The Ron/Draco Ficadron

And the Winner of the Ficadron is...

mamalaz — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 00:38:19 GMT

TEAM RON IS THE WINNER!

FINAL TALLY

TEAM RON: 192 VOTES
TEAM DRACO: 98 VOTES

Well done to all the winners and a huge thank you to everyone who participated by submitting work, voting and supporting us. I especially want to thank my fabulous co-mods sexyscholar and wellington, who were absolute stars.

Below are banners for Team Ron and all you wonderful people who contributed work. Everything we received was of such high quality that it was you guys who made the fest the success it was.

So, after an epic ficadron, we're finally over! For this year at least. Two masterlists will be with you shortly - one of the dra(w)bbles and another of the main entries submitted.

Once again, thank you all and we hope to see you next year!

- MamaLaz

Round 16 - Poison/Family

mamalaz — Sun, 28 Mar 2010 01:31:20 GMT

TEAM RON IS THE WINNER! 22 VOTES TO 7!

All We Need by seraphimerising of TEAM RON

Versus

A Taste of Paradise by deathlydragon of TEAM DRACO

Team Ron nabs the points the last round!

The final scores are being tallied up now so come back tomorrow to find out who really is top dog at the ficadron! Was it Team Ron or Team Draco? Watch this space!

Round 16: Poison/Family

mamalaz — Sun, 21 Mar 2010 23:41:06 GMT

The final round of the ficadron is finally here!

On one side, we have A Taste of Paradise

On the other side, we have All We Need.

Read both fics and vote for your favourite now!

View Poll: Round 16: Poison/Family

Voting ends on the twenty-sixth of March. Watch this space for the final results and to see which boy is the King of the ficadron!

Round 16 - Poison/Family - Team B - "All We Need"

mamalaz — Sun, 21 Mar 2010 23:32:07 GMT

Title: All We Need
LJ username: Anonymous
Team: Anonymous
Prompt: Family
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Notes: character deaths mentioned in passing. ewe.
Summary:There are two types of family: the one you are born into and the one fate
hands you. It doesn't mean one is less than the other
Word count: 1,732

Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.

All We Need

Part I: Ron

Thursdays at six in the evening were officially Ron's favorite time and day of the week.

At six on Thursdays, Ron would enter the flat he shared with Draco in Muggle Holland Park to the sound of little fingers coaxing sounds out of the Schimmel that dominated their sitting room. He would quietly close the front door and sneak towards the room not wanting to disturb Victoire who was hard at work or Draco who was patiently and quietly coaching her through whatever she was playing whether it was new piece or an old one, scales or arpeggios.

Quietly, Ron would lean up against the doorway to watch the lesson. Standing there he would take in Victoire's white blonde hair hanging down her back in giant ringlets with the sides held back by a giant ribbon tied into a loopy bow, her blonde hair the same impossibly white shade as Draco's. Her feet encased in black Mary Janes and white socks with lacy edges while they swung under the bench, as she was still too small to reach both the pedals and the keys. His eyes would always come to rest on Draco, impeccably dressed in trousers and a button down as always with his sleeves rolled up, while he quietly told her to stop biting her lip as she played hitting the notes harder than she needed to but too young to realize that between his quiet counting.

A smile softly formed on his face as the two of them, completely unaware of their audience, moved on to the next piece. Draco slid from his chair onto the bench with her as he coached her through the start of her new piece. Seeing Draco tilt his head over the little girl with matching blonde hair both warmed and tugged at Ron's heart: he loved watching Draco interact with Victoire, the gentleness and kindness he showed her was unmistakable even to those who knew him when he was younger. Yet, it hurt to watch Draco with her, knowing how wonderful a father he would be and how they would never have the chance to be parents.

Ron often found himself daydreaming of a life where they could have children of their own. Children with Draco's blonde hair and grey eyes that would learn to play the piano just as Victoire was now. He longed to hear the pitterpatter of feet run up and down their now quiet steps before barreling into the kitchen for snacks after school. However, what he wanted more than anything was to open their front door to the sight of little blonde hair children running up to greet him when he came home from school.

Ron knew he loved Draco. And wherever Draco was, that's were Ron's home was. He just wished it was filled with a little more of a child's laughter.

"Oncle Won!" Victoire's sweet voice broke him from his reverie moments before she launched herself at him. He caught her in his arms before adjusting her to rest there. Looking over at Draco, he smiled before turning his attention to the babbling insistence of a seven year old girl.

He never saw the sad look that lingered in Draco's eyes.

Part II: Draco

Sitting on the back porch of the Burrow, Draco quietly sipped his tea while he enjoyed the scene before him.

Dominique had been bugging everyone at lunch today that she was ready to start learning how to ride a broom. After Bill's disaster of trying to teach easygoing Victoire, he clearly was not up to trying to teach his child who took after the twins on her best days. By the end of lunch, the only person who had any interest in teaching impish Dominique her first real riding lesson was Ron.

He kept fighting back smiles as Dominique, her red pigtails blowing a bit in the breeze, kept trying to talk to Ron instead of paying attention to what she was doing. Draco had to admit, it as a miracle that she was able to control of the old Cleansweep Ron had decided to teach her with regardless of her chattering. More than likely, it as more because Ron's hands were firmly on the broom behind her as the two made their way around the large yard the Burrow provided.

It looked so natural to see his partner, an overgrown child at best himself on good days, gently coach Dominique on such a difficult subject in spite her lack of focus: letting her have as much control as he thought she could handle without letting her know that as she 'flew' around the yard.

Draco often found himself daydreaming of a life where they could have children of their own. Children with Ron's red hair and blue eyes that would learn to fly a broom just as Dominique was now. Running up and down their quiet steps before coming barreling into the kitchen for snacks after school. But what he longed for was to watch their child run up and greet Ron when he came home after a long day at work. Draco knew that if he could see that happen once in his life to see Ron light up as their child ran up to him that he could cross the river happy.

He held his breath as he watched Ron's hands start to slowly and deftly loosen their grip on the broom until he gave her complete control. They had made a whole pass around the yard before she had even realized it.

And like a five year old, she lost control in her excitement. Draco laughed as Ron gripped the broom and helped her land before she tore off in his direction.

"Oncle Dwaco!" Dominique's unique voice, a strangely husky voice coming out of child, yelled over and over again. He barely had time to set his tea at a safe distance before she launched herself at him. He caught her in his arms before adjusting her to rest on his lap. Looking up at Ron as he approached the two of them, Draco smiled before turning his attention to the babbling insistence of a five year old girl.

He never saw the sad look that lingered in Ron's eyes.

Part III: Harry

After he had checked for a millionth time that Ginny would be okay with getting James and Albus over to her parents by herself, Harry Flooed into Ron and Draco's flat to see if they needed any help getting the children ready.

He couldn't imagine what they had to be going through. A week ago, it was just the two of them; now because of a druggedout hoodie, they had become instant parents to a seven year old, five year old, and two year old.

Harry hated to admit he was a bit concerned when he didn't hear any noise from within the flat. James had been screaming over the prospect of being in a suit for two hours in their own house while Albus had been his normal colicky self. Surprised that he didn't hear Ron yelling or Draco fussing as they tried to get three children ready for a funeral, especially when it was their parents, he went in search of the two men and his nieces and nephew to offer his help.

Harry didn't get far before he was greeted first by Draco and then Ron who were bringing the children downstairs. Louis in his little suit being carried by Draco while Louis clung to his neck, still obviously confused at why he couldn't see his mère and daddy. Harry's heart broke as he watched Victoire try to put forth a brave face though tears kept running down her face as she held Draco's hand, her blond hair plaited with black velvet bows at the end to match her black velvet dress. His eyes drifted to Ron who carried Dominique, her pigtail's without ribbons. Little Dominique' tears the only sound to be heard during the solemn procession down the stairs with her face buried in Ron's neck.

No words were said or even needed as Draco and Ron nodded to Harry. He understood the silent
gesture, that they were doing fine by themselves, so he remained quiet and in the background as Draco and Ron moved with the children to the Floo.

Harry waited for them to get through with the children before he followed. When he as about to step through himself, a picture of Ron and Draco on the mantle caused him to pause. The way they looked at each other in that picture warmed Harry's heart. In that moment, he realized that Victoire, Dominique, and Louis, though orphans like he had been, would know a parents' love. That his nieces and nephew would be loved by two people who would love them as much as they loved each other. Watching the images of Ron and Draco share a kiss that lingered under the mistletoe in the picture he knew that was saying something.

He only wished that he had been as lucky.

Part IV: Molly

She had started to bring in hot chocolate to the group gathered on the sofa reading a bedtime story on

Christmas Eve but stopped in the doorway. Seeing Victoire, Dominique, and Louis wrapped up and
around Ron and Draco as Ron told the story with funny voices and grand gestures, made her heart swell.

She just couldn't bring herself to interrupt the beautiful scene in front of her: the five of them amongst all the Christmas decorations strewn in the Burrow's living room. The happiness in all their faces so precious to her after the year they had had with losing Bill and Fleur.

Even standing in the doorway, Molly felt like she was intruding on something intensely private by the stolen glances shared between the two men. The natural smiles with the sparklingly eyes they shared only caused her smile to grow larger. She knew their relationship had found the one thing, they knew had been missing but no one else had seen until now: a family.

Feeling Arthur's hand wrap around her stomach, she leaned into him and smiled.

"Beautiful, isn't it? The children look so happy and whole," he whispered in her ear before laying a gentle kiss on her head. "As do Ron and Draco...finally.

Finis

Round 16 - Poison/Family - Team A - "A Taste of Paradise"

mamalaz — Sun, 21 Mar 2010 23:30:43 GMT

Title: A Taste of Paradise
LJ username: Anonymous
Team: Anonymous
Prompt: Poison
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Notes: AU, takes place several years after the War. Thank you so much to my betas! :)
Word count: 4,278

Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.

A Taste of Paradise

Doing several things at the same time had never been a strong point of Draco, especially not, when he was in a hurry. Draco had thought he would manage it to get inside before it started to rain but apparently he had thought wrong. The pelting rain had already destroyed his hairstyle, but he could fix that again once he was in the Apothecary – what he might not be able to save were the files he had just picked up at the Ministry. If the release of his father from Azkaban was destroyed by something like rain, Draco would never forgive himself. After all, his father had nobody else who would take care of this legal stuff, let alone had Draco someone who would help him to understand the paragraphs.

All Draco had left after the War was a faded tattoo on his left forearm. After he had already lost all of his friends, he would not risk never seeing the last blood relative he cared about again.

Draco slid around a corner and promptly bumped into another man, dropping all of his files and disgracing himself with slumping down on his backside directly into a puddle of mud. Groaning, he quickly tried to save his parchments from being soaked completely and silently prayed that he would be able to dry the wet papers while he let the man, who knelt down beside him, verbally pay for getting him into this mess.

“Are you blind, for Merlin’s sake?!” Draco shoved the pale, freckled hand away before it could touch his parchments. Sniffling because of the cold and rain, Draco pressed the drenched files against his chest and looked into the face of the man for the first time, whereupon his eyes widened in surprise.

“Polite as ever, Malfoy,” muttered Ronald Weasley, shaking his head disapprovingly, which made Draco snort. Wiping his face dry with his sleeve, Draco straightened up and held the files protectively under his cloak as he looked at Ron. His red hair was so wet from the rain that it had become an ordinary brown colour causing Draco not to recognise him immediately. However, the piercing blue eyes were unmistakable and made Draco quickly shift his gaze away.

“Sorry,” Draco answered reluctantly because he could still imagine better things than being too kind to the Weasel. However, he could not afford to risk Ron saying anything bad about him at the Ministry – because he knew Ron would certainly love doing that. “I was in a hurry. My opening hours always overlap exactly with the appointments that I get from the Ministry.” He gave Ron an irritated look, biting back a comment that Ron would never have become an Auror without Potter’s help and then he could not show off like that.

“And I thought I had to wait this long because you were standing in front of the mirror, Malfoy,” Ron said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and following Draco, who walked straight to the only shop in Diagon Alley that was still closed but Ron was the only one waiting outside in the tumultuous rain. “You have dirt on your butt.”

Draco whirled around. “Oh, I didn’t notice! How unlikely after you fall into a puddle of mud,” he admitted full of sarcasm but with a sweet smile, which apparently amused Ron. “Thanks, Weasley, but you don’t need an excuse to stare at my arse.” He turned around again before Ron was even able to raise his eyebrows. Draco’s chilly manner sadly did not make Ron leave.

“So, you already heard it?” Ron asked, receiving a puzzled look from Draco who had not a single clue what Ron was talking about. Still, Ron did not seem to think that it was necessary to make it clearer what he wanted from Draco and just followed him on the doorstep of the Apothecary. The rain was dashing on Draco’s pale face and ran straight into his collar as he bent down to search for his wand in his pocket.

“That you always try to make excuses whenever you’re staring at my arse?” Draco frowned distractedly at Ron, just looking away as Ron’s ears had turned scarlet. “You did that constantly in school, but I can’t blame you for it.”

“Always the same old story,” Ron sighed, zealous to stay calm, although it was obvious that he clenched his hands into fists. The Weasel was Draco’s only remaining victim from past days, but sometimes he found it anything but funny that Ron seemed to literally chase him just to hear some insults for which Draco was simply not in the right mood. Maybe it was nostalgia, perhaps even the opportunity to see Draco’s miserable life and give him back what he had done to Ron during their years in Hogwarts.

“If you, for a change, want something that I can actually give you, then say it straight out,” Draco said, pushing the door open and turning the open sign around before he put his files on the counter in the back of the Apothecary. Underneath him the carpet became slowly soaking wet, but Draco put his whole attention on the files first and dried them magically, while Ron looked around in the small room, frowning now and then whenever he discovered a few potions, which he disliked – either because of their effect or ingredients.

“You’re dripping,” Ron said finally, after he had sneaked behind the counter to glance over Draco’s shoulder. He simply ignored that he was soaked to the bone, too, eyes stubbornly focused on Draco, who thought in a haze of confusion that Ron looked rather like a hungry lion. Draco was not sure if he wanted to be his prey. “Shall I rub you warm or do you want me to think about a different method to make you stop freezing?”

“I prefer anything to being rubbed by you,” Draco hissed, trying to suppress a shiver as Ron dried him with his wand. It felt better, much warmer, and the heat of the body at his back was a pleasant feeling, but Draco did not want the Weasel to know that and muttered coldly: “Thanks.”

“Too bad, as I’m single again,” Ron whispered close to Draco’s ear, causing goose bumps to blossom over his entire body. “You really haven’t heard it yet, Malfoy? And I’ve been wondering why you still haven’t made fun of the fact that Hermione has finally realised that we don’t fit together.”

Draco took a deep breath and swallowed his heart again, which had jumped so high that he could feel it pondering in his throat. “Apparently you haven’t realised that she left you yet,” said Draco coldly and put his wand away, turning to face Ron, who, on closer inspection, looked as though he had not slept well for a long time. But that was not Draco’s problem. Draco’s problem was that he had an affectionate Weasel, who could not realise that life went on. People changed, or adapted themselves to new circumstances, in the case of Draco, but they did not regret bygone times. Ron should follow that example.

“Is that so clear?” Ron asked, rubbing his weary eyes which made Draco chuckle. He had seen the dark circles often lately, but never paid them much attention. Ron and his Mudblood had always fought, hurting each other with words, getting personal and bringing up long-dead issues. The final fight had been unavoidable, and Draco could not deny that a small part hoped that Ron finally realised that not making up again would be so much easier, but a bigger part told him that he did not care – that he should not care…

“Of course it’s clear. It’s written in your face and you aren’t even standing more than two inches away from me; Weasley, I can count your freckles,” Draco said and gently shoved Ron away from him, moving purposefully towards a shelf in the right corner of the shop.

“That’s an impossible task, believe me,” said Ron in an amused tone.

“Yes, because I don’t even want to search your whole body for those things,” Draco said, grinning at Ron who stepped beside him with a snort.

“I just wanted to…” Ron paused as Draco pressed a phial into his hand.

“Something so that you can sleep better? From the circles under your eyes I could guess that,” Draco said, enjoying that Ron seemed annoyed and that for once Draco was the one again who was dealing out blows. “I get…”

“A few tips regarding your Daddy?” Ron interrupted, pointing to the documents on the counter while Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Stay out of my business, Weasel. You’re only searching for a way to put my father behind bars for life,” Draco hissed angrily, pushing Ron out of his way and trying to step back behind the counter, but long fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled him back.

“He’s going to receive a life sentence anyway. There’s nothing you can do about it,” muttered Ron right into Draco’s ear, so that Draco could only catch his breath. “If you’re interested, the Wizengamot already knows exactly how they’ll get him.”

Draco slowly turned his head over his shoulder and lowered his eyes when he nearly got Ron’s nose into his face. “Why are you telling me this? Are you trying to discourage me, or are you giving me a hint?” he asked in a hoarse voice and half-heartedly tried to get his arm out of Ron’s grip but the warm fingers only tightened their hold. Draco tensed as Ron whirled him around so that they stood chest to chest, which he probably only did to humiliate Draco with forcing him to look up. The size difference between them made Draco always feel like a girl, and Ron’s way to treat him did not change that at all, even though Draco felt more like a toy.

“You appear to forget that my ex-girlfriend is working closely together with the Wizengamot. If she wants to forget important documents in my apartment, I certainly won’t send them to her,” Ron said between clenched teeth. The glowing flames of anger in the blue irises made Draco’s heart beat unusually fast, even though the dogged expression was not one that suited Ron well. These slight thoughts of revenge made Ron somehow attractive. Draco had not dared to think that Ron visited him for other reasons than nostalgia, but now it was clearly revenge and Draco liked that. Revenge would not make them friends, but they might become more than… than whatever they were at the moment.

“When did you change into a Slytherin, Weasley?” Draco smirked, watching sceptically as Ron put the phial Draco had given him to the nearest shelf. “You want… You seriously want to help me, because your girlfriend left you? After all, it was clear that this would happen sooner or later.”

“And when did you change into a bloody Hufflepuff that you don’t take advantage of that opportunity?” Ron wanted to know, placing his free hand on Draco’s hip. Surprised, Draco’s eyes darted down to the slightly shaking hand on his body. Whatever Ron was doing there, he did not seem to feel utterly comfortable in doing so.

“I still only do what’s the best for me. And after the War, it’s best that nobody notice me anymore,” said Draco, once again trying to free his hand from Ron’s grip, but instead he was only dragged closer against the other chest. Draco gasped and moved his head away as Ron leaned over, so that he not only touched Ron’s nose this time but also his lips. “Weasley, you don’t want to make your girlfriend pay with starting something with the guy that she cannot stand, right?”

Ron’s ears turned bright red again, but his calm voice did not give a single hint whether he was embarrassed or not. “Am I so easy to see through?” It was harder to read Ron now, to provoke a fight, because Granger had tried to turn him into a perfect man, not noticing that he was unable to fit into her little bookworm-world. Draco could only snort whenever he saw the two of them together, walking hand in hand in their daily happy ending after they just nearly broke up because of a bagatelle. They did not fit together. It made Draco so incredibly angry that Ron was too stupid to notice that.

“Are you a Weasel, or not? Of course you are easy to see through.” Draco pressed his free hand against Ron’s chest in defence. “Stop this nonsense. I have to work.”

“It’s raining cats and dogs; nobody will come anyway,” Ron said, throwing a glance over his shoulder to the deserted streets.

“Especially when it rains more people will come, because they caught a cold,” Draco replied, still feeling the bitter cold of the rain in his bones. Actually, he had nothing against a bit of physical warmth now, but basically he was already much closer to Ron Weasley than he could normally allow himself.

“They might come tomorrow, because they still need to catch their cold today. And it rains so often in England that everybody’s inured anyway,” Ron said, looking Draco directly into the eyes. “You’re trembling like a leaf, so you’ll probably catch a cold yourself… or are you trembling for other reasons?”

“No,” Draco said coldly. “By the way, have you been drinking?”

“No, but I’ve read a book about seduction a few years ago,” Ron said, grinning. Apparently, he was really able to ignore his burning red ears, while Draco found them utterly amusing.

“That was a bad book,” Draco chuckled, but he slowly stopped his attempts to dislodge Ron.

“It’s taught me that you have to make less efforts the more desperate the subject is,” Ron said, proving that he was still the personification of insensitivity.

“I’m not desperate – especially not in this respect!” Draco snorted and shoved Ron brusquely away. “Get out now, Weasley. You don’t need to pay…”

“Who assures me that this isn’t poison?” Ron’s approaching footsteps made Draco whirl on the spot, fearlessly facing the look of the blue eyes. In contrast to Draco himself, Ron was still pretty soaked, and with the slightly flushed cheeks he almost looked like a lost dog that waited outside in the rain for its owner to let him in again. Nevertheless, Draco could not believe that Ron wanted something other than distraction for a change. He was always annoying Draco when he had trouble at work or with his girlfriend, and Draco had learned to deal with Ron’s frustration, although he had absolutely no idea why. What he knew for sure was that he did not want to end up as Ron’s friend and then someday would have to attend the wedding, giving a speech and eventually snogging Ron’s gay dragon keeper brother under the table in sheer desperation.

“The poison is over there,” Draco said, pointing to the locked shelf, which was also protected by various protection spells against people on a tight budget – because the Ministry thought that would prevent people from killing each other. “If you’d rather kill yourself, instead of playing games with me.”

“I am not playing games with you, Malfoy!” Ron burst out. Draco slightly winced. “I offered my help, I’m attempting to be nice to you and you think I’m playing games? If you haven’t noticed, I have also grown up, eventually.”

“It’s very grown-up to suddenly try to hit on me, just because your girlfriend left you,” Draco muttered, turning around to take shelter behind his counter, but Ron followed him, planting himself opposite to Draco and slamming his clenched fists forcefully right next to Draco’s files.

“Suddenly?” Ron splashed Draco accidentally as he vigorously shook his head, but Draco’s disgusted look did not keep Ron from making a fool out of himself. “I’ve been chasing after you for months, and the way you respond to me – well, I’ve thought you’d noticed it! Or do you ask every person constantly if he stares at your bloody arse?”

Draco blinked in surprise and shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t mean that seriously. Still… You must be joking, Weasel.” He laughed hoarsely and abruptly fell silent as Ron grabbed his collar. Before Draco could do more than catch his breath, Ron had pulled him over the counter and into a hard kiss.

Draco clung helplessly to Ron’s biceps as he tried to keep the other tongue out of his mouth. However, it felt too good to finally feel other lips on his again, so that Draco could not resist any longer and finally opened his mouth slightly. Ron entangled his hands in Draco’s hair and pulled him even closer, almost pulling him over the entire counter as he tried to deepen the kiss. Draco’s muffled protest caused him to stop and eventually step back.

Draco licked his kiss-bruised lips and looked into Ron’s sparkling eyes, letting his gaze slowly wander over the flushed face downwards where Ron’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Goose bumps spread over Draco’s heated skin as Ron ran his hands over his shoulders and gently pushed him to the side.

“Come here,” Ron whispered, and Draco moved around the corner of the counter, slowly approaching Ron. He could feel Ron’s erratic breath skating over his skin as he was pressed against the wood at his back. For a moment Ron just looked at Draco and seemed to wait for some reaction, but Draco could do no more than enjoy the warmth spreading through his entire body and increasing the longer he felt Ron so close to him.

Ron licked his lips before he pressed them against Draco’s mouth again; this time very carefully trying to savour every touch. Draco clung to Ron’s shoulders, digging his fingers deeper with each second their kiss lasted, until he thought he could feel not just the tensed muscles but Ron’s bones through the thick layer of clothes. Draco really noticed the true magnitude of Ron’s hands for the first time as he felt them on his back, sliding deeper until they grabbed his arse.

Gasping, Draco wrapped his arms around Ron’s neck and tightened his grip as he was lifted up. Realising that any minute somebody could enter the Apothecary, Draco turned his head to the side in protest, but that could not prevent Ron from spreading Draco’s legs so he could step between them to reduce the distance between them even more.

“That’s…” Ron was not interested in Draco’s words at all and rather kissed his neck instead of listening to him, leaving red bruises that Draco felt prickling so intensely that he thought he would never get rid of the marks. “Ronald…”

“Draco?” Ron looked at him, his hands already sliding under Draco’s shirt. “You give me a potion so that I can sleep better, but nothing to make me feel warmer again? Don’t you think that’s rude?”

“Don’t you think it’s rude to just take it, then?” Draco muttered and immediately regretted his words, because shortly afterwards Ron pulled his hands away. He already missed the warmth and the feeling of security, missed all the things he could never have.

“I’m doing you a favour,” Ron said, leaning closer to Draco and brushing strands of white-blond hair out of his face. “How long has it been since you had a day off? I’ll give you one…”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You cannot afford that at all.”

“Really?” Ron grabbed Draco’s chin, while his other hand tenderly stroked over Draco’s thigh and moved far too high, but was still lingering too low. “I thought it would be a reasonable price.”

“Do you want to play whore, Weasley?” Draco snorted and pushed Ron away, though it was incredibly hard. He had still a part of his dignity and would not be defiled on a counter only because his body was longing for human touch. “Go away…” Draco tried to slide off the counter but Ron stopped him, his blue eyes focused on him so stubbornly that Draco wanted to shift his gaze away.

“Do you want the documents of the Wizengamot, or not?” Ron asked and sounded strangely cold, which did not suit him at all.

Draco frowned at him, wishing that he could cross his legs instead of presenting himself so vulnerably. “So you want me to play the whore, Weasley? Are you insane?” Draco asked indignantly. “Why are you doing that?”

“Because I want you,” Ron said as if it was crystal clear.

Draco blushed and looked down at Ron’s quickly heaving chest. He took a deep breath to capture every nuance of alcohol that might be in the air but there was nothing else than the smell of rain. He could not deny that it had sometimes been very close to flirting when he had spoken to Ron, but that Ron could really want him was something Draco had never considered – just as little as he had thought about wanting Ron.

“Anything else?” Draco looked up to Ron’s suddenly perplexed face again. “Ronald, spit it out. What do you really want? Don’t try to play with me. I’m still a Slytherin, and –”

“And that’s why you’re thinking too much,” Ron blurted out. “It’s… like chess. You’re thinking three steps ahead, although I’m here now! And… if you really want to know…” He took a deep breath. “I’m not good at these things. I thought it would be different. I thought I could come and tell you that I and Hermione broke up. When I mentioned that she’d forgotten something that might help your father, you wouldn’t think that I wanted to take revenge on her by giving you those documents. You would’ve slowly started to trust me… to like me… But…” Ron sighed heavily while Draco was staring at him out of big eyes. “You looked so… incredibly beautiful that I couldn’t think of anything else than kissing you. I forgot my whole plan!”

Draco felt heat rising in his cheeks, and he quickly looked away before Ron could humiliate him with a knowing grin. “Half of that I could guess,” Draco said, embarrassed. He blinked hastily as Ron bent closer again. “But the last part… surprised me.” Draco turned his head again and immediately felt Ron’s mouth on his lips, hungrily kissing him.

The kiss tasted like paradise, like everything Draco believed he would not find after the War. It was difficult for him to pull away from Ron’s mouth, which made him feel better than Felix Felicis could ever do.

“I can’t do this,” Draco breathed, gulping hard as he met Ron’s puzzled gaze. “I might have… if it had been one time, but…”

“I don’t want this to be a one-night stand,” Ron said. “Why do you think am I here after my girlfriend broke up with me?”

“I’m not stupid, but that doesn’t change anything. Please leave,” Draco said, pressing his hands hard against Ron’s chest. “And don’t forget your potion…”

“You just kissed me,” Ron said, shaking his head as if he could not believe anything Draco said. “What’s wrong with you? This is not just a mood thing!”

“Yes, and that’s the reason why you have to leave,” Draco said, slipping off the counter. Ron stumbled backwards and away from Draco, who walked casually behind the counter and started to sort his files. He focused his eyes on the parchments, trying not to give into the urge to look back at Ron, who made a strange noise somewhere between chuckling and gurgling.

“I… I’ll come back tomorrow,” Ron said, determined, but as Draco looked up his ears had become as red as his hair.

“It will be a busy day for me. A lot of customers with a cold,” Draco said and flashed Ron a short smile. “I would appreciate those documents, Ronald. Thank you.”

Ron stared at him for what felt like an eternity, then turned on the spot and disappeared in swirl of robes. It seemed like he wanted nothing more than running outside and let the rain cool his blush, and Draco wanted nothing more than to beg Ron to return to him and finish what he started.

But it would be a waste of time to start something he could not enjoy…

Draco sighed and looked at his left forearm, slowly rolling up his sleeve. The Dark Mark was barely visible and with each day it faded more, but the dark colour would never disappear, instead it painted Draco’s veins pitch-black and slowly moved through his body. The black poison was the Dark Lord’s revenge and it would drag all Death Eaters into death.

Draco could feel the poison burning his inside. He could feel it moving higher, already reaching his elbow and climbing up his arm, slashing its way through until it would finally get to his heart. And his heart was going to break when he started a serious relationship now that could only last a few months, maybe years if he was lucky. But during that time he had a full plate, including Lucius’ release from Azkaban and maybe research in terms of the mysterious black poison that did not just try to kill him, it also destroyed his life.

Draco tried to shake off the warmth of Ron’s body he could still feel, but the memories of his touch lingered the whole day on his mind. The taste of Ron’s kiss made his situation even harder to take, because it made him happy again.

Finis

Round 15: Walls/Puzzle

mamalaz — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 00:19:35 GMT

TEAM RON IS THE WINNER! 17 VOTES TO 10!

What Do Walls Do? by wwmrsweasleydo of TEAM RON

Versus

Easier to Run by hull1984 of TEAM DRACO

Team Ron gets the points this round! Stay tuned for the final round of the ficadron tomorrow!

Round 15: Walls/Puzzle

mamalaz — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 09:59:37 GMT

The fifteenth round of the ficadron has begun! And, moreover, it's another mixed round!

On one side, we have Easier to Run

On the other side, we have What Do Walls Do?.

Read both fics and vote for your favourite now!

View Poll: Round 15: Walls/Puzzle

Voting ends on the eighteenth of March. Watch this space for the results and the next Round!

Round 15 - Walls/Puzzle - Team B - "Easier to Run"

mamalaz — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 09:50:11 GMT

Title: Easier to Run
LJ username: Anonymous
Team: Anonymous
Prompt: Puzzle
Rating: PG
Warnings/Notes: This was inspired by the Dra(w)bble Duels. It's a story told in the form of 10 drabbles of 100 words each, that describe Draco's journey towards Ron. The title and quote are from the song of the same name by Linkin Park. Thank you H for your amazing encouragement and Z for the awesome beta.
Summary: puzzle (v) 1. confuse because difficult to understand. 2. think hard about something difficult to understand. (n) a puzzling person or thing. (Oxford English Dictionary)
Word Count: 1,000

Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.

Additional note: Huge apologies to the author for all the mix ups!

Easier to Run

The secret I've kept locked away no one can ever see

1.

When he first sees Ron Weasley, he is eleven years old. It is their first day at Hogwarts School of Wizardry.

He's heard of him, of course. Or rather, not him exactly, but he's heard his father ranting about the whole Weasley family.

When he looks at the small boy in tatty robes and worn shoes, somehow managing to look even smaller and tattier than he actually is, he understands.

Some things need no further explanation.

What does confound him, though, is why Harry Potter chooses to be friends with the sad, little guttersnipe?

When it should have been him.

2.

It becomes an obsession after that. A desperate need to know. Why else would he have to watch the other boy so closely? Why would he feel this compulsion, this need to take him apart and put him back together again, just to see what lies inside?

He needs an answer. An answer to the puzzle that is Ron Weasley.

So he watches. And listens. And learns.

And with the watching and the listening and the learning, inevitably he becomes educated.

Of course, with knowledge comes change.

A new perspective, if you will.

But, before all that, there is envy.

3.

He is awash with friends.

And yet, has nothing with which to purchase such.

Nothing, but the brightness of hair, of eyes and laughter. A mad sort of love affair with life. (Next to Weasley the brightest of galleons appear tarnished and dull).

He doesn’t understand. His money (his father’s money) had never bought such a wealth of friendship, of love.

He hates him for it. Hates him for how easily love finds him, seeks out his flame like a moth.

Hates until he sees. Sees that the boy is blind. Blind to all that he holds in his hands.

4.

For a time he wallows in the red head’s ignorance. Happy to watch him flounder, to lose himself in his insecurity. (Shutting out his own emptiness, the numbness in his own life).

He mocks and teases. Weasley is our king. And takes vicious delight in the downcast eyes and clenched fists.

Potter, Granger, all of them unseeing, oblivious to his doubting. But not Draco.

Look at me, he thinks. Look at me, Weasley.

Sometimes, it doesn’t even feel like hate.

He watches Weasley stumble in the dark. Disbelieving, almost angry, but always gloating.

Dreading the day that he finally sees.

5.

Some things come as no surprise.

He wears hand-me-down clothes, and an air of poverty and want clings to him like a worn cloak.

There’s a stench of never had that catches in his throat whenever Weasley’s close (strong, but never strong enough to drown that other smell of autumn leaves and something sweet).

The red flag of his hair is no impostor either.

His temper is wild and furious, a glorious thing to torment and taunt (and Draco, ever the boy who poked with pointed sticks, just for the joy of watching the cat turn to claw and spit).

6.

Somewhere around sixteen he knows. Not all, but enough. He’s fairly sure, if he took an Owl in Ron Weasley, he’d get a pass (possibly an Outstanding).

Still, now he understands Potter’s choice.

He knows other things too.

He knows he’ll never be a Death Eater, that he’s not a murderer; he cannot kill and won’t live to see seventeen.

But mostly, he knows he can’t have.

And he’s a coward. The only brave thing he’s ever done, is done out of fear, and anger and jealousy. Just to prove.

To prove his worth to a boy who doesn’t know.

7.

Weasley is brave. From the start. It’s written in every line of his body and the tilt of his head.

He doesn’t need inquisitors, Death Eaters and half-blood princes to know that.

It’s there in the way he kisses. First, in the dark of an empty classroom (with a quiet, hushed, I see you, I’ve always seen you).

In every piece of white skin revealed for lips and teeth to bruise black.

With every soft sweep of fingers, every knowing caress.

In honest whispered words, breathed into a pale collarbone.

It’s there in his footsteps as he walks away.

8.

In the quiet lonely nights, there are tears of anger, of regret. A hand, a word, would have made the difference.

Years of I don’t want, I don’t want.

Played out against fleeting moments of surrender, to all his best kept secrets, the sweetest of longed for moments finally allowed to burn through to his finger tips.

Somewhere in the midst of his fog, his coma, he marries and fathers a child.

But it’s not enough.

On a train, somewhere in the past, he opened a puzzle box, and swore he wouldn’t close it until he had all the answers.

9.

He blinks and twenty years have gone by. (He almost thinks he must have dreamed them).

And still he waits (two decades just aren't enough). Waits for a boy who refused to wait, to finally grow impatient.

He’s staring at a picture waiting for all the shattered pieces to form an answer. Waiting for that perfect moment when it all makes sense.

But nothing’s perfect.

And he’s held the answer to Ron Weasley for far too long now.

The boy, the man, no longer a puzzle.

But rather something familiar. Perhaps even the one thing in this world he knows.

10.

He’s waiting by the stairs.

And suddenly they’re seventeen again. The pictures moving in his head for all these years, finally still, and fade, to be replaced by him.

It should be awkward. There should be more shouting or less, cold vengeful silence or screamed accusations. It should be a boy with fiery hair and fists to match.

But should be and Ron Weasley had never really been close companions.

It shouldn’t be this. Shouldn’t be strong hands, gentled, forgiving. A quietly whispered at last.

It shouldn’t be.

But it is.

And in the end the answer was simple.

Yes.

Finis

Round 15 - Walls/Puzzle - Team A - "What Do Walls Do?"

mamalaz — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 09:49:57 GMT

Title: What Do Walls Do?
LJ username: Anonymous
Team: Anonymous
Prompt: Walls
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Notes: AU, includes OCs, contains swear words, graphic sexual description, implied violence and angst. Thanks to crazyparakiss for the beta work!
Word Count: 4,300

Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.

What Do Walls Do?

WHAT DO WALLS DO?

Protect

It was dark, too dark, in the dungeons. Then again, that was why he was here. Ron edged one foot forwards, and then the other. He had tried to cast Lumos, of course, but his wand wouldn't light up. That was probably part of the same problem.

Striding swiftly into total darkness scared him. Prefects probably weren't meant to feel fear. He was on duty; he had a task to do. It would be bad if anyone knew he was afraid.

Of course, it was dark, so nobody was going to see him anyway. They would never know that he had warily stretched out one of his arms and shuffled crabwise until he touched the wall.

Even though he had been expecting it, indeed seeking it, he was surprised by the hard coldness of the stone under his fingertips. A little squeak escaped him and he swallowed it fast. Whoever had done this might not be able to see him, but that didn't mean they couldn't hear him.

He reached the wall and leaned against it. It was reassuringly solid. Hogwarts was on his side. He could get to the bottom of this and sort it out, save the castle and its inhabitants. He was a Prefect; it was his duty.

He slid his palms over the smooth wall, reaching up to find a sconce. He had to investigate why they wouldn't light. Once he had found one and checked it, he felt a lot better. He gleaned confidence from his ability to be rational and thorough. He knew his fingers had covered every inch of iron and had found nothing. He was sure that nobody else would have found anything either. He didn't think even Harry could have found out what was wrong, nor that Hermione could have figured out what was making it so dark. Dumbledore might have spotted a problem. But nobody was expecting Ron to be the equal of the greatest wizard of the age.

He trailed his hand along the comfort of the stone as he walked deeper into the dungeons. He had found a rhythm for his feet, which let him move fairly fast now. He was fine as long as the wall was with him.

Then, suddenly it wasn't. He fell sideways through empty space briefly, then onto something warm and the “Ooof!” which was knocked from his mouth was joined by swearing, which was not his.

Wand light shone white straight into his eyes. At the edge of his blindness he saw fragments of a face: blond hair, a pointy nose. The voice was the clincher, though, nobody else spoke like that:

“What the fuck are you doing here, Weasel?” Malfoy snapped. “Little lions should stay in their tower.”

“I'm on Prefect duty! Point that wand somewhere else.”

“I am the Slytherin Prefect. Anything that happens down here is my business!”

Ron struggled to standing and forced Malfoy's wand down so that it no longer dazzled him, while asking, “How come your wand lights up?” By the time he had asked the question, though, that was no longer his main concern.

He could see where they were now and what was going on. He stared open-mouthed. They were in an alcove and Malfoy was not alone. Ron recognised the boy with him. He was a Slytherin in the year above, he was slim, dark-skinned and handsome, and he was completely naked.

“Do you know Seth?” Malfoy smirked. Ron heard the lip-curl in his voice, but couldn't take his eyes off the naked boy. “Seth, this is Weasel. He's a cunt. And he's just leaving.”

Seth looked right back at Ron and smiled. It was a welcoming smile. He tracked his eyes down and up Ron's body, so Ron felt free to do the same.

“I said you were leaving.” Malfoy's voice was cold.

“I can't,” replied Ron. “I have to find out why it's gone dark.”

Seth laughed: a real, warm, amused laugh.

“Haven't you worked that out yet?” Malfoy hissed contemptuously. “We were hoping to avoid having an audience.”

Ron looked round at Malfoy for the first time. He had seen his white shirt earlier, but now he realised that it was half-unbuttoned and that his pale legs were bare. The tails of the long shirt hid anything interesting, which Ron tried to kid himself that he wouldn't have wanted to see anyway.

“Why do you think I'm the only one who can cast Lumos? Because I'm the one controlling this!”

Ron answered Malfoy calmly, “That's fine then. I'll just report back to McGonagall, tell her you'll put it all back to normal, shall I?”

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. “You haven't got the balls.”

“I think I have, ferret-face. I will be writing her a very detailed report and once she's finished reading it, I don't think you'll need to trouble yourself with defining the patrol zones of the Slytherin Prefect anymore.”

“Don't even try it, copper top!”

“She may even feel the need to write to your parents. It is a safety issue, after all. As I just proved, someone could easily fall over with the lights out.”

They stared into each other's eyes, both daring the other one to back down.

Ron finally broke the silence, asking, “Does Daddy know you like boys?”

There was silence in which only their breathing could be heard.

“Does yours?” Malfoy countered.

“I'm not the one tampering with the castle so I can get my end away.”

“What do you want?” the blond snapped.

“I want you kicked out of the school.”

“Look. I'll put the lights back on. We'll agree that you were big and brave and I'll give you twenty galleons. How's that?”

“And potions homework for the rest of the year.”

“The rest of the term.”

“Year. And make it thirty galleons.”

“Draco!” Seth interrupted. “I'm getting cold. Just say yes so we can get on with it!”

Malfoy shrugged. He bared his teeth. Then with a disdainful flick of his wrist the corridor was illuminated.

“Owl me the money!” Ron called over his shoulder as he sauntered away.

He held his head high, feeling brilliant. He had won. Money, no potions homework, something to threaten Malfoy with, and he got to look good! McGonagall would give him House Points. He had won and Malfoy had lost.

As he approached the stairs, though, a low, wet moaning joined the echoing tap of his shoes on the stone. He knew it came from the alcove behind him and it made him feel like he might not have won after all.

Support

Draco Malfoy was not a conscientious Quidditch captain like Potter. There was a limit to the amount of time he was prepared to spend planning set plays and nagging his players to train. He wasn't completely careless, though. He did always turn up an hour before the match to check on the equipment and uniforms.

The store cupboards were behind the changing rooms. As he opened the green door, he noticed that the handle was vibrating. The noise was even clearer when he stood inside. It was a steady rhythm coming from the other side of the wall, from inside the changing rooms.

There shouldn't have been anyone in there yet; he decided to investigate.

It was obvious as soon as he walked in what was causing the noise. The banging was accompanied by panting, grunting and a happy whimper that he recognised. There was a smell, too. It mingled with the wood and stale sweat scent of the changing room.

Seth didn't notice him, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, a flush rising up his neck and across his cheeks. Ron's back was to the room – his long, bare, muscled, golden back. Seth's brown calves were curled round it, feet partly obscuring Draco's view of square, white buttocks.

Draco kidded himself that he didn't want to see them anyway. He backed off silently, trying to ignore the deep grunts, the trickle of sweat sliding down ginger-haired thighs, the whimpers and the mocha-coloured fingernails pressing tiny grooves into freckled skin.

He stalked to the pitch, to count the water bottles. They hadn't started playing yet, but already he felt like he had lost.

Enclose

Order and D.A. members surrounded the dilapidated cottage. It looked deserted, their information had been wrong. Confused, they questioned each other and relaxed just a little, just too much.

The men in the masks came from the dense forest around, stealthily, confidently. The soldiers of the light were surrounded. Hexes flew as the Death Eaters moved in.

Ron turned in a panic, twisting, firing off curses with little sense of direction. Like most of his comrades, the surprise attack had made them forget the plan. Silhouettes and green lights came closer. Suddenly he was upside down in mid air, his screams as useless as his scrabbling limbs.

Thick wire wrapped itself round him as he was dragged through the air into the dark trees where he lost consciousness. He woke with metal against his back. The distant walls and ceiling flickered with reflected red light. There was the contented mumble of many voices punctuated with laughter. He turned his head.

The source of the light was a large fire around which men and women in black robes relaxed. They were in a huge cavern, the rock curving up on all sides, shadows playing across it. There were bars between him and the rest of the place. He was in a cage made of something like steel, fully enclosed on all but one side. He slid up to a crawling position and moved to get a better view of his captors.

There were no surprises amongst the faces, all of them known Death Eaters. Their happiness made Ron nauseous; the battle had clearly gone well for them. Bellatrix was cackling madly – not that she ever did anything in a sane way. “ ... When we take our prize to our master tonight ...” he caught her saying eagerly. He hoped it was the flames, which made her eyes sparkle red.

“Not tonight,” Dolohov replied sleepily. “We can take the prisoner in the morning.” He jerked his head in Ron's direction.

“Tonight we celebrate!” shouted out someone who sounded to be well into the celebration already.

The wire was gone, Ron realised. He pushed back his sleeves, there were only faint red lines on his skin. His wand was gone too, of course.

Greyback growled, “Your boy did well tonight.”

The large, grizzled man was talking to Lucius Malfoy. Draco was here? Ron scanned the faces again and found Malfoy sitting apart from the revellers, looking sick and grey.

His father glowed with pride, though. “Indeed,” he purred.

“He deserves a reward,” Bellatrix said, looking to the far side of the fire, a place Ron couldn't see very well.

The men chuckled.

Bellatrix called over, “Layla, my dear!”

A busty, auburn-haired girl in her late teens moved liquidly towards them. Ron was keen to see Malfoy's reaction to her. He found the blond looking nervously back at him.

“Who's been a big, brave boy, then?” Layla asked throatily.

“We were just saying that young Draco had,” Dolohov supplied.

Layla planted her hands on her curvaceous hips and turned her crimson-painted pout on Malfoy. He shot one last pleading look in Ron's direction. He needn't have worried, Ron wasn't about to spill Malfoy's secret. If his tastes were anything like Ron's (and he knew they were) then Layla would be punishment enough.

Suddenly there was loud music. Drunken singing and laughter, leading to some unsteady dancing, distracted the Death Eaters. It terrified Ron how happy they all were.

He tried not to wonder how many of his friends were dead. He laid his head back against the cold metal, closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his breathing, to quell the churning in his gut. He opened his eyes again to find that someone was watching him.

“Thought you'd be slamming into Layla by now, ferret-face,” Ron called over.

Draco came right up to the bars before hissing, “Shut up, Weasel!”

There was something comforting about slipping into the old patterns of taunt and retort. Calmly, Ron said, “She's got a great rack on her.”

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. “Like Brown, you mean?”

“Ah, poor sweet Lavender. She was so in love with me.”

“So you cheated on her with Seth.”

They both took a quiet moment to think about the handsome boy they had both known in a more comfortable time. Malfoy squatted down so that their heads were level. He no longer looked like the arrogant bully he'd been in school, or the bold Death Eater he was meant to be now; he looked exhausted.

“He's a Half, you know,” he whispered. “I can't find out if he registered or ran.”

Ron swore softly. “What are they going to do to me?” he asked.

“You'll be taken to the Lord in the morning.” Draco sank to a sit and lent against the bars. “I suppose you're waiting to be rescued.”

Ron shook his head.

“You've got an escape plan?”

Ron shrugged.

“I thought you lot always had a way out.” Ron stared into space, but he knew that Draco was staring straight at him. “I think I'll miss you when you're dead.”

“You could let me get out.”

The blood left Malfoy's already pale face. “They'll kill me,” he whispered.

“Just move your arm a little closer to the cage.”

Draco looked towards his father and the other Death Eaters. Then, to Ron's surprise, he stretched out his left arm. With one swift movement, Ron grabbed it and crashed it against the bars, pulled it in between them. Malfoy screamed convincingly. Ron stood, twisting the limb in a way that he hoped looked painful, and pulled Malfoy's wand from his sleeve.

Then he spun, focussing on the meadow behind his parents' house, gripping the arm tightly. As the sensation of Apparition took him, though, he was aware of fabric burning his skin as it was ripped from his fist.

He landed on wet grass alone. He was free, but he brought his empty hands up to his face, feeling like he had failed, aware of what he had lost.

Exclude

“You're mad,” Harry said, but he bent forward and wove his hands together anyway.

Ron didn't answer, just put his hands on his friend's shoulders and his foot in his friend's hands. Between them, they heaved him up to clutching distance of the top of the wall. Harry stepped back as Ron's big, booted feet started to kick out for purchase, whispering “Good luck,” before he Apparated back to headquarters.

His mouth filling with the brick dust he had dislodged, Ron got a firm grip on the railing that ran along the top of the wall. He pulled himself up to squatting behind it and stopped for a breath while he put on the Invisibility cloak, then vaulted the ironwork and dropped into the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

Draco was being punished for Ron's escape and the punishment included House Arrest. That was the Order's information, but that didn't mean much because Intelligence couldn't be trusted any more. Nothing and nobody was trustworthy any more.

Ron could see the lights of the house in the distance. Silently, weaving between bushes and avoiding the soft soil of the flowerbeds where he would leave bootprints, he made his way across the gardens. He looked through the ground floor windows. Most showed empty rooms where antique furniture had been broken and expensive wallpaper shredded or scorched. Music came from one room upstairs, screams from the cellars below.

He nearly missed the small, high window. The area behind it was unlit. Hermione would have advised him to be methodical, though, when she still had her mind, so he peered into the gloom. Shelves filled with boots and riding helmets covered the walls. Sitting hunched on the small, tiled floor area, was the once-proud Slytherin Prince. His pale hair no longer shone, but stuck to his head in dull clumps. The hands that covered his face were decorated with scratches and bruises.

Ron's chest tightened and his eyes prickled. It looked like the spies were right for once. He got the wand out of his pocket - Malfoy's wand. He aimed it at the glass and concentrated. When the pane fell into the room and shattered on the tiles, the forlorn figure on the floor startled, jumped up, and looked about him fearfully.

Ron pulled up enough of the cloak to expose his face. Malfoy looked astonished, but he didn't look afraid. He looked like he might speak. Ron put a finger over his lips. He had probably set off some signal so they had to be quick. They dragged Draco's thin body through the window frame. Both under the cloak, they ran through the grounds and made it over the wall. They held hands. Somehow, once they had touched each other it didn't feel possible to let go.

Ron Apparated them both away and the rush of the journey felt like a win.

Hide

They landed in a grimy alleyway between two buildings in Hogsmeade. Ron took off the cloak and stepped back.

“You're on your own now,” he said.

“I've got no wand and no money!” Draco protested.

“I can't risk taking you to Order Headquarters and I don't trust you round my family.” Ron sighed. “Or them round you.”

They looked at each other for a moment in the moonlight, drinking in the last sight. Panic clutched at Draco. Then Weasley turned and began to walk away, muttering, “You'll sort something out.”

“Wait! Weasel! Ron!” Draco whispered urgently. “Look, you rescued me, I should, uh, thank you, I mean, let me ... try to give you something in return.”

“I was just returning the favour. I'm going to disappear now. Have a nice life.”

“Ron! Let me show my appreciation, I can make you feel good!”

Draco hadn't completed the sentence when the snapping sound of Apparition broke the dusk. He released a sobbing sigh of frustration and headed towards what he knew.

Aberforth took some persuasion. He wasn't happy about the state Draco was in and he didn't want to risk a fight with anyone who might come looking for him. In the end, though, he offered Draco a room at the Hog's Head and a couple of meals a day in exchange for what the pureblood heir couldn't help thinking of as 'House Elf' work. It was work he would have to do by hand until he could afford to replace his wand and, as Aberforth wasn't proposing to pay him money, that would mean finding a second job somewhere. Not that there was a wandmaker left alive anyway.

He washed in a bowl of cold water and sank onto the bed, preparing to face the rest of his life. Moonlight shone in through the thin curtain and he thought of freckled skin in a dark alleyway.

The knock on the door was soft; it made him jump.

“Who's there?” he asked.

“Malfoy, let me in!”

“How do I know it's you?” He did though; he recognised the effect of that voice.

“Oh, shit. How about this, in second year you called Hermione by a dirty name and I tried to make you puke slugs but my wand backfired.”

“Proves nothing. Everyone knows about that.” He opened the door anyway.

They eyed each other, just breathing deeply, drinking in each other's skin again. After a couple of minutes, Draco stepped back to let Ron enter. The tall young man didn't move, though.

“It's slightly warmer in here,” Draco said eventually. “And the goat smell isn't quite as strong.”

Weasley strode right through the small space to the window. Draco closed the door.

Facing the garish wallpaper, Ron said, “I don't want you to do me any favours, ferret.”

“As if I would.”

“I don't want you thanking me or thinking you're paying for something.”

Draco stepped closer. “Then what do you want?”

“I want you to be honest, to tell me, or to ask or something.”

The blond snorted and his lip curled into a ghost of the old sneer. “Malfoys don't beg.”

“Oh for Merlin's sake!” Ron snapped as he spun round. “So I have to do it, do I?”

Four eyes sparkled with fire in the silence. Ron looked away first; he looked over Draco's head.

“Fine!” he ground out. “Draco Malfoy, please will you --”

He never finished the sentence because thin lips covered his. Ron pressed back and immediately his shoulders were shoved against the wall.

Ron put his big hands onto Draco's thin waist. Their chests were hard against each other; their mouths moved wetly, without finesse, tongues touching and tasting everywhere. Draco's fingers slid down from Ron's jaw, over a hard nipple, to the urgent bulge made by Ron's erection. He rubbed firmly twice.

Then Ron pushed him away, saying, “Stop! Wait!”

Draco's heart dropped. It felt like it had stopped. The devastation he felt must have been clear on his face, because Ron took his hands hurriedly and gabbled, “Wait, not stop. I meant wait. Just wait. I have to ask.”

“What?” Draco managed through the thudding in his temples and the dry lump he couldn't swallow.

“Is this just once? I couldn't stop now even if it was. But if it was just this one time then that would break my – I mean it wouldn't be – I'd be sad, I wouldn't like it.”

Draco's slim, pale hand, not as soft as it had once been, covered Ron's mouth.

“It won't be for long,” Draco said, “because traitors never last very long, but for the time I've got left, Ron Weasley, for as long as you want me, I belong to you.”

Words unstated hung in the air unclaimed between them as Draco's mouth replaced his hand. The kiss was gentler this time, more measured, more careful. They stroked each other's bodies while releasing them from their robes. They were slow, sensual and loving with their movements, so the words were not needed. The heat grew the moment their naked cocks touched. Their hips jerked together, skin sliding over skin. Ron's shoulder blades and pelvis pressed against the bedroom wall behind him, Draco's thighs slipped between his and their movements grew frantic.

As his hand shoved into the groove between Ron's buttocks, Draco suddenly remembered Seth. He remembered the boy's dark skin against the pale stone of the dungeon wall, and squashed against the white tiles of the showers, and pressed into the reddish wood of a door,:all of their encounters had been rushed and upright. He remembered Ron gripping brown thighs to hold Seth in position on the changing room wall.

Draco opened his eyes to look into Ron's face and found blue eyes staring directly back. He grabbed Ron's hands, which had abruptly stilled, and pulled him to the bed. He pushed him onto the mattress. Draco might not have a wand, a home, money, or a family any more but he did have this. He had the power to shut Ron's eyes and flush his skin, to arch his back and force happy moans from his lips. Ron, who was sick of decisions and responsibility, was happy to let him. He gently eased his fingers inside Ron and sought out the place which would put Ron beyond all self-control.

They made love. The actions and rhythms were similar to those both of them had made before with others, but this was the first time for both of them. It didn't feel the same. Each man lost himself in the other's pleasure. They paid attention to the small noises and movements, and they responded. As Draco thrust repeatedly into Ron, the hot channel clenched round him and Draco stroked his erection.

They kissed and licked, lips pulling on lips, teeth lightly marking skin, tongues dancing against each other. Ron clutched at Draco's back, babbling incoherently, then grunting encouragements, sometimes murmuring endearments and three times screaming with pleasure. Draco just kept telling him how fantastic he looked.

The pace escalated. When Draco felt tense heat begin to tighten in his groin, he tried to slow down, to make this first time last as long as possible, but that made Ron whimper and push back onto him, gripping his arse to pull him further in. So, Draco gave in to the compulsion to slam in hard and deep, pulling fast at Ron's cock to bring them along together.

They came at the same time, sightless and howling. Then they lay together in the dark as the goosebumps flattened on their skin. The musty hotel room faded away. They were two anchorless bodies clasped together in a void, listening to their synchronised breathing and feeling the puffs of warm air against skin still wet with perspiration.

There was only the moon, shining onto their faces, reflecting in four staring eyes. Their circumstances melted into the featureless dark along with the low ceiling, thin carpet and badly papered walls.

Round 14: Forfeit

mamalaz — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 22:42:31 GMT

Hi all!

After much waiting for people to send in their submissions, I have finally conceded that round 14 will have to, I'm afraid, go to the team who submitted their work.

You can read wwmrsweasleydo's wonderful story Scandal on Page Two for Team Ron.

The next round is the second to last round of the ficadron - thank you all for being so patient.

Round 14 - Puzzle - "Scandal on Page Two"

mamalaz — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 22:40:32 GMT

Title: Scandal On Page Two
LJ username: wwmrsweasleydo
Team: Team Ron
Prompt: Puzzle
Rating: PG 13
Warnings/Notes: Betaed by littleenglolita
Summary: Gregory Goyle finds a story in the Daily Prophet confusing.
Word Count: 1597

Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.

Scandal On Page Two

“Tea break, Mr Goyle.”

Gregory liked the fact that his boss called him Mr Goyle. He didn't have to, and nobody else did. They worked the night shift at the Daily Prophet's Press, printing the newspapers ready for breakfast time. He picked up a warm, crisp copy of the paper from the top of the stack.

This was his favourite thing about the job: he was allowed to know the news a few hours before the rest of the Wizarding world. It was a kind of power, the only kind he still had. He had been promised that he would be a leader of men, had believed that his cause would be victorious because it was right.

He Apparated to the cafe at the back of St Mungo's. There was one table of hospital porters and a pair of undertakers on the stools at the side; at this time of night it was usually this empty.

“Your usual?” asked the witch behind the counter.

Her name was Aphrodite. She chewed tobacco and swore more creatively than anyone else Gregory knew. He was more than a little bit in love with her. As he took his scalding mug of tea he noticed that his finger pads were black with ink and he wondered whether she minded.

While he sat and waited for his Full English Breakfast, he spooned sugar into his tea and picked up the paper. There were politicians shaking hands on the front page. He didn't follow politics, he didn't understand it any more. At the end of the war his father had told him, “That's it! We Goyles don't take orders any more. We'll think for ourselves.”

Neither of them had known what to think since, so they just steered clear of politics. Gregory took a deep swallow of tea. That he understood; it was hot and sweet and strong; it made him feel better. He turned the page.

Half of the next page was taken up with one of those blurred night-time shots of people who didn't want to be seen. Ah! he liked these stories. Most of them were about sex, and all of them were about people who were more successful than him or their sex lives wouldn't have been in the paper. He liked to laugh at them for getting caught doing something bad.

He couldn't work out the identity of the couple because they were shielding their faces. The photo had been taken at the back door of a high class hotel. Most of the people who could stay in expensive hotels these days were the same ones whose heads he'd flushed in the school bathrooms. He couldn't puzzle out how those weaklings had ended up being life's winners.

He scanned the words under the picture. Now that couldn't be right! He spelled out the five familiar letters to himself: D.R.A.C.O. It was unmistakable. There was only one Draco in the world, and that was his best (well, only) friend. he checked the picture again. One of them did appear to be blond. It was all very strange.

Gregory put his finger under the printed words and his lips moved as he read the article:

Last night our intrepid reporter (according to the Prophet, all their reporters were intrepid, even though Gregory knew several who never went further than the coffee machine) uncovered a scandal at the Fallen Unicorn Hotel in Shrewsbury. She discovered former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy (he was always described like that. Never “former Quidditch Captain”, or “future master of Malfoy manor”, or “current best friend of Gregory Goyle”. The only time Gregory had ever been in the paper – which he shouldn't have been because nothing was ever proved – he'd been described as “son of a former Death Eater”) attempting to sneak out of the staff entrance with - No! That had to be wrong! Gregory couldn't work out how his employer could have made such an obvious mistake.

Aphrodite whistled at him and he looked up to see a laden, steaming plate floating over to him. He took it gratefully out of the air and began his assault on it. No mysteries in sausages. As he chewed, he took another look at the photograph. He glanced casually, because, after all, there was no point in his reading this story any more now that he knew how wrong it was. He just had a bit of a look at the other person, the one who wasn't blond. The hair showed as a mid-grey in the monochrome. It could have been ginger.

And the body? Gregory did his best to look round Draco's picture. There didn't seem to be any tits. So maybe it was a man. A ginger man. Why would Draco have been sneaking around with a ginger man? Even if he had been, then it would never have been the ginger man named by the Prophet. Gregory tried to puzzle it out, but he couldn't.

Or maybe it wasn't the story that he had thought it was. These ones were usually about sex. Not always though. He sighed with relief and took a long drink of his tea. That would be it. Dodgy business dealings, that was more likely. That made sense.

He was dunking his black pudding into his ketchup when he froze mid-chew. Because how could it be dodgy business dealings when the Golden Trio never broke the law. He looked back at the page and stared at those two impossible words: Ron Weasley. He couldn't figure it out, though, because Draco hated all Weasleys. Especially Ron.

Back when they'd been at school, Draco had told everyone he hated Weasley. He'd gone on and on about just how much he despised The Chosen Sidekick, as he called him. Sometimes he'd spent hours at a time itemising every little thing that was wrong with Ron. In fact, there had been whole weeks when his sole topic of conversation had been “Ronald bloody-freckled-git Weasley” and “how I hate every last bit of him.”

Draco was impressively observant when he hated someone. There were things he disdained about the Weasel that nobody else even noticed: the way his hair fell over his face, his facial expression when he dropped the quaffle, the shape of his fingernails, his pronunciation of “flobberworm”.

And after school, whenever Gregory lunched at the Manor, he would bring a copy of that day's paper and Draco would search it for news of Ron. He would celebrate every misfortune and get angry if anything went well for his enemy. When he had seen the Special Edition for Weasley's wedding to the Mudblood, with all those colour photos of the two of them holding hands and smiling, Draco had wrecked that nice yellow sitting room with a fit of rage.

But when he'd found the announcement of their divorce it had put him in a good mood for weeks. He'd even offered to pay Gregory for that copy of the paper, instead of just taking it as usual. And when Ron had been demoted and sent back to England by Gringotts, he had gone so far as to pay for a round of drinks!

So either those people in that picture were not, as the usually infallible Prophet claimed they were, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley, or the story was not about sex. Gregory was confused. He read on, getting baked bean sauce on the page, which Draco would scold him for later. No, he wouldn't, because Gregory was never going to be brave enough to show him an edition with this story in it. he started again from the beginning, hoping that this time it would make sense:

Last night our intrepid reporter uncovered a scandal at the Fallen Unicorn Hotel in Shrewsbury. She discovered former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, attempting to sneak out of the staff entrance with Ron Weasley, the young man most famous for being the best friend of (they had to mention Potter, of course. They were always sticking his name into every article they could). The youngest son of Molly and Arthur Weasley has never offered an explanation for the ending last year of his marriage to fellow hero, Professor Hermione Granger. Draco Malfoy's own marriage was anulled after the birth of his son.

Staff at the seven star hotel confirmed, anonymously, that the two men had spent the night in one of the suites together and had made “all sorts of noises like you wouldn't believe.” Neither of them was prepared to make a statement to this paper.

That was it. Gregory sat up. he rubbed his eyes. He stared out of the window at the fat raindrops falling onto it out of the dark. There had to be a reasonable explanation, but he was too stupid to work out what it was. He knew what the Prophet was implying, but that couldn't be right.

He looked over at the counter where Aphrodite was spitting tobacco onto a hotplate, then down at the scrappy white remnants of his egg floating on a sheen of grease. These things he understood. But not Draco spending a night with Ron Weasley. That made no sense at all.

Unless ... yes! Fighting! Of course. They had wanted somewhere private for a fight. He wiped his plate with his toast.

Now he understood.

Finis

Round 13: Fancy

mamalaz — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 09:26:51 GMT

TEAM RON IS THE WINNER! 33 VOTES TO 23!

This Party is Fancy Dress by wellington of TEAM RON

Versus

Hogwarts Reunion by icanhaspankcake of TEAM DRACO

Team Ron gets the points this round!

Round 13: Fancy

mamalaz — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 22:00:17 GMT

The ficadron is back and the thirteenth round has begun!

On one side, we have This Party is Fancy Dress!

On the other side, we have Hogwarts Reunion.

Look at both pieces of artwork and vote for your favourite now!

View Poll: Round 13: Fancy

Voting ends on the nineteenth of February. Watch this space for the results and the next Round!

Round 13 - Fancy - Team B - "Hogwarts Reunion"

mamalaz — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 21:41:27 GMT

Title: Fancy
LJ username: Anonymous
Team: Anonymous
Prompt: Fancy
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: NOT WORKSAFE. PEEN. And public!sex, sort of.
Notes: Ron and Draco have better things to do during their fancy-shmansy Hogwarts reunion.
Also, that yellow blob in the background? Those are people in another room, in case you couldn't tell. And many thanks go to the mods for being so wonderful and patient.
Preview:

Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this image is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.

Round 13 - Fancy - Team A - "This Party is Fancy Dress!"

mamalaz — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 21:38:35 GMT

Title: This Party is Fancy Dress!
LJ username: Anonymous
Team: Anonymous
Prompt: Fancy
Rating: PG
Warnings/Notes: This would actually make more sense if I finished all five of the pics I had planned. Unfortunately time got away from me and I only got two done. Let's just say Ron puts up with a lot for the people he loves, and someone needs to tell Draco that there is such a thing as too fancy. :) I would also like to apologise to my team, for this not being in color. :( I suck at the color. The magazine in Draco's hand says "Wizard Fashion, Latest Styles: Dressing Down", and the words on the second pic say "Hey Weasley, Nice Dress!"
Preview:

Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this image is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.

Round 12: Sweets

mamalaz — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 18:57:21 GMT

TEAM RON IS THE WINNER! 25 VOTES TO 8!

Sneak Attack by bramblerose4 of TEAM RON

Versus

Sweets by littlestar3x of TEAM DRACO

Team Ron gets the points this round!

Round 12: Sweets

mamalaz — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 21:00:59 GMT

After a short hiatus, the ficadron is back and the twelfth round has begun!

On one side, we have Sweets

On the other side, we have Sneak Attack.

Look at both pieces of artwork and vote for your favourite now!

View Poll: Round 12: Sweets

Voting ends on the ninth of February. Watch this space for the results and the next Round!

Round 12 - Sweets - Team B - "Sweets"

mamalaz — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 20:50:05 GMT

Title: Sweets
LJ username: Anonymous
Team: Anonymous
Prompt: Sweets
Rating: U
Preview:

Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this image is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.

Round 12 - Sweets - Team A - "Sneak Attack"

mamalaz — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 20:47:04 GMT

Title: Sneak Attack (Taking What's Mine)
LJ username: Anonymous
Team: Anonymous
Prompt: Sweets
Rating: U
Preview:

Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this image is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.

Apologies for the Disappearance...!

mamalaz — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 07:30:14 GMT

Hi guys, sorry about the lack of posts to the comm, real life has sure been kicking my arse, first with flu then with work - thanks to all of you who enquired, you're utter stars!

But I'm back and the competition resumes tonight with two more brilliant pieces of work.

Stay tuned!

Round 11: Forbidden/Sweat

mamalaz — Sat, 23 Jan 2010 19:45:36 GMT

TEAM RON IS THE WINNER! 30 VOTES TO 9!

Sweat by rons_pigwidgeon of TEAM RON

Versus

You and Me and the Rain Make Three by thrihyrne of TEAM DRACO

Team Ron gets the points this round!

Round 11 - Forbidden/Sweat

mamalaz — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 20:02:40 GMT

The eleventh round of the ficadron has begun! And, moreover, it's our first mixed round!

On one side, we have You and Me and the Rain Make Three

On the other side, we have Sweat.

Read both fics and vote for your favourite now!

View Poll: Round 11 - Forbidden/Sweat

Voting ends on the twenty-second of January. Watch this space for the results and the next Round!

Round 11 - Forbidden/Sweat - Team B - "Sweat"

mamalaz — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 19:29:38 GMT

Title: Sweat
LJ username: Anonymous
Team: Anonmymous
Prompt: Sweat
Length: 2,096 words
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/notes: A huge THANK YOU to aigooism for her speedy beta.

Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.

Sweat

As an Auror, Ron was required to stay fit. This meant that he spent at least an hour a day, five days a week in the Ministry's health and fitness centre. Most days, he saw at least half a dozen other Aurors or MLE officers exercising as well, but it was unusual to see anyone outside of the MLE using the facilities. Lately though, Ron had been seeing more and more of Malfoy there, jogging around the track, swimming laps in the pool, and lifting weights. At first, Ron had been convinced that Malfoy was just trying to annoy him by invading the one area of the Ministry Ron was able to relax in. He'd been angry. Didn't Malfoy have a private gym at home? It seemed that every time he went to exercise, there was Malfoy, running next to him on the track, swimming in the lane next to his, using the same magical weights as he was. Nothing was ever said, but it soon became a competition. If Malfoy was running next to him, Ron had to run faster. If Malfoy was swimming in the next lane, Ron had to reach the next wall sooner. If Malfoy was lifting fifteen kilogram weights, Ron had to lift eighteen.

When he mentioned Malfoy's sudden appearance in the gym, Harry suggested that maybe he had to be fit for his job now, too. They had very little idea of what Unspeakables did from day to day, after all. The suggestion only left Ron feeling more frustrated. He spent the next two weeks trying to find out all he could about what Malfoy did for the Department of Mysteries with very little luck. The best he could suss out was that Malfoy worked near the Veil, but not with it. His research only left him with more questions and a stronger urge to beat Malfoy in their exercises.

Within three months, Ron was the fittest he'd ever been and had started to see Malfoy's presence as less of an annoyance and more of a challenge. The burning curiosity he harbored to know what Malfoy's reasoning was faded into the background, replaced with more pressing mysteries within the Auror department. As the months went by, they fell into a sort of routine, and with it, Ron's suspicions lessened. He had an idea that Malfoy was trying to out-do him just as much as he was trying to out-do Malfoy, but there had been no exchanges of sneering comments or insults. Just challenging looks of determination. And then one day everything changed.

They had been swimming, each trying to reach the wall and turn around faster than the other. They were the only two people in the health centre as far as Ron could tell. His entire concentration was on Malfoy, beating him, getting to that wall faster, flipping over, and pushing off to do it all over again. They had been in the water for at least an hour, neither willing to admit defeat and stop, when Ron finally noticed that his throat was dry and his lungs were straining to get enough air in, and he grudgingly decided that it was time to stop. He reached the wall in the shallow end and stood up, chest heaving water splashing against his bare midsection. He'd beaten Malfoy to the wall at least, but Malfoy wasn't finished. The sound of his splashing was deafening in the large, high-ceilinged room. Ron turned in disgust and pushed himself up and out of the water, snatched his water bottle and towel up, and stomped towards the showers. He could still hear Malfoy's feet splashing against the water when he reached the showers, and he smacked the tiled wall nearest in frustration. It didn't matter how hard he worked—Malfoy was always going harder.

Frustrated and tense, Ron decided to take some time to relax in the sauna before showering. It would be good to sweat some of the chlorine out of his pores before he washed, he decided. He stripped off his swim shorts and hung them on a rack just inside the shower to drip. He grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist and walked into the sauna room adjacent to the locker room. A flick of his wand and the room was soothingly hot. He collapsed on a bench and took in the warm, relaxing smell of moist cedar. There were no more sounds of water splashing, just the steam coming up through the vent. It lulled him into a soothing doze.

He had almost fallen to sleep when the door to the sauna was slammed open and Malfoy stood there, eyes smoldering, towel barely clinging to his hips. Ron shook his head to knock the sleep from his brain and peered blearily at the blond vision standing in front of him. There was water dripping down his bare, toned chest, and his hair hung in wet tangles around his face. Suddenly, Ron's mouth was dry for an entirely new reason.

"What do you think you are doing?" Malfoy growled out, stepping into the room in a manner that was half-menacing and half-incredibly sexy. Ron couldn't keep his eyes off the glistening drops of water, and he had no idea what to say in response. "Why did you stop? I know you can still go another half an hour at least."

Ron frowned, eyebrows knit together in confusion. Why was Malfoy speaking to him? This wasn't part of their routine. Still, he said nothing. He knew that nothing but embarrassing spluttering would come out, and Malfoy didn't need the extra ammunition.

"That is, unless you've finally decided to take this little competition of ours to the next level." He all but prowled up to Ron and invaded his personal space, planting his palms flat on either side of Ron's hips on the bench. They were nose to nose now, and Ron still had no idea what Malfoy was playing at.

“Next level?” he squeaked out, voice faltering. Malfoy smiled a sly smile that made Ron want to squirm. And then he did the most unexpected thing of all. His tongue slithered out of his mouth and he licked Ron’s lips. Shocked, his mouth fell open in a small sigh. Malfoy took advantage, pressing their mouths together. Normally, Ron had a very quick reaction time. Fast reflexes were a requirement for field work as an Auror. But Malfoy kissing him was so completely unexpected that he wasn’t able to move a muscle until Malfoy’s tongue had made a full circuit of his mouth and his teeth were gently nibbling Ron’s bottom lip.

When he finally snapped out of his stunned trance, it took him another moment to decide what to do. He could push Malfoy away and storm out of the room, only to have to tug his clothing on over his sweaty, unwashed body, or he could kiss back, enjoy the feeling of being desired and pursued by an incredibly fit and attractive man for the first time in more months than he wished to think about. In an instant, he’d lifted Malfoy off the ground and had his back pinned to the bench, fingernails clawing into Ron’s back as Ron nearly swallowed him whole in an engulfing kiss. Towels quickly slid from damp hips, legs wrapped around Ron's hips, and their erections slid together. Ron sucked Draco's top lip and then his tongue into his mouth and Draco let out a high-itched keening noise that Ron never would have expected to come out of his mouth. Ron sucked harder on the tongue in his mouth as a show of how aroused it made him. Draco's hand slipped down his back and over his hip to grip his erection, fingers wrapping tightly around the shaft and giving a swift pull. Ron let out an appreciative moan and slid his mouth down Draco's chin, to his Adam's apple bobbing with every swallow. He stopped at a nipple to lav it with long strokes of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. Draco's body arched into the caress, fingers moving to bury themselves in Ron's wet hair.

"Fuck, do you know how long I've been waiting for this?" Draco panted as he tugged Ron's head back up to kiss him again. The kiss was only a brief exchange of tongues before Draco was turning around and kneeling over one of the benches, saliva-wet fingers moving to prepare himself. Ron was momentarily disabled by the sight, enraptured by the delicious view of Draco's fingers slowly fucking in an out of his tight hole. He shook the sense back into his head and spit on his palm to coat his erection. The heated look Draco gave him over his shoulder was all the invitation he needed to kneel behind him and push in. The first inch was torture, so tight he nearly saw white.

"Merlin, you're tight. How long has it been since you were fucked?"

Draco pushed back onto him, head dropping down as his body quivered in pleasure. The ripple nearly pushed Ron over the edge prematurely. He snatched clamped hands on Draco's hips to steady him and pushed further in. "Doesn't matter, just fuck me now," came Draco's still-panting voice over his shoulder. Ron licked a stripe up his spine in answer and began to fuck him in earnest. Soon the room was filled with an intoxicating combination of the scents of cedar and sweat and sex.

***

After the encounter in the steam room, Ron’s relationship with Malfoy changed completely. They continued to push each other physically, but everything became so much more enjoyable. There was banter and flirting and random acts of groping throughout the fitness centre. Draco began to pop into the Auror offices at random, propping himself up on the edge of Ron’s desk and insulting his work ethic and wardrobe choices until Ron would become frustrated enough to covertly pinch him on the arse. Then, Draco would lean over to say extremely dirty things in Ron’s ear about what he was going to do to him in the weight room when they both finished working for the day.

Life continued on. Ron grew to enjoy his new relationship with Draco so much that he could no longer remember what it had been like when they still hated each other and were trying to one-up each other as a matter of pride rather than the intense, teasing foreplay it was now. But still, there were frustrations. They may have been all over each other a work, but they still never met outside of work. They never went to dinner or shared a bed. Ron had never been to Draco’s flat or held his hand on a crowded street. And increasingly, he wanted to. He felt this urge to owl Draco nearly every minute they were apart. He wanted to talk to him all the time, even if it was just to fight with him about whether or not the Canons t-shirt he wore occasionally should be made illegal.

He never gave into these urges. They still did not talk outside of the Ministry. It was as though they were still in silent competition and Ron hated it.

And then one day, things changed again. They were heading into the showers, Draco slapping Ron on the arse and making filthy comments about how good he looked in his swim shorts, when Ron stopped and turned to look at him. Really look at him. Draco stopped, too, and raised an eyebrow at him, but he ignored it. Instead, he cupped Draco’s face in his hands and kissed him for all he was worth. His entire body filled with warmth and he pulled Draco closer, held him tight.

“Move in with me,” he whispered, brushing wet straggles of hair from Draco’s cheek and staring intensely into his eyes. There was a gleam there, and for a minute Ron thought he might make a dismissive joke.

“Can I have the right side of the bed?” Astounded by such a simple request, he nodded, not even caring that the right side had always been his before. “All right then,” he agreed.

Elated, Ron hauled Draco up and carried him into the locker room, kissing him the whole way. The shocked exclamations of the three junior MLE officers already there went unnoticed. Ron was too busy shoving Draco into the tiled wall and kissing his lips off.

Later, they would both be given a stern warning for public indecency. They ignored them.

Round 11 - Forbidden/Sweat - Team A - "You and Me and the Rain Make Three"

mamalaz — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 18:46:19 GMT

Title: You and Me and the Rain Make Three
LJ username: Anonymous
Team: Anonymous
Prompt: Forbidden
Length: 3,340 words
Rating: Hard R
Warnings/notes: Blowjob, angst, major character death. This fic isn't totally without hope, but it does address a very real issue for many people. Massive thanks to my two betas, B. and L. who I'll name once I'm revealed as author.
Summary: Two things are exceedingly unnatural to Ron: being sober, and finding himself attracted to Draco Malfoy. But maybe he can get used to both, if given a chance...

Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.

You and Me and the Rain Make Three

It wasn't the night sweats Ron hated the most. No— that wasn't the worst part. He didn't even so much mind that there were a couple other people from Hogwarts there that he knew. Katie Bell was a scarecrow, though, a spindly caricature of her former self, the Quidditch goddess that he remembered from earlier years. And even more distressing was that she'd been at this specialty treatment centre for nearly a month and had apparently put on a stone; gossip travelled fast in a place like this. His addiction hadn't caused him to quit eating, to be sure.

No, the worst part of this whole experience of checking himself into rehab was that Draco Malfoy also was there. He wasn't checked in for alcohol; that was probably far too pedestrian for him. He'd evidently been brewing his own special concoctions and became addicted to them. He was absolutely unrepentant, too. Ron couldn't figure out why Malfoy was there. Maybe somebody like Parkinson or even Harry had intervened. Harry always had been obsessed with the obnoxious git, and he had a hero complex to boot.

Ron hadn't spent much time with him, but he couldn't avoid him totally. Thankfully when they gathered for group therapy they were split up into three groups and Malfoy wasn't in his. Katie was, however, and her story had made him feel as though his heart had been wrung out like an old dishrag. His wasn't much better, and he'd stumbled over the words to get them out.

Sober. He hated it. And that was why he was sitting outside in the so-called Serenity Garden at night for as long as he was allowed before they closed it, smoking a cigarette. The door opened and a figure appeared. Ron winced involuntarily. Malfoy walked hesitantly toward him. Ron didn't give him an inviting look, but he managed not to scowl outright.

"Can I have a fag?" Malfoy asked.

Ron felt he jaw want to drop, and then took a drag off his cigarette to steady his nerves. "You— smoke?" he asked. He'd seen Malfoy out there a few times, but usually he seemed lost in his own thoughts, or writing in a notebook.

"On occasion. Look, never mind." He turned and started to walk away.

"Oi! Here." Ron fumbled with the pack and pulled one out. Malfoy turned back around and accepted the proffered cigarette. Ron lit it with a lighter. All residents were required to surrender their wands as part of the intake process. Anyone caught doing wandless magic was booted out.

"Thanks." Malfoy inhaled deeply, coughed, and then composed himself again. "Who turned you in?" he asked bluntly.

Ron tried and failed not to be captivated by the perfect small u-shape in the middle of his upper lip. This was madness. It was utterly insane to be attracted to Malfoy, especially when he was so relentlessly sober. Merlin, he'd kill for a bottle of Ogden's right now. It would certainly make their conversation less excruciatingly awkward.

"I did."

Malfoy gave him a wary look. "Really?"

"Yes. Fell off my broom out in the middle of nowhere, broke a few bones and it scared the piss out of me. You?"

Malfoy took another drag off the cigarette and gave him a sour look. "Potter."

Ron nodded sagely. "I wondered. But how did he—"

"I'm not going into details."

"Fair enough."

They looked at each other, and Ron realised with sick fascination that he was thinking about kissing Malfoy's thin lips and grinding against the jut of his pelvis. Surely this was just a side effect of withdrawal, or maybe the new infusions the medi-wizards had been giving him. Or the indisputable fact that, for months, he'd done nothing but wank.

Abruptly he stood up, puffed a last round and ground out his cigarette in the appropriate container. "Guess I'll try to sleep," he said, keeping his distance even though his instinct was to give the man a hug.

Malfoy gave an affirmative noise. "Think I'll stay out here until they force me back." He took a far more successfully elegant drag off of his cigarette. "See you at breakfast."

"Yeah."

Ron padded back to his room, waving inconsequentially to the medi-witch on guard. Once alone in his room, he shrugged off his coat and peeled off his jeans, toeing off his shoes as part of the process. After crawling under his covers, he found his attentions returning to Malfoy with the strength of iron to a lodestone. Ron had been in rehab a good fortnight and Malfoy had managed to remain peripheral, something Ron should have known wouldn't last. They had too much history. And now…

He let his hand drift to his boxers, sliding underneath the waistband to his hardening cock. As he pulled and stroked, he imagined other fingers wrapped around him, a more slender palm, a tighter grip. His fantasy self opened his eyes, found he was lying down on a bed, not here, not an institutional bed that wasn't much of an improvement from lying on the floor. Grey eyes regarded him warily as Ron imagined reaching down, his awkward meaty fingers hesitantly trailing through damp curls to the novelty of a cock different from his own.

"Merlin." He groaned and squeezed his eyes together as he let his fantasy progress dizzyingly along. What would Malfoy's cock feel like? Would it curve to the left or right, or jut out forwards for the taking? Would it be thin or hefty, have a knobbly crown or barely peek out from a fleshy skin? How would it taste…?

"Fuck," he groaned when he came, wondering just how messed up in the head he must be to have just wanked to the thought of Malfoy.

* * * * *

"This is absolute bollocks," Malfoy hissed derisively.

"No shite," Ron growled in reply.

Ron looked at the images he'd cut out of a magazine, spread out around him without rhyme or reason. The truth was, he concurred. Cutting out pictures from a variety of wizarding magazines to represent the dreams or visions he had for himself in the future was utter rubbish. He glanced over at Malfoy's panoply of pictures, and was taken aback by what he saw. There were lush gardens, and tropical islands, isolated huts on the edge of endless forests… a whole lot of escapism, Ron thought to himself.

"So where are you planning on going after this?" he asked aloud, gesturing at the moving photos with his scissors.

"Straight to my fucking lab." Malfoy gave him a hard look. "I didn't ask to be here, and I don't plan to take away any of these so-called helpful lifestyle changes with me when I go."

Ron mulled his statement over, moving around the pictures he'd obediently cut out. There were several good-looking blokes, as he did hope finally to be able to have sex with another guy. Part of his coming out to Hermione had caused his spectacular spiral. Sadly, aside from two nights at a gay club when he was so cabbaged he couldn't remember what he'd done, he'd not yet been able to explore his urges. Was that why he now found Malfoy attractive? He might not even be a woofter, but Ron thought it was a high possibility.

The therapist wandered around, making positive comments in a soothing, placating tone.

"Why the focus on men?" Malfoy asked.

"That's a bit personal," Ron retorted without even thinking.

"Suit yourself."

Ron watched Malfoy pull some of his infamously distinct hair behind his ears, the gesture unassuming and yet somehow erotic. What did Ron have to lose in telling the truth? Maybe once they got out of this, they could… go out for drinks? Ron sighed. Relentless sobriety allowed him to think far too much and with far more clarity than he was comfortable with.

"Look," he said in a low voice. "I realised that deep down, I fancy guys. Of all people, I'm a poofter. You can just imagine how well that went over with Hermione. Some people who I'd thought were real friends, well, they weren't. You can make fun if you like— I'm at peace with it. And besides, I'd thrash you," he added for ego's sake.

Malfoy's expression transformed to one of utter surprise. "You?" He gaped. "But—"

"I don't know why I told you," Ron snapped. "It's not like we're even friends."

Malfoy shrugged, an unassuming gesture. "I don't hate you any more. And besides, I've known I was queer since I was fourteen. Couldn't act on it until later. We're definitely in the minority in the Wizarding world."

Ron digested this information, which seemed to be a token gesture of peace. He moved his pictures around, rearranging them and thinking with increasing dread that reorganising his future would be nothing like this.

"I really don't know how I'm going to cope back in London," Ron admitted. "How am I supposed to meet anybody if I can't go to pubs, or clubs?" he continued on, his voice rising in pitch and desperation.

"There are ways." Malfoy's voice was reassuring. "Are you honestly not going to drink?"

Ron shrugged, feeling more helpless than ever. "I'd like to think that I could function without it. I've done some pretty scary stuff when I was blotto. Nearly killed myself a few times. Not on purpose."

He looked at Malfoy and saw understanding etched in his features. Maybe it was empathy. Was there a flicker of desire to add to the palate? Surely not. Fucking Cerberus, Ron actually wanted to strip him down and do all sorts of wicked things to him. Relationships weren't allowed between patients, though the understanding was of that between a witch and wizard, not two of the same gender. This was leagues beyond the safe bound of insanity. Them getting together was forbidden, not to mention mad and highly improbable.

"Let's talk. Later. Outside, when it's just the two of us," Malfoy murmured, letting his fingers brush lightly over Ron's knee. "I did some crazy things, too. Obviously we're not the only ones."

He looked around the room and Ron was reminded that indeed, there was no shortage of people who had issues with various chemicals, potions, and other destructive behaviours.

"Okay everyone," the therapist cooed, her expression impossibly serene and positive. "Time to share your dreams for the future of your lives free of the chains of addiction that have bound you to fear."

Ron let out a heavy sigh equalled by Draco's. He looked over at him and Draco winked. Ron's libido threw itself into high gear and his blood pounded in his ears. It was going to be a long afternoon with no respite.

* * * * *

Ron made it through dinner, an ego-shattering role-playing therapy session, and mandatory journaling time. Shockingly he hadn't wanted to punch the wall, not even once. Maybe he was making progress… more likely, it was that his thoughts weren't really on himself. He'd found an unexpected attraction to his former classmate, perhaps somewhat to do with the fact that he understood what it was like to have lived so dangerously. Pathologically. Losing friends, family, jobs, not to mention hours and days that he couldn't remember or account for. With this additional information that Malfoy played on his team surprised him in ways that made him awkwardly conscious of his groin. He actually found himself hoping they'd have time in Serenity Garden— alone. That was rare. As he wandered outside, he saw with sinking hope that there were two other residents, and Malfoy. Draco smiled at him, and Ron thought the expression didn't entirely suit him. It was probably that he was used to seeing a sneer.

"May I join you?" Malfoy asked as Ron produced his cigarettes.

"'Course."

They both lit up and with a nod, Draco motioned to a corner with a bench.

"I wish we could sit together in my room," Malfoy said ruefully.

"But we can't. Staff rules. Pretty silly if you ask me."

The other two residents stood up and went inside. Now it was just the two of them, in the semi-dark, and Ron found he couldn't stop looking at his lips. Since when did he find himself attracted to Malfoy? He'd obviously lost his mind.

Draco checked to make sure they were alone and then moved his hand to Ron's leg. "I'm much more experienced than you are," he said.

"That's not fair! I was married, you know."

"Not to a man," Draco replied in a voice that struck Ron as not really all that nasal after all.

"Well, true, but we can't, you know, um, out here," Ron stammered.

"I didn't think that you ever followed the rules. You sure as Hades didn't at Hogwarts."

Ron opened his mouth, but it was true. He shut it.

"Put out your cigarette," Draco demanded.

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to kiss you."

Gulping, but leaning in, Ron said in a tone huskier than usual, "Shouldn't you wait to get my permission?"

"More rules. Fuck them."

Then Draco's lips were on his, and the hand moved from his thigh to the bulge between his legs. Ron moaned into the kiss, a wild tangling of tongues and smoke-smelling warmth.

"I think this," Draco murmured, "proves that I'm right."

Ron confirmed the statement by putting his hand on top of Draco's.

"I — never — would —" Ron's words were deliciously interrupted by more nips and Draco running his tongue across his teeth.

Draco pulled away to say firmly, "I would never have expected this. Ever. In a million years, and the million after that. And I think we can get away with a quickie."

"Excuse me?"

"A quickie. Or I think I'll just suck your cock."

Startled and incredibly aroused, Ron gawped at him. "One of the staff or residents could walk out anytime. That's crazy!"

"Oh, go on. I'll be thorough and fast. Live a little."

Ron's brain was trying to tell him No way on Merlin's green earth! but the rest of him was joyous at the thought of a blowjob. That hadn't been something Hermione particularly enjoyed and he'd felt like a berk to ask for them on occasion.

"I really, really hope nobody comes out here," he said as he allowed Draco to unzip his jeans.

"Me too. I tend to be lucky, however."

Ron groaned when in the dark, at a rehabilitation centre, Draco kneeled and licked his cock.

"Be quiet," Draco warned, and then sucked him down.

"Sweet Merlin," Ron whispered.

Draco was quite skilled, and he was obviously happy to be engaged in his task. Ron's world shrank down to nothing but him gripping the bench, slurping sounds, and the surreality of Draco's head bobbing between his legs. Soon, too soon, he knew he was going to explode. He put his hand on Draco's head to motion to pull off, but Draco shook his head. In fact, he increased his speed and held the base of his erection.

"Nnnnnngh," Ron sighed as quietly as possible. He panicked, thinking he heard somebody walk out, but it was just the wink. "You're incredible. That was fucking amazing."

"Why, thank you." Draco looked serene, and as poutily satisfied as the best porn star.

"What can I do for you?" Ron asked somewhat helplessly because he'd just had the best blowjob of his life.

"Nothing. Don't want to get caught."

"But…" Ron's voice died out as he had a vision of just how embarrassing that would be. He nodded and tucked himself in. They both stood and Ron decided he could savour one more kiss before going in for the night. With his hands shoved into Draco's back pockets, their lips met. This one was more gentle and salty, a flavour of recent passion.

"HEY!"

Ron nearly jumped out of his skin. Draco was irritatingly blasé as the staff attendant on night duty strode angrily toward them.

"None of that, mates! You know inter-patient relationships are strictly prohibited. Especially with…" His expression was barely-restrained disgust. "With two men."

Draco held his head up haughtily. "I don't care what you think about gays, you troglodyte. I was just leaving, anyway."

The attendant looked furiously at them. Ron was reminded of Snape.

"Ron, let's go."

"I'll check your rooms, you better believe it! Don't you even think about continuing this," the attendant said with venom.

"Not to worry," Draco said equally nastily, but he defiantly held Ron's hand until they got inside.

Once inside the institution, privacy was nearly impossible, so Ron said simply, "Good night, Draco. It's been… memorable."

Draco's eyes sparkled with lust. "I'll relive those memories for some time myself—"

"Gentlemen!" the attendant barked, leaning heavily on the first two syllables. "Beds! Now!"

"I'm going," Ron groused. "See you tomorrow."

"Do I have to force—"?

"Goodnight, Ron."

In bed, Ron relived the unreality of it and thought about a wank, but that seemed somehow disrespectful of the amazing oral sex Draco had given him.

* * * * *

In the morning, Ron discovered Draco had demanded to be discharged early. Maybe he'd planned that for a while, and that knowledge had fuelled their tryst. It made his breakfast a nearly inedible and sombre experience. He'd really come to like the man. Ron still had ten days to go, but he promised himself that he'd find Draco when he was released. That was certain and consoled him somewhat. Enough for his stomach to relax enough to have toast to go with his coffee.

* * * * *

It was with very slow and purposeful steps that Ron approached the Malfoy family cemetery. He wasn't at all sure that there wouldn't be a couple of ghosts lurking around and he really didn't want to deal with that. Draco had, as vehemently proclaimed, returned home and to his lab. Somehow he'd miscalculated either how much he'd taken or the potency of what he'd brewed. No quiet overdose for Draco— he'd been at one of the hippest clubs in Wizarding London when his heart suddenly stopped. It had been all over The Prophet, with Rita Skeeter writing up her final nauseating obituary, describing him as a rebellious spoiled brat. Which, Ron had to concur, was true in some ways. But then he'd seen glimpses of another side of him, and glimpses were all they'd ever be now.

He stood at the grave. Draco's name, dates of birth and death and the Malfoysian crest were etched into the stone.

"Well, fuck."

He'd brought a white lily, not knowing what the fuck flower would be remotely appropriate for a young wizard who died from an overdose of something he'd carefully brewed himself. After placing it on top of the gravestone he clumsily sat on the ground, leaning his back against it. It was frigid. He took out a cigarette and lit it, evaluating how he felt. 'The emotional range of a teaspoon'? What the fuck had Hermione really known?

"I do care, a lot," he said bitterly. "Maybe you were only interested in the one time, but we could have given it a go. I'd have liked to at least done the same for you, though I know it wouldn't have been as good. Damn you! Why couldn't you have died later? Like years and years later?"

Some annoying commentary from one of the therapists at the centre about the sad statistics of addicts back out in the world came resentfully to his mind, and caused a further stream of furious invectives about the fucking world being more fucking fair. Reflective of his miasma of sorrow and desolation, ran began to fall. He held his cigarette until it got soggy.

"Just you and me and the rain. So sorry things turned out like this."

Once on unsteady feet he ran a hand over chilled stone and left the cigarette as an offering. He sighed, and turned and plodded away.

Finis

Round 10: Energy

mamalaz — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 18:15:32 GMT

TEAM DRACO IS THE WINNER! 32 VOTES TO 18!

Energy 2 by cugami of TEAM DRACO

Versus

Energy by colorcapsule of TEAM RON

Team Draco gets the points this round!