The Substitute

Chapter 4

Knowing

It had been very touch and go on whether Draco Malfoy was going to press charges against Ron. It hadn’t been Ron’s idea, the way the problem was solved. He would never have chosen for it to be that way.

Evidently, Madam Pomfrey told Professor Dumbledore that Ron had been raped by Draco Malfoy. She had collected the evidence when she’d cleaned up Ron in the hospital wing. (He was mercifully unconscious at the time.) All that was required after that was a little conversation between Dumbledore and Malfoy, during which the headmaster told him that if he pressed charges against Ron, then Ron would claim self-defense, and Madam Pomfrey would produce the evidence of the rape: Draco Malfoy’s genetic material, collected from Ron’s body.

Malfoy had immediately dropped the charges and Dumbledore had suspended Ron and stripped him of his Head Boy title. Malfoy had seethed when it had gone to Harry instead of him, since Malfoy had already been a prefect. Dumbledore had even apologised to Ron and told him how reluctant he was to take this honor from him, but he had to, really. Ron had felt like a five-year-old, being told that he was no longer Head Boy. And telling his mum... he never wanted to go through anything like that again....

Remus had made a special trip to the school to try to comfort him when he heard what had happened. He told Ron that that was why he was no longer a prefect after he had nearly killed Snape. It was before seventh year, so he wasn’t the Head Boy yet, but to guarantee Snape’s silence, Dumbledore had taken Remus’ prefect’s badge from him and awarded it to James, Snape’s rescuer. Snape could hardly complain about that. Would he rather it went to Sirius, who had tried to get him killed? And no one would ever mistake Peter Pettigrew for prefect material.

In the end, Ron was glad it was Harry who was Head Boy. He’d never felt right about being made a prefect in the first place, rather than Harry. Plus, the entire school knew he had beaten Malfoy mercilessly; some punishment needed to be exacted. He was just glad that the real reason he’d attacked Malfoy wasn’t common knowledge. Most people assumed that the long enmity between them was enough reason and they didn’t delve further than that. Dumbledore, he knew, assumed that it was retaliation for rape, which was why he wasn’t terribly hard on Ron, all things considered.

But it hadn’t been rape, Ron knew. Not really. Not physically. The rape was all psychological. Malfoy had sullied what Ron felt for Harry. He hadn’t raped Ron’s body; he had raped Ron’s heart.

“So you’re both leaving now?” Remus said, slapping Sirius on the back.

“Erm, yeah. Sirius is giving me a ride on his bike. I’ve had too much to drink; I’d only Splinch myself if I tried to Apparate.” And yet, he also hadn’t had enough to drink.

Remus let out a loud guffaw. “You might prefer being Splinched to riding on that bike when he’s had too much drink. I can’t believe you enchanted another one, Padfoot. You’re halfway to fifty! What do you think, you’re Ron’s age? He should have an enchanted motorbike. You should have an enchanted estate car with a wife and several ankle-biters in it.”

“I have a perfectly good excuse. Over ten years in prison and a couple of years during which I was actually, well, dead. At any rate, it’s Ron who’s halfway to fifty, Remus. Twice twenty-five is fifty. We’re halfway to ninety. Are you going to tell me next that I haven’t enough white hair? I’ll settle down in my own time. Anyway, you should talk--” he started to say, before freezing. “Oh, Moony, I’m sorry. I didn’t--”

A shadow passed over Remus’ face; during the Christmas holiday of Ron’s seventh year, all of them (save Sirius, who was still beyond the Veil) had attended Remus’ first wedding, to the lively and unpredictable Tonks. Sirius’ cousin had been one of the first people he’d wanted to see after Harry had brought him back--only to learn that she had been tortured and killed even while he was making his journey back to the living, leaving Remus a widower.

“It’s all right, Padfoot,” he said somberly. He put his arm around Hermione and beamed at her. “I have some catching up to do in the ankle-biter department myself, but now I’ll have a little help with that.” Hermione colored again and gave Ron a look that made his heart constrict. He felt for her, he really did. But he was never going to be what she wanted him to be. The Ron of her imagination, the Ron who might have shared her life and fathered her children simply did not exist. She’d never made a real effort to understand him, just as he’d never made a real effort to understand her. They’d been working at cross-purposes for years.

It was a relief to finally leave. Unlike when they’d been to Harry and Ginny’s wedding a few years before, they were under no obligation to bid them farewell before departing. Ron risked one more glance over his shoulder before they walked out into the night. Harry and Ginny were chatting with Neville and Luna; Harry was laughing at something Luna had said, presumably, since Neville and Ginny were also laughing, but Luna was not. It was to Harry’s face that Ron’s eyes were chiefly drawn, however. Behind his glasses his eyes were crinkled up with merriment, and Ron’s stomach did a flop.

Sirius pulled on his arm, yanking him out the door. “Ron, stop it,” he ordered. “Staring baldly like that--what do you think that will accomplish?”

Ron hung his head. “I know. I just--he was laughing at something--”

Sirius was the one laughing now, and Ron’s stomach turned over again. He was so close to the laughing face, the dimple in the chin, the dark eyes with that wicked expression behind them. Sirius put his hand behind Ron’s neck and kissed his lips lightly, then leaned his brow against Ron’s; they were the same height and well-matched physically.

Ron gave him a small smile. “Let’s go, Snuffles.”

Soon they were soaring through the air, Ron’s arms locked tightly around Sirius’ waist. He licked the back of Sirius’ neck once, when they were coming in for a landing in the scrubby park. He felt Sirius shiver and let out a low moan.

When they had come to a full stop, Sirius turned and effortlessly caught the curve of Ron’s lips with his own, his tongue flicking out and immediately met by Ron’s. He separated his mouth from Ron’s reluctantly, a glazed look in his dark eyes.

“Let’s get inside,” he whispered huskily. Ron nodded vigorously, making Sirius laugh again for a moment.

“What?” Ron demanded as they dismounted the bike. After putting a Disillusionment Charm on the vehicle, Sirius looped one arm around Ron’s shoulders, steering him toward number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

“You. Looking so eager.”

“I don’t make fun of you for being randy,” Ron grumbled as Sirius opened the door and let them into the front hall.

When the door was closed, Sirius pulled Ron to him hungrily; he surveyed Ron’s face after breaking the kiss. Now Ron had the glazed look in his eyes. “I’m not making fun of you,” Sirius whispered to him, holding him tightly. “You’re just so wonderfully young and enthusiast--”

The word was muffled by Ron pulling Sirius’ face to his again. Embracing, they staggered down the hall to the foot of the stairs, banging into the troll-foot umbrella stand and sending it over, spilling ancient broken umbrellas and walking sticks onto the floor. Immediately, a shrill cry went up:

“Blood traitors! Sexual deviants! Sullying the name of the noble House of Black!”

“Oh, sod off,” Sirius groaned. He turned to Ron, with that mischievous grin that made all of the blood leave Ron’s brain--not that he felt he had much left there. “We should do it right in front of her--”

“Erg,” Ron choked, pulling Sirius toward the stairs. “No thanks. Rather kill the mood, she would--”

Sirius laughed as they climbed the stairs. “Don’t worry. I was kidding. Well, half-kidding....”

As they stumbled toward Sirius’ bed, Ron fumbled with his lover’s clothes, frustrated, trying to get to his body.

“Which half?” he mumbled vaguely, attaching his lips to Sirius’ neck and unbuttoning his shirt after having rid him of his coat and tuxedo jacket.

He never received an answer to his question.

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