The Queen Who Lived (aka The Bugger Who Wouldn't Die)

In hindsight, Ron wasn't sure just what he'd been expecting when Harry told him he'd taken Draco Malfoy on as a housemate.

"He's changed, Ron," Harry had said.

As if that weren't bleeding obvious the moment Draco opened the door.

"Are you coming in, then, or are you going to keep staring at my legs?"

Ron's eyes snapped back up to that pale pointed face as if attached to rubber bands, and then blushed so furiously his freckles itched. "What the hell happened to you?"

It was a valid question--it had to be. The world owed him some recompense for having Draco Malfoy greet him at the door to Harry's house wearing nothing but a leather mini-dress and fishnet stockings. Especially when he had the sheer gall to look that good in them.

"Took the family vault key and ran," Draco said, as if goggling Weasleys were part of his everyday routine. "It was the wisest thing I've ever done." He paused, considered. "With the possible exception of the nipple ring. That was an inspired moment." Draco trailed off, smiling the blissful smile of remembrance in a way that softened his face and drained Ron's cheeks of colour as all blood rushed southwards.

"Who are you and what have you done with Malfoy?" Ron asked weakly, aware that Draco had taken his arm and was gently pulling him into the house with social tact born of elite upbringing, though how Ron gaping on his doorstep could be more embarrassing before the neighbours than Draco flashing his thighs like that, Ron didn't know.

Draco sniffed, though to Ron's horror, he discovered that Draco sounded entirely amused and not the least insulted. "As Harry is so fond of saying, I am the Queen Who Lived." Draco waved a hand that couldn't possibly be anything but elegant, and led the way into the foyer. Part of Ron was relieved to see that at least Malfoy still walked like a man.

Mostly.

A man with a loose-hipped graceful stride, but still a man. This was too disturbing. "Have you always walked like this and I just didn't notice through the robes?"

"You're eyeing me, Weasley? After all these years? I'm flattered!"

"It's bloody hard not to with you shaking your arse like that."

"It is not shaking." Draco folded his arms, sounding much more like the Malfoy Ron remembered when he was petulant. It was almost a relief. "I'll have you know I am not some sort of Tahitian dancing girl."

"Malfoy, you're not a girl at all."

"I'm pleased you've noticed."

"For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, you haven't even got a chest!"

"I should hope not. Wobbly things, breasts. They get in the way and upset my balance on the broom." Draco led him to a small sitting room--or what should have been a small sitting room. It looked more as if Draco and Harry had had a battle of wills and neither had won. Draco's upbringing had dictated the polite placement of a love seat, chairs, and convenient low table while Harry's taste in music screamed from the walls in the form of lurid promotional posters, both wizarding and muggle. Ron was glad to sit down before his knees gave way. At least he hoped the two of them could agree on something sane--like Quidditch.

Ron groped for polite conversation that wouldn't involve demanding to know how Draco got away with dressing like this without a media circus--he wasn't sure he wanted to know. "I heard you beat Harry to the snitch last week?" He offered, seizing on the one coherent memory about Draco that didn't involve Hogwarts, school houses, lost points, and broken noses. He was glad he'd said it when he did, because when Draco sat opposite him and crossed his legs, a sliver of thigh flashed between stocking and skirt and sucked all higher thought processes directly from Ron's mind via his libido.

"I did," Draco sounded pleased that Ron had noticed, then continued, filling the silence as Ron's brain battled to reshape itself to the new surreal form the world was rapidly taking--how did star Quidditch seekers get away with wearing leather and fishnets in their off-hours without the press catching on? "I'd been saving that trick for months," he said, obviously pleased.

At a complete loss, Ron dove for the instinctive. "Still cheating, Malfoy?"

"It's not cheating if they don't invent the rule until after I've done it, gorgeous." Draco leaned forward, one delicate elbow on one delicate knee, delicate chin propped on delicate hand, and his fingers tapping against his cheek, highlighting their slender -- Ron resisted the use of "delicate" again, struggled to find another word, conceded that the fingers and cheekbone both were delicate, and the eyes were just plain smouldering. He swallowed. "I didn't cheat this time though. You just need to know Harry."

Draco had gotten much better at catching the snitch before Harry did, it was true. And the papers were all over it. "And do you--know Harry?"

To Ron's surprise, Draco sulked openly, and Ron was at last entirely aware that this was still Malfoy--pretty Malfoy--Malfoy in fishnets and black leather and acting more like a twisted Narcissa than the little Lucius-clone Ron remembered--but still Malfoy. "Not as well as all that," Malfoy demurred.

"No? Not your type?"

Instead of answering immediately, Draco only smiled blandly as twin cracks of apparation sounded in the foyer, and the unmistakable sounds of two voices raised in argument followed fast after.

"She only wanted an autograph, Sev! You didn't have to go and hex her for it."

"Her timing, Mr. Potter, was entirely inappropriate."

Ron's eyes widened--well that voice hadn't changed any. And from the sound of things, neither had the owner.

"Oh, so any time you've all but got your hand down my trousers is an inappropriate time?"

Ron choked. Maybe the owner of that voice had.

"Yes," Snape said, dourly, and from the sounds of things, stalked off up the stairs with great familiarity, Harry's footsteps trailing after him.

"Taken," Draco said wistfully, and sipped at his tea, as if that sort of thing happened every day.

With dawning horror, Ron realized that it very well might.

"I prefer blonds and redheads anyway," Draco sniffed.

He was still gaping at Draco as the other young man sipped his tea when Harry returned looking flushed, and -- Ron blinked -- definitely swollen around the lips which Ron vowed not to think about in context.

"Um. Hi, Ron. Sorry you had to hear that," Harry said, looking uncomfortable and wordlessly accepting when Draco conjured a third cup and poured Harry his tea.

Ron's voice, when it emerged, was strangled. "Did you ask me over to tell me something?"

"You know you're my best friend, Ron. And you know I wouldn't keep anything from you unless there was a good reason-"

"He's been shagging Snape since seventh year," Draco interrupted smoothly, calmly, as Harry continued to stammer over his tea, then picked up a biscuit, nibbling it around the edges. "They needed to wait a suitable length of time to prevent Dumbledore from sacking the old paedophile."

"He is not a paedophile, Draco!" Harry huffed.

Ron was amazed to see that both of them were smirking, and even more amazed when Harry shoved Draco's shoulder. "Budge over. Bloody poof," he muttered, slouching on the couch.

"Excuse me? I was still dating girls seventh year, Potter."

"And stealing their makeup."

Draco made a vague limp gesture that dismissed the accusation as trivial. "I maintain that your penchant for buggery far surpasses my own more mixed history."

"I'm not the one in a frock and suspenders, mate."

"Er," Ron interjected, discovering that his brain and vocal cords had apparently reacquainted themselves. "Why are you in a frock, Malfoy?"

"One does dress up when preparing for a blind date." Draco gave Harry an unreadable look that Ron was fairly certain contained both amusement and a threat on his life.

Harry's invitation replayed through Ron's head. Hey, Ron, if you're not doing anything, come visit. I've got someone I want you to meet. A couple of someone's--I'll tell you all about it when you get here. I was thinking we could all go out for dinner and maybe hit a club together, so dress for it. See you at 5:30?

This time, Ron eyed Draco in a whole new light. "You're wearing that--for me?"

Draco continued to sip his tea. "It would appear that I am." There was a trace of smugness to his voice as Ron's jaw hung slack, eyes fixed in the region of his legs.

"And you--Harry--are going with Snape?" That seemed marginally easier to get out while staring at Draco's thighs. The blond obligingly shifted them, giving Ron another flash of white skin between stocking and skirt. He swallowed.

"Got it in one, Weasley. I am impressed," Draco drawled, then yelped when Harry prodded him.

"Wouldn't have set you two up if I thought you'd go back to being a prat, Malfoy."

Draco burst out laughing at that, and patted Harry's knee, levering himself off the couch and then settling gracefully into Ron's lap, dislodging the mercifully empty teacup, and a half eaten biscuit, utterly unconcerned. Without so much as a 'do you mind' he bent his head and planted a sound kiss on Ron's lips, turning to Harry with that old challenging glint back in his eyes. "Friendly enough for you, Potter?"

Harry snorted.

"How about you, Weasley?"

Ron made a clicking sound in the back of his throat, dimly conscious that his flailing hand had come to rest on Malfoy's arse, all hard muscle under tight soft leather. It felt almost like gripping naked skin and Ron felt his heartbeat plummet southwards as Draco settled more comfortably into his lap.

"I see you approve," Draco said dryly, but didn't move away, instead, shifted a foot onto the couch, rearranging a minutely misaligned pattern in his stocking. He glanced up at Ron through his lashes, though his eyes didn't seem to get any further than Ron's mouth.

"I'll just go upstairs and check on Sev then, will I?"

Ron made a sound in the back of his throat that could have meant anything from 'alright, mate, don't hurry back' to 'oh MerlinI'vegotMalfoyinmylapHarrydon'tgo!' and ended in an undignified squeak when Draco's lips brushed their way over to his ear, trailing sinful patterns around the outer edge that made him clutch the leather-clad body closer convulsively.

"I should warn you, of course, that despite school rumours, I do not put out on the first date," Draco said, voice gone sultry in a tone that he had to have learned from Snape somewhere in years in Slytherin. Suddenly, Harry didn't sound so crazy falling for the man who originated that tone of voice, the way it slid straight to his groin.

Blithely, Draco continued. "So you'll have to be a gentleman and ask me out for a second. I don't get this tarted up for just anyone."

Ron found himself more than a little breathless. "What're you doing tomorrow night?"

Ron was sure Draco's smirk had never been that sexy in school. "If I get lucky," he said, his hand skimming down Ron's chest to hover just over his belt buckle, "putting out."