Don't Let's Start

Chapter Two

The next morning, as the purple fingers of dawn crept into the sky, Draco stumbled into the kitchen, hastily donned shirt riding up his stomach, pajama bottoms nearly hanging off his hips, revealing a thick strip of pale abdomen. It was a beautiful sight, Ron decided, to start the morning with.

That is, until the blond yawned loudly and groused, "What the fuck is that sound, Weasley?"

Ron took a sip of his coffee and lifted the morning paper back up in front of his face. "A rooster, Malfoy. Surely you've heard of them."

"How's a bloke supposed to sleep with that racket?" he whined, dropping down into the seat next to Ron and staring longingly at his coffee cup.

"That's the point," he said dryly. "Although, if you wait a bit, Butter'll quiet down."

"Butter?" Draco's face was screwed up comically. "Who would name a rooster Butter?"

"My son," the redhead replied off-handedly. "He's got a strange obsession with naming things after food. We're hoping it's just a phase."

"You've reproduced, Weasley? Horrifying and predictable, of course." Before Ron could comment, he went on scathingly, "And it doesn't matter if the thing does shut up, I'm already awake now. There's no going back."

"And I'm assuming your wonderful good spirits will simply improve as the day goes on?" Ron asked wryly, obligingly pushing the coffee carafe towards the other man. "Mugs are in the third cabinet from the left."

Draco grumbled something unintelligible and rose to get a cup, shirt lifting even higher as he reached up to the top shelf, giving Ron a glimpse of the curve of his spine as it tapered into his tailbone.

Note to self, Ron thought, move all of Malfoy's favorite things to the highest shelves. "Need a footstool there, Malfoy?" he goaded.

The blond grabbed a mug and whirled around to face him, eyes glinting dangerously. "I'm not a child," he growled.

No, indeed he wasn't. Ron grinned wickedly at him, not the least chagrined.

"And I'd appreciate it," Draco bit out, "if you wouldn't..." What? Tease me? He trailed off, suddenly at a loss. He wasn't about to plead mercy with the man; they were natural born enemies.

"Wouldn't what?" Ron prompted, still grinning.

"Nothing," he snarled, taking his seat again and filling his mug to the brim with dark, heavenly smelling coffee. He inhaled deeply, letting his breath out on a small sigh, and took a reverential sip.

Ron watched as Draco's eyes slid closed, then followed the line of his throat as he swallowed, fascinated by the look of utter contentment on the man's face. "Good?"

"Hmmm... yes."

"Now I know how to tame a dragon," Ron murmured bemusedly. "I'll have to try this with Geoffrey."

Feeling decidedly mellow with the steaming hot brew under his nose, Draco merely flicked him a half-irritated glance. "Quips about my name are not appreciated."

"And yet, I still find it amusing."

Ignoring the redhead's infuriatingly good humor - who could be that cheerful so early in the morning? - Draco asked, "What's there to do in this place? What will I do all day?"

"Anything you want, Malfoy. I don't care." Ron shrugged. "There're a few books in the den or you can explore the grounds. You can use magic as long as you're within two hundred yards of the house… the wards I added last night will block your imprint from becoming visible, so no one should be able to track you for the time being."

"Sounds boring," he complained.

Ron folded the Daily Prophet and pushed back from the table, taking his now-empty coffee cup to the sink. "Sorry, Malfoy, I'm not here to entertain you."

"Will Regina be here today?" Draco asked hopefully.

He shook his head. "Won't be back 'til Monday."

Draco's eyes followed Ron as he rinsed the mug and placed it on the edge of the counter. "Then what will you be doing?"

"Working. Starting right now, in fact." He strode to the doorway, just barely restraining himself from ruffling the blond's hair. "Help yourself to whatever food you want. If you need me I'll be down in the barn for most of the morning," he added, an evil sparkle in his eye, knowing damn well the ex-Slytherin wouldn't set one foot near any of the animal pens, especially not Geoffrey's barn.

The blond sunk down into his seat and scowled at the tabletop. "Fine," he muttered petulantly. Then sighed when he realized Ron had already left.

It wasn't that Draco thought he'd be bored… he was, in actuality, quite used to entertaining himself. Besides his neighbors, and the odd boyfriend now and then, he maintained very little contact with people, especially those from his somewhat sordid past. But when finally faced with company - forced company - he found the spaces apart from the redhead were more pronounced and lonely, even after just one day.

It was little more than pathetic.

Silently berating himself, he got to his feet and took his coffee into the den, lighting a few candles and settling down in one of the comfortable armchairs with a paperback book.

******

Ron swiped the back of his hand across his sweaty brow, sighing in frustration as he stepped out into the hot sunlight. Everything was sliding backwards... the dragon, if possible, was becoming wilder with the more human contact he got. Why Charlie wanted him to attempt to tame Geoffrey anyway was beyond him, and he was almost willing to give up completely. Except he rarely quit at anything, especially when things got tough.

His stomach let out a loud rumble and he pressed a hand to it, tipping his head back to the sky, judging from the position of the sun that it was past noon. He wondered idly what Draco was up to.

The kitchen was empty when Ron entered, and there were no signs that his temporary housemate had made himself anything for lunch. Making a sandwich, he munched absently as he toured the rooms, somehow refraining from calling the blond's name. He wasn't worried, exactly. He knew Draco wasn't stupid enough to get caught outside the wards. But still... he'd feel better if he could pinpoint the man before heading back to work with the rest of the animals.

Stepping outside the backdoor, Ron scanned the large expanse of lawn, his eyes pausing on a flash of blue amid the restless leaves of a gnarled old oak. He strode across the grass, a half-smile gracing his face as he spotted the blond man lounging like a jungle cat on a sturdy, low growing limb, one bare foot dangling towards the ground, belly to the rough bark, arms pillowed under his chin as his eyes, half-hooded with sleepiness, roved over a levitated book.

"Have you eaten?" Ron asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he looked up at him.

Draco blinked at him and yawned. "No."

"Come on, then. I'll make you something." He motioned for the blond to climb down out of the tree.

"I'm really not hungry, Weasley," he said, scowling at him. "And you're ruining my perfectly lazy afternoon. Kindly leave me to read in peace."

Ron cocked his head to the side. "What are you reading?"

Draco let out a huff of breath and rolled his eyes. "Considering you have shelves stuffed with volumes about all manner of magical creatures, take a guess."

"Knowing you, you'd pick up the only book that looked remotely like a novel." Ron grinned when the blond narrowed his eyes at him, and he imagined he'd guessed right.

Draco reached out with one hand and turned the cover back towards him, sneering at the title, The Immense Journey. "I can only half understand it," he admitted, surprising Ron with his candor. "He seems to go on and on about inconsequential crap. Birds and flowers and whatnot."

"He's a naturalist, Malfoy. It's not a pleasure read, unless you happen to like Eiseley's work... which I do."

"Figures," Draco snorted derisively.

"I'll ask Gina to bring something over on Monday for you," Ron offered.

Draco sighed and stretched out on the branch, arching his back slightly and pulling his foot up to hook his ankle over the other one. "Won't I be gone by then?"

"Not with the way my luck's been holding," Ron said mockingly, running a hand over his short locks. "Sure you don't want lunch?"

The blond gazed at him thoughtfully for a few moments, gray eyes unusually warm. "Play me at chess instead?"

"Just wait 'til Mum gets a hold of you," Ron commented, a hint of teasing in his tone. "You'll wish you never skipped a meal in your life."

"Is that a yes?"

Ron nodded. "One game. Then I have to get back to work."

******

Hermione read through the Owl with a slight smile playing about her lips, then glanced up to see if Blaise had decided to grace the Great Hall with his presence that Sunday morning. He was notorious for sleeping in during the weekends and often skipped breakfast completely, preferring to snatch a meal out of the kitchens if he managed to stumble out of bed before noon.

She was in luck, though, and spotted the dark-haired Defense professor as he sauntered into the Hall, his black robes parted over rumpled pajama bottoms and a t-shirt sporting the phrase 'Animagi do it naked.' He never was one to conform to grown-up rules.

He yawned loudly as he sat down across from her at the staff table, and she waved the note in front of his face.

"Guess what?" she asked, her amber eyes dancing.

"How can you be so damn chipper, Granger?" Blaise groused, gripping his coffee cup in both hands, taking a long, slow sip, and then giving a low hum of pleasure as the hot liquid burned a path down his throat.

Hermione cocked her head to the side and shook the slip of parchment again. "Aren't you the least bit curious about this?"

"If it's not smothered in ketchup, then no," he replied, then reached for the scrambled eggs and crunched hungrily into a crisp slice of bacon. She glared at him reprovingly and he finally set his fork down and gave a long-suffering sigh. "Fine, what's in the note?"

Her face lit up again. "It's from Ron," she stated happily. "He's taken in Malfoy."

"He's... what?"

"The Ministry asked him to let Malfoy use his refuge as a safe house. Apparently, his father's on a psychotic mission to kill him," she elaborated, then read from the missive, "'Kingsley didn't give me much choice in the matter, but I couldn't let the pretty git die, now could I? It isn't so entirely bad either, since he slept most of yesterday away in a tree, and is tolerable at chess. Last night was weird, though...'" Hermione trailed off and bit her lip. "Well, maybe I shouldn't read you that part."

Blaise leaned forward onto his elbows. "Why not?" he asked eagerly.

Hermione arched a brow, but cleared her throat and continued, "'Last night was weird, though. He was reading in the den, and I was catching up on some paperwork, both of us being pretty quiet. And just when I let out a yawn and was getting up to head off to bed, he blurted out - yes, blurted - something about a rematch. At chess. He was a bit jumpy about it. I mean, has Malfoy ever seemed clingy to you? Maybe clingy isn't the right word. Lonely, perhaps. I know, I'm being stupid--'"

The ex-Slytherin snorted, and when Hermione paused to glare at him he waved for her to read on.

"'But I can't help but feel like he didn't want me to leave; like he didn't want to be left alone. Which is crazy, you're right. Completely. And can you picture him climbing a tree? I've seen him do it twice now. Twice! I think he's got some repressed childhood issues. Quite a pleasant view, though, I must admit. He's got this wonderful little dip at the base of his spine, and his trousers ride so low when he swings himself up that I swear he can't be wearing anything underneath, and... and now I'm rambling, which means I need to sign off before I incriminate myself--'"

"Incriminate," Blaise muttered with slight amusement. "Big word for the Weasel."

"Stuff it, Zabini. Do you want me to read you this or not?"

"Oh, definitely read me the rest," he grinned wickedly at her. "Does he say if they shagged?"

Hermione pressed her lips together in a grim impression of McGonagall and narrowed her eyes dangerously.

"What?" he asked, drumming his fingertips on the tabletop impatiently. "Come on, Granger, you just read that and the thought of them shagging never crossed your mind?"

She gave a soft harrumph but didn't bother trying to deny it. Instead, she said, "Well, there's only a little bit left, and it's the part that concerns you, anyway. 'We're off to Mum's for dinner tonight. That is, if I can convince the Ferret to go. He eats less than a bloody bird, so Mum'll have a field day. By the by, you're invited as well. It'll be a zoo, I'm sure, but at least the twins are still with Gabby. Bring Zabini, too; he's always good for a laugh. See if you can get him to wear his leather trousers.'"

Blaise nearly choked out a laugh at Ron's parting remark. "One time, one time I wore those bloody things..."

"You did look rather nice in them," Hermione commented, color staining the tops of her cheeks.

He gave her a speculative glance, before focusing his energy back on his morning meal. The two of them held a healthy respect for each other, accompanied by bouts of playful flirting, but it had never amounted to much more than that.

And if Blaise occasionally used his Animagus form to spy on the appealing ex-Gryffindor in her chambers, well, he had been raised a Slytherin... no one ever said he was a saint.

"Are you coming with me, then?" Hermione asked, looking at him expectantly.

Blaise shrugged. "Why not... sounds like it should be entertaining. Draco and Weasley." His light irises turned cloudy with thought. "I bet their fights will be spectacular. Make up sex," he stated, focusing his eyes back on Hermione and pointing his fork at her, "is the best kind of sex."

She gazed at him, eyes wide and incredulous. "You're just a bit perverted, aren't you, Zabini?"

He pushed his black hair back off his forehead and chuckled. "You're just figuring this out now, Granger?"

******

For Draco and Ron, Sunday went much the same as the day before.

The blond spent his morning in the oak out back, half-reading, half-napping, the atmosphere almost incredibly soothing. He'd never before spent any length of time in the heart of nature, as it were, and he found himself strangely fascinated by a bluebird that had roosted three branches up from his. It had a pretty song, and often darted down to cock its head at him quizzically, Draco's near immobile state dulling its instinctual fear of humans.

Ron found him soon after midday and they lingered over a second game of chess, sprawled out on the warm grass like carefree boys. Draco was on his stomach, chin propped up in his palms, wispy silver strands falling over his eyes as he gazed at the black and white checked board. The redhead was relaxing on his back, hands clasped across his taut abdomen, eyes squinting up at the blue, blue sky.

"Your move, Weasley," Draco yawned, kicking a heel up and lazily rolling his ankle. When Ron didn't answer, the blond palmed a discarded knight and pegged it lightly at his chest.

It bounced off harmlessly, spouting indignant curses at being treated so callously, and Ron turned his head, a disgruntled look on his face. "What?"

"Your move," he reiterated, fingers playing idly with a few blades of onion grass.

Ron sighed and moved easily into a sitting position, bending his legs, elbows on his knees, and shoving his fingers into his hair. "I need to get back to work."

"You work too much," Draco pouted.

"And you're starting to talk to birds." He quirked a brow at the blond. "Don't think I didn't notice."

Draco felt the blasted heat rise to his cheeks and ducked his head, muttering under his breath.

"What was that?" Ron needled.

"I said it was just one," the blond spat out petulantly.

Ron chuckled and shook his head. "Mum's invited us for dinner tonight," he explained, "so I've got to finish my afternoon rounds earlier than normal."

Draco swallowed hard. "Your Mum?"

"Yep," Ron affirmed, getting to his feet and brushing off the back of his worn jeans.

"And at your Mum's," the ex-Slytherin started tentatively, "will there be... other Weasleys?"

The redhead gave him an odd look. "What do you think, Malfoy?"

Draco groaned and rolled onto his back, an arm flung over his face. "I think I'm doomed."

Chuckling, Ron hunkered down next to him and clutched his wrist, uncovering the blond's slate-gray eyes. "Aw, it won't be that bad. I've asked Hermione to bring Zabini, so he can protect you from all the evil ex-Gryffindors."

"Really?" Draco furrowed his brows, skeptical.

"Actually," Ron grinned, "I was hoping to catch a glimpse of his leather-clad arse. The protection's just a side benefit for you."

Draco sneered and twisted his hand out of the other man's grip, pushing himself up to rest on his forearms. Which was clearly a mistake, as it brought his face only inches away from Ron's.

Scathing reply forgotten, he stared, stunned, into Ron's blue eyes, watching as the amusement sparkling in them gradually melted into something darker. His stomach tightened and his heart paused, then skittered into a frantic beat. He flicked a glance at the slightly parted pink lips, hearing Ron's breath hitch.

Then Ron suddenly jerked back and shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "We are not going there, Malfoy," he muttered. Looking was one thing. Touching was another matter entirely.

Unable to come up with a witty retort and unwillingly to let Ron know he'd felt a pang of hurt at his words, Draco merely snorted softly, and started packing away the chess set. They settled into an awkward silence, and Draco glanced up to see Ron staring at him curiously. "What?"

After a moment he replied, "Nothing."

"Then stop staring, Weasel." The blond got to his feet, fists clenched in irritation.

One side of Ron's mouth quirked up. "Sorry," he said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. He inclined his head towards the oak. "Going back up into your tree for the afternoon?"

"Maybe," Draco bit out, somewhat defensively.

Ron nodded absently, then bent down to pick up the chess board. "You know," he offered, "you could always join me on my rounds." At the blond's horrified countenance, he hastened to add, "You wouldn't have to go near anything dangerous."

"That's quite all right, Weasley," he replied stiffly, feeling the slightest bit ashamed that he was wary of the animals Ron kept on the refuge, but not really willing to overcome his fear and go anywhere near them yet.

"Suit yourself." Ron shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets and wandering off towards the front of the house.

Draco let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, gazing pensively after the redhead. He could admit to himself that he held a strange attraction for the man.

Well, not completely strange, as he couldn't deny Ron had his fine points. Specifically, the strong set of his shoulders and his confident stride as he walked away from him, the curve of his arse clearly visible beneath the threadbare denim. He'd never before felt anything but derision for the flame-headed ex-Gryffindor, and now he was fantasizing about the git's backside!

Draco had a niggling feeling, though, that the attraction went beyond his physical attributes. Which was a disturbing thought, to say the very least.

******

"Ready?"

Draco nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Ron's voice. He'd been sitting on the couch in the den, fidgeting - which he rarely ever did - and dreading his visit to the Weasley family home. Not really, no, he thought, but merely nodded up at the redhead.

"Good," Ron smiled, then held out his palm. "Hand over your wand."

"What?" Draco blurted out, astounded. "No."

Ron wiggled his fingers. "Come on, Malfoy. Give me your wand and we can go."

"B-but..." the blond stuttered, then gritted his teeth and glared at him, insulted. "I'm not going to hex your family, Weasley. I can't believe you'd think that..." He trailed off, aware that it wasn't too far beyond the realm of possibilities.

"I don't think that, Malfoy, but I'm not letting you off the refuge grounds with your wand," he explained impatiently, hand still outstretched. "Can't risk you using it without thinking... If anyone," he stressed, obviously referring to Lucius, "was tracking your magic, they'd be able to pinpoint you at the Burrow."

Reluctantly, Draco drew his wand out of his pocket and stared at it, a frown creasing his brow.

"It'll be fine, trust me," Ron insisted.

Thrown into a pit of Weasleys without a wand? That was pretty much Draco's worst nightmare. Beyond the whole getting murdered by his own father bit, of course. With a sigh, Draco flipped the slender length of wood and extended it handle first towards the other man.

Aware of how hard it was for the blond to relinquish his wand, Ron accepted it without comment and carefully placed it on the mantel next to the jar of Floo powder. "Here we go," Ron said, prying off the lid and holding it out to Draco. "Just say, 'the Burrow.'"

Apprehensively, Draco grabbed a fistful of powder and stepped into the hearth.