The Prophecy of Absconditus

Chapter Eleven: Transition

"Mundungus Fletcher?"

Draco's fingers twitched by his side and Ron stepped back, afraid that Draco was ready to hit him over the head.

"He's a member of the Order!"

"He's a criminal!"

"You don't have a lot of room to speak with your family."

"There is nothing wrong with my family. We're eccentric."

"Your brother's revealing charm requires wiggling up and down making 'ooh aah' noises. Your father joined the Death Eaters because he thought the Dark Mark was stylish."

"Don't be so loud. Someone will hear you."

"Because no one heard you complaining about Mundungus Fletcher. Besides, everyone knows your father was a Death Eater."

"Yes, but he's dead now, so lay off. I know he had some --- er -- issues. He thought melon looked good on him. In fact my father thought everything looked good on him, but that's no reason to attack him when he can't defend himself. You want to talk about a batty family, why don't we talk about yours?"

"Lay off my family, Draco. I think that over the years you've said more than enough about what you think of my family."

"I wouldn't insult them if they weren't all such a bunch of nutters."

"Yours is a bunch of criminals so lay off Mundungus. He gave us a place to eat and have a quick nap before we were off again."

"And why was it a quick nap? Because the Ministry decided to show up and demand to know about black market creatures. We could have been napping above a Blast Ended Skrewt for all we know."

"Actually, those are legal, so --"

"Yes, Weasley, I'm so sorry, I forgot he was harboring illegal creatures under our beds."

"There's no need to be so shirty."

"Sorry but I get in a right state when I have to crawl through a window and run from the law."

"They didn't even know we were there."

"You should have known better. Mundungus Fletcher! Honestly, Weasley, why didn't we just camp outside of Azkaban for the night?"

"Because Mundungus Fletcher's place is on the list? And it's closer."

"Which makes all the difference. Who else is in this Order of yours? Professor Umbridge and Sirius Black?"

"Shut up," said Ron before he realized what he was doing. "You just shut up about Sirius."

Draco fell silent, stilled in his advance, and watched as Ron walked past. Crossing his arms over his chest, Draco resumed his pace to catch up with Ron. Meeting his footsteps, Draco dropped his hands to his thighs as climbed a hilly stretch of the woods.

The path taken in accordance with the map was set off the main roads and in areas that would be easy to hide in if someone were to wander by. It involved a lot of climbing, and a lot of going between the sun and the shade. They wore thick layers of clothing, especially as it started to get dark. Yesterday, the first day of this journey, they spent the night with some witch Draco did not know named Emmeline Vance. Tonight, they were supposed to be sleeping at Mundungus Fletcher's, but that hadn't worked out, which was a shame, too. It was bloody cold out here.

"I think we should get to London sometime tomorrow afternoon," said Draco. Ron nodded. "What did I say?"

"Nothing."

"If I hadn't said anything you'd still be sparring with me. What's Sirius Black got to do with anything?"

"Just don't say anything about him if you don't want to be castrated. Especially around Harry."

"Why?"

"Don't tell me you were in Death Eater training and you didn't know."

"I know that Sirius Black is the reason Potter's parents are dead and that he broke out of Azkaban to kill Potter."

"I can't believe you were in Death Eater training and didn't know."

"Didn't know what? It isn't like we know all of Voldemort's secrets. You don't learn anything until you get your Mark, really. Too risky. Especially if you're like me and you don't take the Mark when the time comes."

"It's a long story. Short version is that Sirius didn't kill Harry's parents, Peter Pettigrew did. Pettigrew didn't die, he's a Death Eater, and very much alive. Sirius was in the Order, but he's dead now."

"Wha -- Sirius -- he wasn't after Potter?"

"He was after Wormtail -- Pettigrew. He was after Pettigrew. We were all sort of close to him."

"Sorry."

Ron shrugged. "No big deal. He's gone. Let's not talk about it. That was a bad day." Draco watched as Ron's fingers went to his wrist, rubbing at ugly scarred ribbons wrapping across the flesh and disappearing under the cuff of his old jumper. Draco couldn't recall seeing them before. "We should set up camp before it gets too dark to see anything."

"Yeah, right." Draco looked from their bags to their surroundings and frowned. "With what? We can't use magic here because it isn't populated enough. It's on the map. And we didn't bring anything but our clothes. We weren't supposed to be sleeping outside."

"I know that, but our host was last seen fighting for his freedom."

"I still can't believe you expected more from Mundungus Fletcher."

"Come off it. We're just going to have to make do with the hard ground. You can do that, can't you? It won't make you have a stroke or go into cardiac arrest?"

"Sod off. I'm not as much of a spoilt prat as you think. I camped at the Quidditch World Cup, remember?"

"Actually, I don't recall seeing you except for the game and hiding in the woods from Daddy dearest and his Death Eater pals."

"If we're not talking about the dead, leave my father out of it. We camped. I just didn't want to be seen associating with people like you."

"Didn't camp like this."

"No, but . . . I'm not a priss. I'm quite capable of sleeping on the ground. As much as I may look like him, I am not my father."

"Well then let's get to it. Show me what a camper you really are."

Draco looked around the setting from the moss covered rocks to the dead leaves scattered across the ground. The early November air swept through the branches and down onto the boys; Ron wrapped his arms around his chest and shivered. Running water trickled over the whispers of the wind and Draco headed off in that direction.

"What are you doing?"

"Bathing."

"That water is too cold. You're going to get sick."

"I'm dirty. I need to bathe. I'll be fine."

"Draco, it is the eighth of November and you are about to jump into water. Outdoors. Without clothing."

"Do you expect me to wear these robes in the water?"

"You are insane."

"I guess this means you won't be joining me."

"You're certainly right I won't be joining you."

"You should. You smell, too."

"If you go into that water and get sick, don't think I'll be helping you out. I warned you and you didn't listen."

Draco rolled his eyes and undid the laces on his shoes. They were beaten and worn, unlike last week when they were still at Hogwarts and sporting a fine, high polish. Dirt collected in semicircles beneath Draco's nails. Painted pale skin collected fine layers of dust over a period of seven days underground. White-blond hair looked paler than usual, unhealthy, dull. The little sun Draco encountered when leaving the dungeons had once made a difference.

Every inch of Draco's body seemed so familiar except for the obvious Malfoy trademarks. The skin was too fair; the hair was too light. Facial features were altered, more pointed than Bade Mizar's, but Ron noticed they were softer around the edges than most Malfoys. His collarbone had the same pronounced arc. Long tapered fingers were identical down to the freckle on Draco's right pinky. The stretch of Draco's neck has the same smooth grace as its predecessor. Had he always looked this beautiful?

Discarding his robes, Draco wasted little time. He immersed his body into the chest-deep water and howled.

"Shit, it's cold!"

Ron snickered. "I told you."

"Shit, shit, shit!"

"You're going to freeze to death now. It's going to be my entire fault because I didn't stop you. If it comes to that, I'll claim it was suicide. You had a death wish. Something about mourning your father."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did tell you. You just didn't listen."

"I need a warming charm."

"We can't use charms out here."

"I need my robes."

"Get out of the water."

"I can't. Too cold."

"You are hopeless."

Ron walked to the water edge and pulled Draco's arms away from where his hands clasped his shoulders. With a heave, Ron yanked Draco from the water, grabbed Draco's robes from the ground, and wrapped them around his body.

"I told you."

"How was I supposed to know?"

"It's November."

"I'm going to get sick. I need to get indoors."

"We have to get to London tomorrow. No getting sick until we're in London, then you can get feverish all you like."

"I think I'm already stuffed up. I can't breathe through my nose."

"You're quite the drama queen."

"I am not."

"You are too." Ron left Draco's side to search through Draco's bag. He pulled out a fur-lined cloak, trousers, and a jumper, pausing to marvel at the richness of the fabrics before carrying them over to Draco. "Put these on and do it fast. You need to get warm."

"How could you let me do that?"

"I tried to stop you."

"You did not." Draco dropped the cloak and pulled on the pants. Yanking the jumper over his head, he used the damp robes to wring out his hair and then pulled on the cloak. "You didn't try to stop me. You stood off to the side and watched me just about kill myself."

"You didn't just about kill yourself."

"Yes, I did. Didn't you see? If the water was deeper I would have gone into shock and drowned."

"No, you wouldn't have. You exaggerate about everything."

"We need a fire. We need blankets. We're going to freeze out here. We're close to an area on the map where we can use magic. Why don't we just chance it? I'm not turning into an icicle and my hair is already freezing."

Ron hesitated, but Draco had a point. They couldn't sleep the way they were without a fire, and Ron didn't know how to start one without magic. With the way the Malfoy family was so against Muggles, Ron was willing to bet that Draco had no idea how to start one without his wand, either. Glancing at the map, Ron sighed. They needed some sort of warmth, especially with Draco soaked.

Pulling out his wand, Ron conjured the bluebell flames he learned from Hermione in first year. He transfigured a pile of leaves into a pile of blankets, causing Draco to applaud. McGonagall would have been proud. They spread out the blankets, bunching one up for a pillow, and arranged their bed for the night. Draco approached the sleeping arrangement, and tripped over a root, falling against Ron's left side. Ron caught him by the arm before he could crash to the ground.

"I think you just pulled my arm out of its socket."

"Don't whine," said Ron, pulling Draco to his feet. "You need to be more careful."

"I can't see where I'm going. My hair is in my eyes. I have too much of it."

"Why don't you get it cut?"

Ron almost stumbled from the cold glare he received in reply.

"Okay, forget the haircut. This why you smother it back until you're hair is a shield?"

"It gets in my eyes."

"I can see that." Ron ran a piece of Draco's hair between his thumb and index finger, let it bounce at the end when released. He grinned, pushed the hair back from Draco's forehead, and wrapped his arms around Draco's waist. Sighing, Draco's head dropped, forehead resting against Ron's chest. "You're out of sorts tonight."

"You have that effect on me."

Ron laughed, shaking his head. "I've heard some crazy things in my time, but that tops them all."

"You do. Don't think you're the only one affected by the Bade-Ryan connection. I can't get you off of my mind and . . . Why did you think I couldn't sleep unless you were there? Do you think --"

Grabbing Draco's chin, Ron tilted his head up to meet his eyes. Words stilled in Draco's throat, forced back with the oxygen he could no longer manage to breathe. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and Draco licked the soft pink of his lips. Angling his head forward, Draco's eyelids fell shut, and Ron traced his index finger along Draco's cheek before pressing his lips to Draco's.

At first, Draco didn't kiss back. Ron ran his lips over Draco's and sucked the bottom lip into his mouth, suckling, licking the chapped flesh. Too much cold, Ron thought. Draco's lips were splitting just as much as his own were. The skin felt rough against his tongue, and Ron slid further into Draco's mouth.

A low moan issued from the back of Draco's throat, and then he kissed back, harder than Ron had. Draco met Ron's kisses with more force, challenging him, inviting him farther and closer and to a place all more intimate. Just like so much had been lately with Draco, it was foreign and familiar, terrible and wonderful, and Ron wanted to scream if only because he needed to release the tension trembling beneath the surface of his skin.

Fingertips twitched and danced across any exposed flesh of Ron's skin. Draco groped at Ron's body in a furious rush, ripping at material. His tongue ran the length of Ron's, his teeth nibbled at Ron's bottom lip, and he ravished Ron's mouth with his own.

Grabbing Draco by the front of his cloak, Ron forced him to his knees and then on his back upon the pile of blankets he had transfigured. Ripping the top layer of blankets back, Ron nestled Draco's body into the makeshift bed before removing the cloak. Somewhere in the back of Ron's mind, he thought it was such a waste that Draco dressed minutes before when everything was coming off again. His fingers fought with the button on Draco's trousers until he felt Draco's fingers slide between his own to undo the button.

Ron pulled the blankets up around them, burying them in a mass of dark green material. Yanking at the worn Weasley jumper, Draco worked it off of Ron's torso, and he tossed it to the side. Soft cotton from the blankets rubbed against the exposure on Ron's back while Draco's palms rubbed across his chest, brandishing coarse fingertips over sensitive skin.

When it happened, it was nothing like Ron expected. Taking Draco, surrounded by him, was nothing like Ron could comprehend before this moment when he lay spent with Draco in his arms. The dreams with Bade were child's play compared to the way his muscles convulsed beneath his skin. When his orgasm hit, Ron screamed Draco's name, clinging to the body beneath him. Draco clung to the blankets above his head and writhed, thrusting with shaky motions before collapsing.

Moonlight filtering through the branches played shadows onto the ground, and Ron saw his own hand shaking in the pale rays. He pulled Draco's body closer to his own, brushed his palm over Draco's thigh, and cupped Draco's hipbone. Pressing his lips to the back of Draco's neck, Ron nuzzled his nose into sticky blond hair.

"Suppose that bath was a waste of my time," said Draco. Ron snickered.

"Going to make you sick, too. Suppose I'm going to have to take care of you."

"Don't do that. I wouldn't know how to react. No one ever took care of me when I was sick before, except for house elves, but they don't count."

"Draco?"

"Hm?"

"I'm tired."

"Me too."

Draco spooned back into Ron, and it was he who fell asleep first. Ron stared up at the darkened sky long after Draco fell asleep, thinking about what had happened. What was going to happen? What did this mean? It was all too confusing. It felt so wrong, but so right, and Ron couldn't even remember how he had come to have Draco Malfoy laying beside him by his own free will.

Ron would throw the blame on Bade and his visions, as he often liked to push the blame for things off onto other people, but there was no denying he had been a big part of what just happened. In his dreams, visions, Ron had the unfortunate reaction to fall in love with Bade just as he had done as Ryan so many years ago, but Ron was not Ryan. This was a new life, and Bade was not the same beauty that he had been. He was Draco Malfoy, arrogant little prat with too much time on his hands and an extensive knowledge of button making.

Smirking, Ron kissed the curve of Draco's neck and closed his eyes.

"I was your Prince, not your King," said Ron, brushing back Draco's hair before he fell asleep.

*

Ron was sick of walking. His feet hurt, his calves hurt, and that was only from last night's shag on the cold, hard ground. If he had to hear Draco complain about the pain in his arse one more time, Ron was going to shove something else up there, preferably a large tree branch that would rip and tear at the tissue when it was removed.

They had been walking all day and only for the last five minutes did Ron realize where they were. A grin spread over his face catching sight of Kingsley and Tonks halfway down the street. It was darker than it should have been, and Draco shifted, scratching at the back of his neck. Someone must have already used the Put-Outer. How long had they been waiting for him?

"Where are you going?" asked Draco as they approached number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"He can't see it yet," said Tonks, chuckling. Her hair was bright orange today, reminding Ron a lot of his bedroom back at the Burrow. Ron gave her a withered smile.

"He's been like this the whole trip. So this is where Hideout C is?"

"You've got it. Come on. Quickly, now."

Kingsley pulled a piece of parchment out of his robes and handed it to Draco. Fighting back a grin, Ron watched as Draco read over it and then stared blankly at Kingsley. He felt very much the same way when arriving with his family. It felt nice to share this place with Draco, as frightening as it could be. He hoped Kreacher wasn't hanging around. Ron got the distinct feeling that there would be personality clashes between the house elf and Draco Malfoy.

"I don't get --"

"Think about what you just read," said Ron. Tonks patted him on the shoulder.

Draco crossed his arms, arched an eyebrow, and frowned.

"Nothing's happening."

"It would if you'd just --"

An old, battered door appeared between numbers eleven and thirteen, Grimmauld Place, as if out of nowhere. Draco's already arched eyebrow went higher, his arms dropping to his sides, and his bag fell to the ground. Tonks chuckled, grabbed his bag, and gave Draco a nudge toward the door. Walking ahead with Ron, Kingsley tapped the door, and after a series of clicks, the door swung open. Draco gaped.

"Wha --"

"I'll explain to you later," said Ron, grabbing Draco's hand. "Come on. Before someone sees."

The first thing Ron noticed was that it smelled a lot better than it had the last time he was here. Complete darkness shrouded them for the arrival, but now that Kingsley and Tonks stepped inside, gas lamps and candles lit up and illuminated the room. Now in the light, the second thing Ron noticed was how much cleaner it was. The wallpaper still peeled, but the chandelier glittered once again, and new curtains hung where the old moth-eaten ones had been.

Footsteps rushed down the staircase and then Ginny and Hermione faced them.

"Silver said you were coming," said Ginny, rushing at Ron and pulling him into a hug. "When Kerry showed up with the letter we figured you'd be along in only a few days. Mum's been worried sick when she didn't hear anything from you."

"I couldn't --"

"Oh, I know all about Hideout B. How did you survive without magic?"

"Well --"

"How did you survive with -- er --"

Ginny motioned toward Draco with her head.

"Ginny, maybe you should give Ron a chance to breathe," said Kingsley. Turning a light shade of pink, Ginny nodded and took a step back.

"Did you see the Prophet article?"

"Of course he didn't," said Hermione. "There was an article --"

"About the siege," said Ron. "Yeah, I saw it. Snape's been nicking copies of the paper so we can keep up with the news."

Hermione pursed her lips but didn't say anything. Ron got the feeling she was running over an extensive speech in her head about how dangerous that was and how a Hogwarts professor should know better. Holding back a sigh, Ron glanced to where Draco stood beside him. His posture was perfect, shoulders back and chin square, showing no sign of being the same person who had whined and complained over half the way here. He certainly showed no signs of being the same person who had moved beneath Ron to euphoria the night before. Ron tugged on the sleeve of his robes.

"You okay?"

Draco glanced to Ron from the corner of his eye and then to Ginny and Hermione. The girls wavered glances between the two; Hermione settled on Ron while Ginny settled on Draco.

"Fine."

"We need to talk to Professor Leiss and Harry."

"Zabini, too," said Draco.

"Right. Blaise is here, right?"

"Blaise started off here," said Hermione. "We were barely at Hideout A when Madam Pomfrey found out that your mum and dad were here at C. She thought Ginny would want to be where they were and so I came along with. Got here two days after Harry first arrived. It's nicer at A than it is here, but we have more freedom with our magic here."

"You think this is bad, you should see B."

"To be fair, I liked Hideout B," said Draco. Ron grinned.

"I did, too. I miss it there already."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"I miss Phoenix."

"You're the only one."

"Who's Phoenix?" said Hermione.

"Oh. Phoenix. Professor Valmont."

Hermione nodded.

"Well, if you need to see Professor Leiss, I'll be pleased to go and fetch her for you. Harry and Blaise, too."

They left the hallway and Ron dared to give a glance at the curtains covering the portrait of old Mrs. Black. She was quiet now, which Ron assumed was for the best. He got the feeling that if she started screaming (especially at Draco), an interesting fight would arise in one of the most inappropriate times. Turning to Draco, Ron reached out for his hand, and Draco glanced around the deserted corridor before taking it.

"I don't fit in here," said Draco. He stared at the ground.

"That isn't true."

Draco shrugged, turning his attention away from Ron and onto a doorway.

"What do you think Potter's going to say when he finds out about us?"

"He'll probably be a lot nicer about it if you're gentle on the woman thing. Don't patronize him. He already knows about the Prophecy so there's no need to act like he doesn't. Just play nice."

"You're asking a lot of me."

"No, I'm not. You just want me to believe I'm asking a lot of you."

"You think you have me all figured out."

"I think you're a lot less complicated than what I imagined."

"Ron!"

Draco ripped his hand away from Ron's and shoved them deep into his pockets. Spinning around, Ron grinned as he caught sight of Harry hanging at the bottom of the stairs, Blaise standing just behind him. Giving a little wave, Ron rocked on his heels and nodded to Blaise.

"Rebekah will be down in a little while," said Blaise. "We have a lot to talk about."

"No kidding," said Draco.

Catching Harry's eye, Ron grinned.

"All right, Harry?"

"Hurt to be back here at first, but now . . . I miss him."

"How are you about the Prophecy?"

"Which one?" Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "Actually, I'm okay. I wasn't, but . . ."

"He's dealing," said Blaise. "We both are. You?"

"Dealing," said Draco.

"We think we figured a lot out, though," said Harry.

"I can fill in a lot of gaping holes," said Ron.

"He knows everything," said Draco. "You need to know something about one of us and Ron's got it all stored up there in that Seer brain of his. Creepy, really."

"We can trade information and theories all we want, but can we eat first? You wouldn't happen to have anything edible that actually resembles food, would you? Hideout B came equipped with nicked Hogwarts food and not much else."

"Besides Snape's boar-hunting abilities," said Draco. Ron snorted, laughing.

"Right. That too."

"I can see you two have become friends," said Blaise.

"Snape and Phoenix didn't give us much of a choice," said Ron. "It was make nice or -- well -- I don't know what they would have done to us."

"Probably make us clean the Potions room."

"Good we got along. That place was disgusting."

"Well, you know, my brother is highly persuasive."

"Did I hear someone say something about food?" said Leiss. She walked up behind Blaise and passed him on the staircase to join Ron and Draco. "You two hungry? Kerry Daubert said that the food at Hideout B was like eating chalk and paste."

"The porridge wasn't that bad," said Draco.

"Yes, it was."

"Was it really?"

"Yes."

"Kerry said you were in the infirmary just before he left, Ron."

"I was. Visions. You know."

"Right. Well, I say we eat, and then we have some manners to discuss. Let us know what Phoenix told you and we'll let you know what we've learned. Hey, at least we know what those strange visions of yours mean now."

"And that Potter's a woman," said Draco. Four nasty glares shot in his direction. "What? Someone had to say it. Don't tell me you couldn't feel the tension from it being unspoken. I was about to burst if someone didn't acknowledge it."

"I told you to play nice," said Ron.

"I am playing nice. I was just stating so that I didn't spontaneously combust. It needed to be said."

"Leave him alone," said Blaise.

"Can we just drop this?" said Harry. "I thought you wanted to eat."

"We do," said Ron, fixing Draco with his eyes. "Don't we, Draco?"

"I was just -- oh, fine. Potter wasn't a woman. I know nothing. Okay? Can I eat now?"

Leiss laughed, leading them into the kitchen, and started fixing a late dinner.