Don't Let's Start

Don't don't don't let's start,
I've got a weak heart,
and I don't get around, like you get around.
Don't Let's Start, They Might be Giants

Chapter One

Draco was highly disgruntled and he glowered across the isle at his companion, making sure the redhead knew it as well.

Honestly, he didn't need a stupid escort, least of all a Weasley one. It wasn't as though he was going to go completely nutters and try to escape, with most likely five dozen undercover Aurors stationed about the train, just waiting for him to make a wrong move.

Apparently, ex-suspected-Death Eaters weren't allowed to live peaceably in Muggle London. There must have been some sort of law that he wasn't aware of. One that was bent on making sure Draco was miserable until the end of time.

He let out an exaggeratedly annoyed huff and glared some more at Ron Weasley. "I want my lawyer present," he stated stiffly for the third time since they'd left the station.

"Fuck, Malfoy, stop being so bloody paranoid. You're not under arrest. I could care less what evil activities you're up to, all right? Kingsley asked me to fetch you and I've fetched you." The ruffled blond opened his mouth, but Ron cut him off. "I don't know why he suggested Muggle transport and, no, there aren't any poorly disguised Aurors hidden on the train. It's just you and me, okay?" Ron shoved a hand through his hair. "Merlin, you're annoying."

"I don't do evil anymore," Draco muttered petulantly.

"Whatever, Malfoy." He couldn't wait to get the blond prat out of his hair. Kingsley owed him big time; not only for babysitting Draco, but also for all the work he'd missed trekking into the Ministry. He'd finally been making some headway with Geoffrey.

They fell silent and Ron leant his head back, closing his eyes with a pained sigh, while Draco resolutely stared out the window at the passing scenery.

He hated Ron. Hated, hated, hated the hotheaded git. That he'd apparently grown into his height nicely over the years only served to feed his ire. Ron's ginger hair was cropped short, a look that suited him far better than his long-fringed shag from school. His skin was a shade darker, as if he'd spent years in the sun, although he still sported those horrid freckles across the bridge of his nose. The Muggle clothing he was wearing hugged his broad frame to perfection, and Draco couldn't help but acknowledge that while his own clothes were more stylish, they tended to drape elegantly across his slight body, emphasizing his lack of bulk.

Draco was somewhat bitter that he was still the same stature he'd been at Hogwarts, the same slim build and pointed, delicate features. He was pretty. Disgustingly pretty; which did have its advantages, of course, and at least he wasn't hideously deformed, like Scarhead Potter, but he was far too fragile looking than he cared to be.

Draco was also somewhat cranky, obviously, since the Weasel had shown up at his door before he'd been able to consume his second cup of coffee... and before he'd brushed his hair and changed, thus affording the damn ex-Gryffindor a rare glimpse at a disheveled Malfoy, complete with fluttering snitch and broom pajamas.

Recalling his complete embarrassment that morning, Draco pressed his lips together in defiant silence as they finally disembarked at the station, and made their way to the Ministry via the Leaky Cauldron, although Ron didn't seem to care. He merely shrugged and greeted Tom affably, then strolled casually through Diagon Alley as if it was perfectly normal to stroll casually with Draco Malfoy; as if it was utterly natural for the man to walk about with a pretty blond at his heels. The thought nearly caused Draco to gnash his teeth.

Ron, however, was secretly enjoying Draco's speechless snit, since he tended to forget how gorgeous the blond was when he didn't open his fat mouth. Never let it be said that Ron couldn't appreciate beauty for beauty's sake. It wasn't Draco's fault that his personality didn't match his hair.

He smiled a very small smile, thinking that the sleepy-eyed, mussed Malfoy he'd stumbled upon that morning had been the most appealing thing he'd seen in years. Which was, when he came right down to it, a truly horrifying thought. Ron really needed to get out more.

At the Ministry, a dreadfully sour-faced witch checked over their wands and let them into the building with minimal fuss. Draco noted that Ron seemed to have been right; they weren't treating him differently than any other visitor, and he relaxed minutely. He hadn't realized before how tense he'd been; being held for questioning at the Ministry was never a fun thing.

"This way," Ron said, finally breaking the silence and leading him to the lifts.

The blond followed dutifully, trying to lengthen his strides to keep up with Ron, scowling daggers at his back. An abnormal amount of people seemed to have decided to head towards the same lift and he was jostled aboard, pressed uncomfortably against Ron's side. Well, not entirely uncomfortably, but it was unsettling just the same. He realized he was at eye level with the ginger bloke's mouth and once again cursed his slim figure.

He breathed an inaudible sigh of relief when the doors opened and Ron pushed his way out of the crush, Draco making good use of his wake and rushing after him.

The plaque by the door at the end of the hall read "Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tenth Division Auror," with a scrap of parchment stuck in between his name and position that had the words "Sexy Bastard" scrawled on it in bright red sparkly letters.

Ron knocked sharply and was rewarded by a snappy, "Come in."

"Ah, the reclusive Mr. Weasley," Shacklebolt greeted them as they stepped into his office. "And I see you've brought Mr. Malfoy. Excellent."

"What's going on?" Draco demanded immediately, ignoring the man's gesture for him to sit.

Kingsley tapped his fingertips on his desk. "It's come to our attention, Mr. Malfoy," he said, voice grave, "that your father may be trying to kill you."

"My father's dead," Draco said stiffly.

"Well, the thing of it is... he's not."

"I really hate to ask what I'm doing here," Ron murmured apprehensively, dropping into a seat in front of Kingsley's desk.

"What do you mean he's not dead?" Draco shouted shrilly. "Of course he's dead!"

Ron winced. "Calm down, Malfoy."

Draco hated the way his heart sped up and the way his palms and upper lip broke out in a cold sweat. His father was dead. He'd had proof of it, hadn't he? Although... "Crabbe's an idiot," he ranted, tugging at the ends of his hair. "I gave him one job, one job to do, and that was to make sure Father was dead. And of course he fucked it up. It's Vincent Crabbe, King of All Fuck-ups."

Ron's lips quirked up. "I suppose I've been dethroned, then?"

"What? What are you talking about?" Draco asked, pacing the office nervously. "You, Weasley... you're not a fuck-up. You've got a damn Merlin First Order--" He paused and clamped his mouth shut, suddenly aware of what he'd been saying. He'd been complimenting a Weasley. That just wouldn't do.

"Nice to know I'm appreciated," Ron said, enjoying watching Draco squirm.

Draco felt his face heat up and he narrowed his eyes at the redhead, scowling to cover his discomfiture. "What the hell are you here for? Are you going to go hunt him down?"

Ron's face shuttered, all amusement leeching from his blue eyes, and he said flatly, "I don't do that anymore." He turned to Shacklebolt. "What's this really about?"

The Auror shifted uneasily in his seat and cleared his throat. "I can't spare any men at the moment, Weasley, and your place would really be ideal..." He trailed off, looking hopeful.

Ron cursed and dropped his head into his hands. "Come on, Kingsley, no one else? I've got the twins coming next week."

Kingsley grimaced. "With luck it'll all be wrapped up by then. We've some leads, and Potter and Creevey have gathered an excellent team."

Ron slanted a glance at Draco, who'd been strangely quiet up until the mention of Harry, which had warranted a soft snort. The man had his back to them, his hands clasped behind him, but there wasn't any doubt in Ron's mind that he'd been listening closely. "What do you think, Malfoy?" he asked, resigned.

Draco's shoulders tensed and he shifted around to glare at him. "Oh, so I'm allowed to voice an opinion about this fiasco?"

"For what good it'll do," Ron muttered.

"I propose that I go back to my flat and carry on as usual."

"Not an option," Kingsley said, frowning. "I'm afraid if Weasley won't take you we'll have to arrange for another safe house."

"If Weasley won't take me? What am I, a bloody stray?"

Ron chuckled and Draco sent him an icy glare. "Sorry," he said, grinning widely at the blond. "It's just that I'm sort of in the business of taking in strays."

"So you'll do it?"

Ron hadn't actually agreed, but there really wasn't much of an option. He was qualified, he was available, and if Draco kept his mouth shut and stayed out of his way, he'd have something pretty to stare at for a few days. Plus he had a feeling this whole situation would piss the blond off. Ron nodded and sent Draco what he hoped was an evil smirk.

"Well, that's just fine, then. Just fine." Kingsley leaned forward to shake Ron's hand as they both rose from their seats. "I'll send a team by to double your wards."

"No need," Ron said, hands in his pockets. "I'll do it myself."

"Of course, of course," Kingsley said, nodding happily. "Well... I suppose you should be off. I'll have someone check in with you in a few days, give you a heads up on the investigation."

"By the way, Kingsley," Ron smirked as he followed Draco out the door. "Congratulations on your promotion. Sexy Bastard."

Kingsley grinned at him. "Step up from last time you were here, eh?" The nameplate tampering was a running gag in the Tenth Division; which Kingsley, good-natured as he was, always took in stride.

The ex-Auror shook his head and chuckled, exiting the office to find Draco pouting in the hall, scuffing his shoes on the carpet. "You look about twelve when you do that," he commented, unwittingly digging at the blond's sore spot.

Draco scowled darkly at him. "I'll need to go home and pack."

******

"Oh, for the love of..." Draco let out a growl and stalked over to the slim, young maple that grew to the right of his apartment building's front stoop.

Ron watched, bemused, as the blond reached for a branch and swung himself into the tree, black trousers pulling taut across his arse as he wrapped his legs about it and maneuvered into a sitting position. Walking closer, he gazed up into the leafy branches at Draco, who was coaxing, in a surprisingly soft voice, a black and white cat towards him.

"Erm... Malfoy?"

"What?" he hissed, arm stretched out as far as it would go as the cat mewed piteously at him.

Ron didn't bother asking why Draco was rescuing the small cat from the tree - who knew why the man really did anything? – but he was curious about his methods. "Why don't you just use your wand?"

Draco practically crowed in triumph as he wrapped his hands around the recalcitrant feline. "Because, Weasley," he explained impatiently, "we're in a Muggle district, and right now, Mrs. Corbet across the street is busy ringing Mrs. Tynsdale two houses down, gossiping about how that dear Mr. Malfoy was playing knight errant to a kitten's damsel in distress."

Ron's brows rose. "'That dear Mr. Malfoy'?"

"Believe it or not, most people find me charming," he snapped. "Now, are you going to help me here?" Draco swung his legs back and forth.

Ron gazed up at him blankly.

"Take the cat, Weasley," Draco said, rolling his eyes.

With an odd half-smile, Ron reached up and grabbed the cat, which'd started yowling indignantly, watching as Draco hopped down to the ground with a soft 'oof.'

The cat struggled in Ron's arms, clearly upset, and Draco cooed a bit to calm her down, lifting her gently back out of the redhead's arms before sweeping up the steps and into the building.

Ron followed curiously, openly admiring Draco's bum again as he crouched down in front of a door marked 'A1.'

Flipping the welcome mat back, the blond recovered a key, muttering, "Crazy old bat," as he let himself into the flat, although there wasn't any rancor in his tone. "Miss Laura?" Draco called, dropping the cat unceremoniously onto the couch. Spotting an open window, he slammed it shut and shouted louder, "Miss Laura!"

"Maybe she's not here?" Ron offered, grinning as the blond sent him a glare.

Draco knew very well that there wasn't much that would drag his elderly neighbor, who spent the bulk of her time penning scathing letters to various newspapers, out of her flat. A small knot of worry settled in his stomach as he reached her bedroom. What if something had happened to the old bird? "Miss Laura!"

"I hear you, boy, no need to shout." The old woman, short white hair flat on one side of her head and housedress rumpled, came ambling out of her study, ink stained fingers rubbing at her eyes. "Must've drifted off for a minute."

"You left your window open again," Draco chided.

"Cherry got out, eh? Well, at least you got her back."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You can't just leave it open without a screen, Miss Laura."

The woman waved a hand dismissively. "She never goes far, does she?"

"Sooner or later she'll figure out how to get down out of that tree," he pointed out.

Miss Laura chuckled and patted Draco's shoulder. "You worry too much," she said, then spotted Ron standing just inside the door, hands stuffed into his pockets. "And who's this nice looking young man?" She grinned widely and shuffled towards him, hand extended.

"Ron Weasley," Ron said politely. "Nice to meet you, madam."

"Laura Anne Burr," she said, glancing him over, eyes narrowed shrewdly. "But everyone calls me Miss Laura. You're a bit different than the other blokes Draco brings by."

Ron's eyes widened and he shifted to look at Draco, who was sporting a pained expression, fingers pressed just above his left eye. "Yeah?"

"Pansy boys, the lot of 'em." She squeezed his bicep and winked. "You'll do, though." She leaned in close and whispered dangerously, "You hurt him and I'll rip your lungs out."

Ron would have felt slightly embarrassed if he hadn't noticed that Draco was clearly mortified, looking anywhere but at him. "Don't worry," he replied easily, "I'll take good care of him." It wasn't exactly a lie, after all, since that was basically what Kingsley had asked him to do. On impulse, he added, "I'm taking Draco away for a few days. Would you mind watching his flat?" Ron ignored the choking noise coming from the blond and smiled winningly at Miss Laura.

"That's just fine," she said, walking back to Draco and patting him lightly on the cheek. "Be good, boy."

"I hate you," Draco snapped as they stepped out of Miss Laura's flat. "Hate you with a fiery passio... um..."

"Hellooo, Draco dear!" A plump, smiling woman waved down the corridor at them. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"You're absolutely right, Mrs. Finn," Draco greeted her, nodding his head. "I hope you enjoy it."

"Malfoy," Ron leaned down to whisper, "do you realize you're surrounded by old ladies?"

Draco sneered at him, walking across the hall to his own apartment. "I live here, don't I?"

"I don't know why..."

"It's pleasant, it's calm, it's peaceful. I'd think you of all people would appreciate that."

"I don't have to live among the elderly to feel peaceful," Ron commented.

The blond gritted his teeth and headed for the bedroom. "I had an appalling childhood."

"And...?"

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," he snapped, yanking his trunk of the closet, "but I find them comforting. As if they were my grandmothers; although my real grandmother was a complete and total cow." Neatly, he started folding his clothes inside the luggage. "She always smelt of rum, too, and smeared lipstick on her teeth. I suspect she didn't have a full grasp on reality."

"Or your father drove her to drink."

"Shut it, Weasley."

Ron rubbed his chin. "Couldn't have been much better than you as a child."

"Weasley," Draco growled a warning without pausing his packing.

"Heard your grandfather was no peach either."

Draco gave an inarticulate snarl.

"So you can't really blame her. It was a matter of circumstance."

"I'm not talking about my family with you, Weasley."

"Hey," Ron said, palms lifted defensively, "you brought it up. I was simply exploring possible reasons for your grandmother to be a drunkard."

Draco stood and stalked towards him. "Well if we're going to talk about dysfunctional families, Weasel, then yours takes the cake."

"Don't," Ron bit out, blue eyes narrowing dangerously, "say one word about my family."

"Oh, but you should be so proud," Draco went on unheeded, mocking grin wide. "I heard it took five Aurors to take Percy down. Quite the feat."

Ron lashed out and fisted a hand over Draco's shirt collar, twisting the fabric and lifting the blond neatly to his eyelevel, leaving him scrambling for purchase with his toes. "What part of don't say a word did you not understand?"

Draco made a pained wheezing sound in response and wrapped his hands around Ron's wrist. "Weas..."

Realizing he was well on the way to strangling the blond to death, Ron abruptly released his hold. Draco collapsed in a heap on the rug, panting and glaring up at him. Ron shrugged. "You should know better than to piss me off, Malfoy."

"That's asking a little much, and you know it. I piss you off by breathing."

Ron just gave him a steady glower.

"Right," Draco said, resigned. "Family off limits. Got it." He rose to his feet as gracefully as he could manage, ignoring the hand Ron held out for him, and studiously went back to packing his things. As he snapped the lid shut, he heard Ron chuckle and turned to see the redhead holding his pajamas from that morning.

"You forgot these," he said, tossing them onto the trunk.

Draco swept the garments off his luggage and muttered, "I'm not taking them."

"Aw, but you looked so sweet in them," Ron needled, smiling grandly.

The blond's face heated up and he ducked his head, fiddling with the latches and snatching his wand up to perform a hasty locking charm on them.

"Are you blushing, Malfoy?"

"Shut it," he growled. He shrunk the trunk small enough to fit in his hand, then closed his palm around it, letting the edges dig into his skin. "I'm ready," he said stiffly.

The tops of Draco's cheeks were still red, and Ron couldn't help it; with a teasing grin, he commented, "You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?"

Draco's fist tightened around the miniature trunk. "Fuck you, Weasley."

Ron shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Language, Malfoy. You'll have to learn to hold your tongue at my place. Gina'll kick your arse."

"Girlfriend?" he sneered.

"I've sworn off women, Malfoy. Nothing but trouble." He grinned wickedly. "She's a coworker of sorts. Reminds me of Hermione, so I know you'll just love her."

Draco scowled at him. "Are we going, or are we just going to stand here and chat all night?"

******

"Don't tell me you live on a farm, Weasley."

Ron growled, rubbing the back of his neck and rolling his shoulders. They'd traveled to Ottery St. Catchpole the Muggle way, taking Shacklebolt's cue and avoiding using any sort of magical transport that could be traced, and had to walk the two mile dirt path that led to his house. Draco, naturally, complained the entire time, and Ron was just about ready to tear his hair out.

"I don't live on a farm," Ron said between his teeth. "It's a refuge."

"A refuge?"

"A magical wildlife refuge," he elaborated.

"You're joking," Draco bit out, horrified.

"'Fraid not."

"And Shacklebolt thought I'd be safe here, where all manner of beasts could attack and eat me?"

Despite himself, Ron chuckled. "They're not running wild, Malfoy. And at the moment I've mostly only got class four creatures."

"Mostly?" Draco asked with suspicion.

"Well, yes, there is Geoffrey."

"Who happens to be...?" Draco prompted.

"A baby Welsh Green," he replied nonchalantly, "illegally hatched in captivity."

"A dragon? Oh Merlin, you've brought me here to die, haven't you?" the ex-Slytherin cried.

Ron gave him an odd look. "Just stay out of the barn and you'll be fine. He couldn't kill you, anyway, but maiming is always an option."

As they drew closer to the house, Draco noticed the scattered pens and enclosures and shuddered. Dark shadows moved back and forth behind barbed wire fences, and he could hear various nefarious sounds, squawking as well as growling and an occasional roar. If his body didn't ache so much he would've turned right back around and gone home.

At least the main dwelling wasn't a shack, thank Merlin, and seemed to be a reasonable size; two stories with a wrap around porch. Unfortunately, it was still a ways down the road, and Draco realized he hadn't pestered Ron about his unhappiness in over five minutes. "My feet hurt."

"I don't care."

"I think I have a blister."

"Poor baby," Ron said dryly.

"If I let it rub it'll poison my blood."

"There are worse ways to die."

"I knew it," Draco exclaimed, pointing accusingly at the redhead. "You are trying to kill me."

Ron stopped in the middle of the path and turned to Draco, head cocked to the side. "At what point in time did you lose your mind, Malfoy? Is this a recent development?"

The blond snorted. "Try to deny it, Weasel. You hate me and you're going to make my life miserable."

"Making your life miserable is a far cry from killing you," Ron pointed out.

"Ron!" a voice called and both men looked up to see a dark-haired figure move onto the porch, hand raised in greeting.

Ron smiled and waved back.

"Gina?" Draco asked.

The redhead nodded. "Gina."

Draco scowled up at the porch as they approached. Ron had neglected to tell him that Gina was petite and darkly beautiful, not to mention Blaise Zabini's annoying younger sister.

Her black eyes widened as the two men drew closer and she launched herself off the porch steps. "Draco!" she yelped, running at him full tilt and near bowling him over as she jumped into his arms.

The blond groaned, catching her about the waist. "You've grown a bit, Regina."

Ron looked on with a bemused smile. "You two know each other, I guess?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "How amazingly astute of you, Weasley. You didn't say it was Gina Zabini," he admonished, dropping the girl so they could move forward.

She placed a smacking kiss on his cheek before letting go of him. "Actually, it's Potter now."

"You've got to be..." He drifted off, suddenly recalling the bolded headline of a Daily Prophet flashing 'Boy-Who-Lived Gets Married' with a small mention of the Zabini's. He hadn't read it, of course, tossing it into the wastebasket without a second glance. "And why wasn't I invited to the wedding?" he asked, mouth in a disapproving line.

"Like you'd have wanted to watch me become Mrs. Harry Potter," she scoffed with a soft snort. "Besides, I wanted a nice, quiet reception without any brawls. It was either you or Harry and, well..." She shrugged. "What are you doing here anyway?" She shifted her gaze to Ron, who beamed down at her.

"He's hiding out," Ron said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Should be loads of fun." Whistling an off-key tune, he strolled ahead of them and up the short stoop onto the porch.

Draco watched him move across to the front door, his strides long and purposeful, the muscles of his broad back just visible underneath the thin, worn t-shirt, long legs encased in dark, soft denim. The screen door swung shut behind him with a slight bang, and he was startled to find Gina gazing at him speculatively. "What?"

"What was that look?"

"What look?" he shot back.

"You were looking at Ron," she pointed out patiently.

"Oh. That." He darted his eyes to the house and back again, finally spitting out, "Um... it was a look of intense hatred and disgust," which would have been a perfect answer, if it hadn't sounded so much like a question.

Gina arched a fine black brow and patted his cheek. "This should be interesting," she murmured.