematically, trying to find the study.

Ron found it first.

Lucius Malfoy was seated behind an ornately carved desk, drinking a snifter of brandy and reading a book. He looked extremely pleased with himself.

“I’m here for your blood,” Ron said, gripping his wand tightly in one hand.

The surprise on Lucius’ face was quickly replaced by rage. “Weasley,” he said, standing up. “You have the effrontery to come here, after you debauched and ruined my son?”

“I love your son,” Ron said. His accidental magic crackled around him in an orange corona. “I’m not leaving here without him.”

“You’re not leaving here at all,” Lucius said. “Excitate famulos!” Two suits of armor in the study suddenly sprang to life, but Ron wasn’t worried. They reminded him of the practice dummies that he and Harry trained with every day at the DMLE. Sure enough, his best mate surged into action, combatting Lucius’ servants with athletic grace.

“I want you to cast first,” Ron said, circling Lucius. “It’s only sporting. I know you’re more accustomed to fighting muggles and children.”

Lucius’ face purpled. “Insolent cur,” he said, drawing his wand. “I’m going to enjoy putting you in your place.”

Hermione climbed the stairs two at a time. Ron had told her that she would find Draco in a set of rooms decorated in Slytherin green. That was challenging, because whoever had decorated the manner liked green. And snakes. A lot. Dueling had commenced downstairs in earnest, judging from the crashes and booms that she could hear behind her.

Suddenly a door opened, and a pretty young woman poked her head out. When she spoke, her voice had a soft, pleasing French accent. “Hermione Granger?" she asked, sounding shocked and awed.

“Hello,” said Hermione, all business. “You must be Amelia. Do you know where I can find Draco?”

“In his bedroom, I presume,” the young woman said. Hermione could see that she was wearing a white nightdress that was almost translucent.

“Lead the way?” Hermione asked.

“Be careful,” the young woman entreated. “They say he’s like an animal. I’m not sure he can be reasoned with in this state.”

“What state is that?” Hermione asked, pausing at the entrance to Malfoy’s bedroom.

“Don’t you know?” Amelia asked. “The marriage bond makes him wild with lust every night. He told me he uses occlumency—you know this word?—to control it.”

“Confringo!” Lucius cast, pointing his wand menacingly at Ron. Ron deflected the spell easily. The far wall took the impact of the curse and crumbled, opening more space for them to fight.

“Give me what I came for and this can be over,” Ron said. "Stupefy!"

Lucius countered the spell with a rapid wand movement. “I would rather my son die than play the whor* for a blood traitor,” he spat.

“Levicorpus!” Ron cast, and Lucius was flung helplessly in the air. Ron was trembling with rage. Draco had been in Lucius’ power for weeks. His greatest fear was that his father would know that he was gay. What kind of punishment had Lucius doled out to him? “Expelliarmus!” he cast again, and Lucius’ wand went flying out of his hand.

“Good work, mate,” Harry said, trying to make eye contact with Ron. “You did it.”

“It’s not enough,” Ron said, seeing red. “I want him to pay.”

“He’ll pay,” Harry promised. “We just need some blood, yeah? Hermione said it would only take a little to complete the ritual.”

Ron approached Malfoy’s helpless body, trying to maintain control over himself.

Lucius cast a silent, wandless spell and freed himself. He swung a black curse blade at Ron’s unprotected chest. Ron countered the blade at the last moment with a jarring blow to Lucius' left forearm, but he would need a blade of his own to continue fighting this way.

“Accio sword,” Ron said, expecting to get one of the many decorative blades featured on the wall of the study. Instead, his hand felt a familiar grip. The sword of Gryffindor was in his hand.

“Is that—?” Harry asked, shocked.

The black curse blade shattered against the sword's superior might, driving Lucius to his knees.

Hermione opened the door to Draco’s room, not knowing what to expect. Draco was lying on his side on the bed. He was flushed and beaded with sweat. His breaths were rapid and shallow.

“Hermione?” he asked, his voice thready.

“He’s a real danger,” Hermione said dryly. “Help me with him?” She and Amelia each supported one of Draco’s sides and helped him to stand and walk down the stairs.

“Is that Ron?” Draco asked, hearing the sounds of the battle.

“He’s wanted to save you for weeks,” Hermione said, to encourage him to keep walking. “I’ve never seen him so determined.”

It worked. Draco seemed a little more aware of his surroundings. He picked up his pace.

Ron heard movement on the stairs. When he looked up, he saw Draco. He was as tall and aristocratic as ever in his silk pajamas, but obviously in a state of extreme distress and weakness. Ron slashed at Lucius’ left forearm, hitting his radial artery on accident. Arterial blood sprayed Ron’s chest and some even got on his face. Harry collected Lucius’ blood in a vial and quickly cast a healing charm.

“Sorry,” Ron said, dropping the sword.

“It’s okay, mate.” Harry was tense. “It’s over.”

“Bring that to me,” Hermione said.

Ron supported Draco for her, and she reached into her bag for the potion. She added Lucius’ blood to the mixture, then held it out to him.

“Drink half,” she said. “The rest is for Draco.”

Ron downed the potion quickly, then held the vial tenderly to Draco’s lips. “Drink up, Pet,” he said. “We’re almost home.”

Draco obeyed, too weak to ask questions but relishing the feeling of Ron’s strong body holding him up.

“You should get him to safety,” Harry said. “We can finish up here.”

Ron nodded, securing Draco in a stronger hold. Then he apparated away.

Chapter 20 Summary:

Last chapter. It's just sex.
I started a new work exploring the fallout of this marriage. I'm not sure it's a good idea to have Lucius Malfoy design your magical marriage contract...

Chapter Text

Ron apparated to Draco's flat. Just seeing the tidy little flat again, with its neat stacks of potions journals and a dressing gown tossed over the arm of the sofa, made Ron’s heart contract.

Home.

Ron lit the soft lamp on the bedside table. Then he turned down the duvet and helped Draco remove his silk pajamas. Seeing Draco’s naked body helped reassure him that his boyfriend didn’t have any external injuries, but Draco’s shallow, rapid breathing and clammy skin were a definite cause for concern.

“What hurts?” They hadn’t consummated the marriage. Hermione said the transfer wouldn’t take place until they did. Was Draco feeling pain because he was still bonded to Amelia?

Draco still wasn’t talking. Ron knew he had difficulty speaking when he was feeling a lot of emotion. Because he had abused occlumency for so long, strong emotion was overwhelming for him.

“Can I touch you?” Ron asked. If anything, the question made Draco seem worse.

“I look awful,” Ron said, misinterpreting Draco’s reaction. He tried to rise, intending to wash the blood from his face, but Draco tugged him down again insistently.

“Oh,” Ron said, feeling how hard Draco was.

Draco kissed him clumsily.

“This is like your fantasy?” Ron guessed. “The one where I win you in combat?”

Draco answered by trying to remove Ron’s flannel. His hands were shaking, and he wasn’t very successful. Ron hurried to help him, then he slid out of his jeans and underwear. When his co*ck sprang free fully erect, Draco groaned, like the sight of it alone was deeply satisfying to him.

“Do you want to suck it?” Ron asked, incredibly turned on by Draco’s enthusiastic reception. “Don’t try to take it deep, Pet. Just get it wet for me, yeah?”

Draco bent his head down. He stroked his hands over Ron’s hard, muscular thighs. “That’s good,” Ron said, feeling Draco lick the crown and sensitive underside of his co*ck. He put his hands in Draco’s hair, not to encourage Draco to take him deeper, just stroking because Draco’s hair was so soft and pretty.

“I need to prepare your body to take me,” he reminded Draco, because he was too turned on by Draco’s mouth. They needed to stop before things got out of hand. The head of Ron’s co*ck slid out of Draco’s mouth with a little pop.

“f*ck,” Ron said. Draco was usually a little stiff in bed, at least at first, but right now, he was totally malleable. It gave Ron ideas.

He laid Draco on his back, then bent his legs at the knees. “Hold them there,” he told Draco. Draco obeyed quickly, but he still wasn’t speaking, which concerned Ron a little.

"Please say something," Ron said.

"I need our game," Draco said, like it cost him a great deal.

Ron hesitated. If he were free to choose the manner of consummating their marriage, he would have chosen something slow and tender. Draco needed something else.

Ron restrained him easily. He was bigger and much stronger. Draco reacted instantly by fighting to get away. Normally in the game, he fought weakly, unconvincingly, but this time he was using what little strength he had to push against Ron.

“Shh,” Ron said, trying to gentle him. “You’re going to take me.”

Draco trembled in his hold. Ron cast the lubrication spell and traced his rim teasingly. Draco was making a lot of noise to indicate that he found this hot, but he was still struggling at odd moments. Ron added fingers as quickly as he was able. Draco's vocalizations were making him feel very hot and hard.

“Say you want it,” Ron said, sliding his slicked co*ck teasingly over Draco’s hole.

“Please,” Draco begged, no longer struggling. His skin felt hot to the touch and his face was burning.

Ron pressed inside slowly, enjoying the way every inch of his large co*ck sank inside Draco’s body.

Draco cried out and struggled like he was trying to get away.

“No,” Ron said sternly, holding him down. “You’re mine, remember?” He continued his relentless assault.

Draco held his thighs apart so that Ron could slide in smoother, easier. Ron groaned as he bottomed out. Draco’s submission always made him feel immensely powerful.

“f*ck,” he said. Draco was tighter and hotter than he remembered. It had only been a few weeks, but it felt like he had never been f*cked before.

“You’re so good,” Ron said, kissing his face and stroking his thighs encouragingly. “Deep breaths now. I can’t move until you relax.”

Their eyes met. Draco avoided eye-contact during sex. Because of his shame around his sexuality, he found it painful. Ron relished it every time Draco granted him this intimacy.

“You can f*ck me,” Draco said in a shaking voice. “I don’t mind if it hurts.”

“No,” Ron said, feeling deeply conflicted. “I only want this to feel good.” He started to f*ck nonetheless, some part of him aware that for Draco, pain felt good.

“Turn me over,” Draco said, closing his eyes. “I want you to come deep inside me.”

Ron wasn’t going to last, not with Draco speaking frankly about how Ron felt inside his body. He pulled out, making Draco whine, and flipped him over. He pushed right back in—a little roughly—and pressed himself all along Draco’s back.

“Do you need to touch yourself?” he asked, f*cking him a little quicker, a little rougher. Draco’s co*ck was red and leaking.

“N-no,” Draco breathed. “I don’t want to come yet.”

Ron slowed his thrusts. “Tell me what you want,” Ron said. He kissed Draco’s shoulders and back, even the side of his face. He hoped that Draco would continue talking. Draco talking about what he liked and wanted during sex was almost too hot.

“Rougher,” Draco said, like it cost him a great deal to make this admission. “Harder.”

Ron caught Draco’s neck loosely against his inner elbow. He hadn’t tried this before, but the way Draco had reacted to their deepthroat session had given him the idea. He liked a little light pressure against his vulnerable neck during sex.

That was all it took. Draco came like he was shocked to be coming, and Ron followed soon after, carried over by the contractions of Draco's body.

Ron felt a burning, cutting sensation above his heart. When he could move again, he saw that there was a magical tattoo there and that Draco had one as well. He hadn't taken ancient runes at Hogwarts, though, so he couldn't read what it said.

"It says, 'bound,'" Draco explained. He sounded a lot more like himself.

"Yours is different," Ron noticed.

Draco didn't explain. He curled against Ron's chest like he was going to fall asleep.

More than Gravity - in_sects - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

Chapter 20

Summary:

Chapter Text

References