Don't Let's Start

Chapter Four

Dawn was a murky gray, and a drizzling rain pattered on the roof of the front porch as Draco stood in the doorway, scowling at the dark, ominous clouds. He didn't hate the rain so much as he hated what it meant - he'd have to spend the day inside.

With a grunt, Ron pushed past him, a bright yellow slicker covering his head and upper body. They weren't speaking, of course, since Draco was clearly still pissed off at the redhead and Ron was equally pissed off by Draco's accusations the day before. It had made for a lovely night at home.

Home. Draco shook his head and grimaced. It wasn't his home. The refuge was merely a temporary stop, and once Potter caught his father, he'd be back to his Muggle flat, with his Muggle neighbors, in his Muggle neighborhood, and... Merlin, he was sick of Muggles. Miss Laura aside, he honestly didn't think he would miss any of them if he moved away.

Perhaps, when the danger had passed and he no longer had to suffer for his father's vengeful delusions - really, what sort of man wanted to murder his own son? - he'd settle down in a nice rural Wizarding village. He'd grown rather fond of birds and trees.

Draco heaved a sigh and shoved a hand through his hair. The day matched his mood, at any rate, as he'd quickly realized that it wasn't much fun being mad at Ron when the stupid bloke wasn't talking to him. And, honestly, Ron didn't have much to be angry about, did he? Draco was the one who'd been wronged. Treated with such careless disregard. Abused.

It was no use scowling out in the rain about it, though, so Draco pivoted on his heel and stalked back into the den to sprawl on the sofa, cracking open a slim volume entitled Dirt Dwellers and the Common Flobberworm. No doubt a riveting read.

He'd only gotten to the second page when the hearth flared to life and Hermione Granger tumbled out, dusty ash billowing everywhere, her hair wild and clothes askew.

"Granger?"

"Where's Ron?" she asked breathlessly, staring at him with wide brown eyes just this side of frantic.

Draco raked his gaze over her body. "Your shirt's on inside out," he commented lightly. "And Weasley's outside."

"Is Gina here?" she went on, pacing in front of the fire and twisting her fingers together.

The blond shrugged. "Haven't seen her. You do realize you're wearing the same thing you wore yesterday, right?"

Hermione dropped heavily into an armchair and thrust her hands into her ratty curls. "Shove off, Malfoy," she said tiredly.

He watched her silently for a few minutes, then clapped his book shut and straightened into a sitting position. "All right, what's wrong?" he asked.

"What?" She whipped her head up, blinking at him incredulously.

Scowling at her, he snapped, "I'm not going to repeat myself, Granger. Explain or leave."

"I..." Hermione couldn't believe she was about to spill all to Draco Malfoy, of all people, but... "I spent the night with Zabini."

Draco looked at her blankly.

"Slept with him. Had sex. Made mad passionate love," she continued in a pained voice, covering her eyes with a hand and rubbing her furrowed brow with her fingertips, "with Zabini."

"Hmmm," Draco leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Shouldn't you be calling him Blaise, then?"

Hermione groaned. "How could I have been so incredibly stupid?"

"Why would you say that?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Surely Blaise is a step up from other blokes you've been with. He is a pureblood with an impeccable lineage. Why he'd want to muck about with you, however, is questionable."

"Exactly," she agreed morosely, staring out the small den window, watching the rain snake patterns down the pane of glass.

Draco's eyes widened. He'd at least expected some sort of hot retort to his deliberate insult. And it really wasn't any fun baiting the woman if she wasn't going to bite.

"Why would Blaise want me?" Hermione asked, face bleak.

"You're asking the wrong person, Granger," Draco pointed out. "I haven't talked to Blaise for years, and women hold little to no appeal for me. Frankly, I can't give you any reasons at all for Blaise to want you."

He wasn't trying to be mean, just honest, and Hermione seemed to realize that. She merely shook her head sadly and swiped her palms across her cheeks, trying to blink back tears.

"I mean, you've got... nice breasts, I suppose, although I'm not really one to judge that. But you're not overly ugly. Or fat." He tapped a finger to his lips, narrowing his eyes at her. "In fact, in this light you're... somewhat pretty."

Hermione choked out a watery laugh. "Are you complimenting me, Malfoy?"

"I'm stating facts," he said imperiously. "You can take them as you will." Noting her still dejected appearance, Draco had his doubts that he'd get rid of the bushy-haired ex-Gryffindor anytime soon, so he got to his feet and rubbed his palms together. "Tea?" he asked cheerfully. Company was company, after all, and he really wasn't all that interested in Flobberworms.

She sniffed. "I'll help."

Just as they were settling down at the kitchen table, tea and a plateful of biscuits in front of them, Gina's voice drifted down the hall. "You'll never guess what I just--Hermione!" she exclaimed, pausing in the doorway. "Blaise is looking all over for you."

Hermione's head hit the wooden table with a thunk.

Draco took a sip of tea. "Granger isn't exactly happy about that," he helpfully translated for her.

Gina made a face, then grabbed a mug and sank down across from Hermione. "You know I love you, Hermione, but if you plan on hurting my brother..." She trailed off, her gaze vaguely threatening.

"Me hurt him?" Hermione spat out. "He's..." She bandied about for a word to properly describe him.

"Perfect?" the black-haired woman supplied.

Hermione snorted.

"Amazingly attractive?"

Hermione's mouth twitched.

"He's got a nice arse," Draco stated matter-of-factly.

A chuckle slipped past her lips. "You and Ron," she said, shaking her head.

Draco straightened in his chair. "What about us?"

Gina patted his hand. "I heard you've met the family. Now all you need to face are his sons."

"Sons?" Draco swallowed thickly. "As in more than one? I suppose that would make Mel's babble slightly more comprehensible," he murmured absently, finger tracing the faded black lettering on his mug. Only Ron would have the gall to own crockery that proclaimed, 'I kicked Voldemort's arse.' Except maybe Potter, the glory hound.

Gina nodded, then turned to Hermione. "Did you get a terribly rambling Owl from Ron, too?"

Hermione smiled fondly. "He's so sweet when he's infatuated."

The blond man's ears pricked and a knot of warmth settled in his chest. Ron was infatuated with him? "What?"

"Harry almost had kittens. By the way, Draco, he's planning on stopping by today." Gina gave him a slight smirk. "Just thought I'd warn you."

Draco sneered. "Great. Exactly what I need. Potter."

Gina pressed her lips together. "And while we're on the subject of warnings--"

"We're past that," Draco protested.

She shook her head and went on in a stern voice, "If you break Ron's heart I'm going to have to kill you."

Draco rolled his eyes and, despite his sudden rapid pulse, managed to say quite calmly, "I doubt there's any danger of that," just before a deep voice drawled, "There you are."

Three heads swiveled to the entryway where Blaise stood, one eyebrow crooked rakishly at Hermione.

"Come along, now," he said, striding forward and wrapping an arm about her waist, hoisting her out of her chair. "I've been everywhere looking for you," he admonished. "Don't think you won't pay for that."

"Blaise..."

"Oh, good, we're still on Blaise. Perhaps I'll go slightly easy on you." His grin was decidedly wolfish. "Although I doubt you'd want me to."

"Blaise," Hermione hissed, red tinting the tops of her cheeks, trying to squirm out of his hold. His arm merely tightened.

"No need for embarrassment, pet. Gina," he nodded to his sister, "Draco. If you'll excuse us..." With one fluid movement, he tossed Hermione over his shoulder and stalked from the room, the girl herself too stunned to even squeak.

Before she knew it, she was back in Blaise's bedchamber.

"You've got this on wrong, you know," he commented, fingering her shirt as he placed her back on her feet. He yanked on the hem and tugged it above her breasts. "And we've got time before class," he leered.

She slapped his hands away. "I wasn't thinking straight last night," she snarled.

"You weren't drunk," he said, abandoning efforts to remove the shirt with his hands in favor of using his wand, "if that's what you mean."

"I know I wasn't drunk," she snapped, grabbing hold of her shirt to stop it from levitating over her head.

"Fine." He tossed his wand aside. "Ripping it is."

Hermione stamped her foot in irritation. "Would you be serious for just one moment?"

"I am serious," he said, advancing on her. "Deadly." Snatching her wrists, he pulled her flush against his body and bent down to cover her mouth with his. Flicking his tongue out to run along her lower lip, he whispered, "You can't resist me, Hermione," and released her wrists to glide his hands underneath her shirt, pressing his thumbs into her hipbones.

She shuddered. Damn it. "I know."

******

When Gina hadn't shown up at the barn, Ron stalked back to the house in a foul mood. Or a fouler mood, really, since the mere thought of Draco's words the day before made his blood hot.

It didn't help matters much when he walked into the kitchen to find Gina drinking tea with the git. "Mind helping me sometime today?" he bit out.

Gina waved a hand. "Oh, calm down, Ron. You just missed a delicious scene between Hermione and Blaise." She squirmed in her seat, a slight frown curving her lips. "Although the fact that Blaise is my brother does put a damper on the sexiness of it. Really makes it rather disgusting. Bleh." Pushing back from the table, she rose to her feet and stretched.

"Ready to work now?" Ron asked dryly.

"Just about." She glanced at Draco, who was scowling into his tea. "Well, you two are just little rays of sunshine today, aren't you? Lover's spat?"

Ron snorted. "I'll be down at the barn," he said gruffly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and turning to leave the room. "Get me before you do anything with that injured Thestral."

As the redhead walked out, Gina spied a fleeting spark of hurt pass over Draco's eyes before he schooled his features carefully blank. "Want to explain what that was about?" she asked softly.

"Not particularly, no."

"Suppose I'll have to wheedle it out of Ron, then," she said, looking at him expectantly.

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. "You do that."

With a frustrated sigh, she left Draco alone, not in the least convinced she'd be able to get anything out of Ron, either. The man could be incredibly stubborn. When she tracked him down in his small office at the back of the barn, however, he actually cut her off before she could say anything at all about the matter.

"Whatever he's told you is a lie."

Gina blinked. "Pardon?"

"Whatever that prat's told you is a damn lie," he reiterated, then muttered, "Fucking spoiled brat."

She bit her lip and kept quiet, hoping Ron would elaborate.

"He had the nerve to tell me off for teasing him," he exclaimed, then glared out into the rain. "Looks like it's going to bloody thunder and lightning, and that'll just cap my day, won't it? Respect, my arse."

"Uh, Ron?" Gina ventured tentatively.

"Does he respect me? That's what I'd like to know," he ranted, slamming a fist onto his desktop.

"Ron!" she shouted, shoving a hand into his short hair and yanking.

"Ow! Damn it, that hurt." He pushed her hand away and rubbed his scalp, eyeing her warily. "What was that about?"

She leaned down close, noses nearly touching, and said, "Draco didn't tell me a thing."

"He didn't?" Ron asked, bewildered. Draco had passed over an opportunity to badmouth him? It really didn't seem likely.

"In fact," Gina continued, "he told me to ask you about it. Seemed rather... heartbroken." A slight stretch of the truth, but then, manipulation had been her strong suit at Hogwarts. She hadn't followed in her brother's Slytherin footsteps purely because of the family name.

Ron's eyes narrowed skeptically. "Heartbroken? Malfoy?" Those words seemed grossly incongruous.

"Yes, so why don't you fill me in on all the little details, eh?"

"I, ah..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I made some comments."

"Comments?" she prompted, crossing her arms under her breasts.

"Just harmless little comments." He gave her a sheepish grin. "He doesn't much like being called adorable. I'm going to hazard a guess and say he's not fond of pretty or little, either."

Gina dropped down into the seat across from him, relieved. "I was expecting something much worse than that. So you teased him a bit and he blew up. Doesn't seem that bad."

Ron scowled down at his desk. "He seems to think it doesn't qualify as friendly teasing since I hate his guts."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

Gina rolled her eyes. "Hate him?"

Ron furrowed his brow. He hadn't thought of it in those terms before. He was clearly attracted to the blond man, but... that didn't mean he no longer hated him, did it? "I'm not sure," he said finally. "I suppose."

"You suppose you hate him?" She huffed derisively. "Perhaps he warrants a bit more thought, Ron," she said sternly, getting to her feet. "Let's take a look at that Thestral."

******

Draco was deep in a decent read when his solitude was once again interrupted by the sudden flare of the den fireplace. He glanced up to see Harry Potter staring at him with narrowed eyes, suspicion writ in the tenseness of his stance.

"Malfoy," he greeted curtly.

Draco glowered at him. "Save your lecture, Potter. I don't want to hear it."

"Strangely enough," Harry drawled, "I don't care one wit what you want." He didn't go on, however, merely slouched into a chair and glared over at him.

After a few moments of staring silently at each other, Draco finally snapped, "Get on with it, Potter."

The black-haired man snorted, then dropped his gaze to the book held loosely in Draco's hands. "Is that...? That's my book, you arse!"

The blond glanced down at the novel, Seeking Death, the fifth in a series of Quidditch-based murder mysteries by Dieter Dim – entertaining, but terribly predictable – and cocked his head to the side. "That's a presumptuous conclusion, Potter. This may very well be my book," he commented, tapping the cover with a pale forefinger. "We simply could have the same taste in literature." Draco pulled a face. "Ugh, I've suddenly lost the desire to finish this," he said, pitching the book aside.

Harry scowled. "So it's yours, then?"

"No. Gina brought it for me. I can't very well read about fauna all day, can I? Now, if you aren't going to shout at me about Weasley, why don't you just fill me in on what you've found out about my father, hmm? I assume he's still on the lam?"

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Harry cleared his throat and said, "Yes, um... your house in Greece was quite nice."

"Was?" Draco asked suspiciously.

The ex-Gryffindor grimaced. "We hinted around that you were hiding out there. Diversionary tactic of sorts," he explained, then chided, "You never changed your wards to keep out Lucius."

"Because he was dead," Draco spat out, exasperated. "Now what the hell happened?"

"Well," he started, folding his hands on his lap, "we're pretty sure it was a Muggle explosive."

"He blew up my house?" Draco shouted, storming to his feet.

Harry winced. "Er... basically."

"I loved that house!" he wailed, pacing to the fire. "The white marble portico! The fat brass Buddha in the foyer! The golden cherubs frolicking on the balustrade! Uncle Clarmont's antique red pine hat stand!" Jabbing a finger at Harry, he accused, "How could you let this happen, Potter?"

The other man cocked an eyebrow. "You're being overly-dramatic on purpose, aren't you?"

Draco blinked. "Well, yes. I'm horribly impressed you picked up on that, Potter. The house was far too ostentatious for my taste. A Buddha in the foyer? Please. Father did me a favor by getting rid of that monstrosity."

Harry coughed to hide his amusement.

"Do you have anything else to divulge? No signs found flashing 'Lucius went that way, check under this rock'?"

"We still have a few more leads to follow through on," Harry replied, getting to his feet. "Ron's outside with Gina, I suppose?"

"I'm not his keeper," Draco snapped, then inwardly berated himself for the pathetic petulance that had been laced through his voice.

"Thank Merlin for that," Harry muttered under his breath, then said louder, "Just let him know what I told you, will you? You're bound to be here at least all of this week."

"Excellent," Draco cracked. Just what he wanted to hear.

******

It wasn't until after dinner that it started storming in earnest, and the den candles flickered as a gust of wind seeped past the thin window pane to snake about the small room.

Ron clutched his logbook in a white-knuckled hand, his other digging into the sofa arm.

If Draco didn't know better, he'd say the man was afraid. But the ex-Slytherin had made it a point to learn all of Ron's fears and weaknesses when they'd been students at Hogwarts, and he never recalled thunderstorms as being anywhere near the list. In fact, the redhead had always seemed particularly cheerful on the mornings when lightning cracked across the Great Hall.

"Weasley?"

Ron jerked his head towards him, eyes blinking rapidly. "What?"

Draco gazed intently at him, noting the way the pulse at the base of his neck jumped every time a boom of thunder echoed around the room. For the second time that day, the blond found himself asking a question of concern towards an ex-Gryffindor. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Ron answered tersely. "I think I'll just go to bed." Setting the logbook on the low table in front of him, he got to his feet, fingers clenched tightly into fists to stem their tremors. Keeping his eyes averted, he left the room before he could make a fool of himself, knowing that Draco would most likely revel in exploiting his discomposure. He wasn't afraid of storms, really. Just the memories they brought with them.

Only three people, including Harry and Kingsley, had been there that storm-ridden night to watch him kill his brother.

Only those three people knew it had been him who'd brandished his wand, the Killing Curse at his lips, towards a wild-eyed Percy, their other brother Bill, the fifth Auror assigned to help bring in the rogue Weasley, crumpled in a lifeless heap at his feet.

Flashes of lightning had given Percy an unearthly glow, his manic, gleeful expression testament to a grossly deteriorated mind. The rain had done little to block the hate that emanated thickly off of him, and the rage that had surged through Ron, chased swiftly by debilitating pain, had been enough to crack his composure. Enough to goad him into using Avada Kedavra on his own kin, making him little better than Percy himself.

He'd tendered his resignation later that very night.

Doing his best to shake off the bleak memories, Ron stripped to his boxers and climbed under his covers, pulling the blankets up over his head.

******

Draco didn't know why he was creeping. It wasn't as if he had to be careful not to wake anyone. That was the entire purpose of his visit to Ron's room.

He'd gone to the kitchen for a glass of water when he'd spotted it... a figure on the lawn, illuminated by a fleeting bolt of lightning. He could have been seeing things. In fact, it was more than likely. He'd never been prone to hallucinations before, but it was still pouring rather hard out and it was completely possible that no one had been there at all. Just a trick of the wind and lashing rain and swaying trees. But he'd felt an immediate compulsion to wake Ron so he wouldn't be the only one sitting up all night fretting about assassins and homicidal fathers.

The door creaked only slightly when he pushed it open, and he padded to the bedside, pausing a moment to stare at the rumpled redhead, a faint light from the window falling across his well-toned naked chest, curving a dark shadow under his chin that ran down the side of his ribcage. Draco's fingers itched to trail down the pale length of his sternum, but instead he prodded the man's shoulder and hissed his name.

Ron didn't even shift.

"Weasley?" Draco leaned down and tilted his head, straining to hear him breathe. The redhead slept like a rock. Shoving him harshly, he said louder, "Wake up! Weasley, would you wake the fuck up?"

"Mmmphf?" Ron's slit eyes gleamed in the dim light. "What?" He yawned, then lazily reached out and grabbed the hand that was clutching his shoulder and rolled over.

Draco tumbled onto the bed, his curse muffled by the redhead's pillow. "Weasley," he growled, trying to pull out of his grip.

"Sleep," Ron groaned, releasing the blond's wrist in favor of wrapping an arm about his bare waist, resting a palm on the base of his spine and nestling closer, insinuating a leg between Draco's thighs.

Draco gasped and held himself perfectly still. "Weasley, get off."

He mumbled something which sounded suspiciously like, "Don't wanna," and burrowed his head into the crook of the blond's neck, lightly biting the juncture at his shoulder.

Draco almost started panicking.

And then he felt something wet and warm slick over the abused skin and he nearly melted into the mattress. Ron had licked him. "Stop that," he rasped, lifting a hand to push the other man off of him, but succeeding only in curling his fingers around Ron's bicep. He waited tensely, steeling his body for whatever assault the ex-Gryffindor was devising, but then Ron let out a deep sigh, and his body relaxed into steady, even breaths.

The git was sound asleep.

He tested his hold, trying to squirm out of his arms, but Ron just murmured something unintelligible and pulled Draco tighter against him. Draco hated snuggling. Damn.