Don't Let's Start

Chapter Five

The cock crowed, and Ron blinked awake slowly, smoothing a palm over the warm flesh pressed against him, nuzzling his nose into the hollow just under a tempting earlobe. It'd been a while since he'd awoken with someone ensconced in his bed with him, and his lips curled up in a small, contented smile as he languidly stretched his body, taking blatant advantage of the other's close proximity as he rocked his groin against him.

And then he realized that he'd gone to bed quite alone the night before.

With a yelp, Ron jumped backwards, tumbling off the bed to land in a tangled heap of blankets, one foot caught in the tuck of sheets at the corner of the mattress.

A messy-haired blond peeked over the edge, eyes blurry with sleep. "What are you doing on the floor, Weasley?"

"What the fuck are you doing in my bed?" Ron shouted back.

"It's too early to yell," Draco groused, rolling over and shoving his head under a pillow. Then Butter heralded the dawn again and his head shot back up. "You better tell that damn bird to watch his back."

Struggling into a sitting position, Ron rested his chin on the edge of the bed, taking deep, calming breaths. "Did you just threaten my rooster, Malfoy?"

"One night," the blond drawled, a lazy smirk at his lips, "I'll have to make dinner."

"If you dare..." Ron started with a growl, then trailed off, wondering why the hell they were arguing about Butter when he still had no idea why the git was in his bed. Placing his hands flat on the mattress, he boosted himself up, shaking off the covers, and crawled towards Draco, who turned gratifyingly pale at his approach. "Malfoy," he said in a low voice, kneeling over him.

Draco eyed him warily, noting the unreadable gleam in the redhead's blue irises. "What?"

Determined to unnerve the blond even more, Ron's gaze slid from his face to trail down the slim column of his throat, then frowned, distracted by a silver, four-inch scar arcing from his collarbone to just above his heart. "What's this from," he asked softly, running his thumb along the slightly puckered mark.

Grimacing, Draco knocked Ron's hand aside and rubbed his palm into his chest. "Let's just say this isn't my father's first attempt at ridding the world of me."

Ron's eyes flew back up to his face. "Knife?"

"Just leave it, Weasley," he snapped, not in any sort of mood to discuss his life and death experiences. "Don't you have work to do?"

He nodded his head, still staring intently at him. "First order of business for the day is finding out why you've obviously spent the night in my bed."

"Ah, yes, well..." In the light of day, his worries from the night before seemed rather... stupid. Draco licked his lips, then lightly bit the bottom one, unwittingly drawing Ron's attention to his mouth.

"You're trying my patience," Ron said, fighting off the desire to nip that same lip himself.

"What?"

"I'm not a eunuch, Malfoy," he elaborated impatiently, "so if you don't want to spend the morning doing much more than sleeping, I suggest you get on with your explanation."

Draco's stomach flip-flopped. While he definitely wasn't adverse to the idea, he would've liked to have been one hundred percent sure of Ron's motives. The redhead hated him, didn't he? "I thought I saw someone out the kitchen window," he blurted out quickly.

Ron's lips parted in surprise. "You..." Slumping down onto the bed, he buried his head into his arms, shoulders shaking with mirth.

"Stop laughing, you git," Draco grumbled indignantly, shoving him.

Ron snorted and lifted his head. "You crawled into bed with me because you were scared?"

"Of course not," he scoffed. "I was merely concerned, and made the effort to wake you up. Or I tried to."

"You tried to wake me?" the ex-Gryffindor asked skeptically, shifting slightly to lean on his elbows.

"Yes." Draco scowled at him. "And you accosted me and forced me into your bed."

Ron arched a brow. "Really?"

"You do realize you sleep like the dead, don't you? I had little chance of escaping your clutches."

A wicked grin spread across the redhead's face. "Clutches, eh? I--"

Suddenly, the door burst open and two little boys came careening into the room, taking a running leap onto Ron amid squeals and laughter. Just behind them strode a slim, cool blonde wrapped in immaculate ice-blue robes, absently paging through a thick leather file folder. "I brought Das as well..." She glanced up, eyes widening. "Good Merlin, Ron, you knew I was dropping off the boys this morning," she cried, dismayed at the sight of the two bare-chested men lounging in a nest of rumpled bed sheets.

Ron rolled his eyes and tucked a boy under each of his arms, rising from the bed. "Calm down, Gabrielle. Nothing's going on."

"Dad, who's that?" Jem asked, dangling upside down and pointing at Draco.

Draco curled his legs beneath him and gazed at the boys in fascination. They certainly had Ron's look about them, but the twins' heads were crowned with mops of corn-silk blond hair.

"That's Mr. Malfoy, boys. He's staying with us for a while."

Gabrielle arched a perfectly manicured brow and cleared her throat. "Do you think that's wise, Ron?"

"We're not arguing about this," Ron said tiredly, dropping the giggling boys onto an overstuffed armchair in the corner of the room and reaching for a pair of worn jeans. "I'm giving the Ministry a hand and letting Malfoy use the refuge as a safe house."

"I thought we agreed that our personal lives wouldn't affect the twins," she chided, tapping her foot irritably.

"This isn't going to affect the boys, Gabby, and nothing about this is personal. You have no say in my life anymore." He stalked out of the room and started down the steps, Gabrielle at his heels.

"When it involves them," she said shrilly, "I have every right to say something!"

"This has nothing to do with the twins! I'm doing a favor for Kingsley," he insisted, exasperated.

"That's certainly a euphemism for sex I haven't heard before," she quipped derisively.

"Gods, Gabby," Ron thrust a hand through his hair, "were you this much of a prude while we were married? I've honestly blocked out that entire nightmare." It was a low blow, and not completely true. When she wasn't behaving like a total shrew, he was quite fond of the woman.

"They're six now, and very impressionable," she admonished, ignoring his gibes and following him into the kitchen.

Starting the coffee, Ron turned around and leaned back against the counter, cocking his head at his irate ex-wife. "What exactly are you objecting to here, Gabs; the fact that there's someone in my bed, or the fact that it's a man?"

"I..." Gabrielle paused, suddenly realizing how irrational she was being, and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Ron," she said diplomatically. "I didn't mean for that to come out that way. I just..." She felt a lump lodge in her throat. "I just saw you two and panicked." Although their marriage hadn't been ideal, she'd loved Ron in her own way, and the bitterness and hurt of rejection had never entirely faded in the year they'd been apart.

She was a Delacour first and foremost, though, so she lifted her chin, a slight smile at her lips. "I see you haven't outgrown your penchant for blondes."

A relieved grin cracked Ron's face. "None could ever be as gorgeous as you, Gabs."

"Of course not," she sniffed daintily. "And don't call me Gabs."

******

Draco shifted nervously under the piercing gaze of the two boys. Their blue eyes were wide and curious, peering over the side of the mattress, their pale hair wild and the freckles speckling their snub noses labeling them firmly as Weasleys, despite the distinct lack of red.

He really hadn't ever spent much time with children, although it was more from lack of opportunity than conscious choice. Mel had been an adventure the day before, but she'd thankfully entertained herself – all that had been required was his presence, and a few well-placed nods and 'hmmms.' He was somewhat at a loss of what to do with the twins, who were staring at him with an expectant air.

"Hullo," one finally said, clambering up to sit beside him, "my name's Jem. What're you doin' in dad's bed?"

"Ah..." What to say, what to say? "Nothing."

This seemed to appease the little Weasley, since he didn't question further, and the other boy gripped his brother's shirt and wiggled himself up, moving to the middle of the mattress, smile wide and mischievous, grubby trainers streaking dirt on the covers. "Hi. Are you naked?"

Draco choked on his breath. "No," he stressed, suppressing the desire to glare at the nosy little boys. "And you are...?"

"I'm Beans," he answered, causing Draco's brows to rise comically.

Beans? What kind of name was Beans?

Jostling for a better position on the bed, the boy shot out his lower lip and whined, "Move over, git," towards his brother.

Jem shoved his shoulder. "Don't say git, stupid. Mum'll box your ears."

"Don't push me," the other hissed. "I'll tell Dad."

"Go ahead, tattletale." He shoved Beans again and stuck out his tongue. "Stupid baby."

Draco watched the exchange silently, and then stifled a smirk as they launched themselves at each other with brotherly insults, wrestling playfully until Beans slipped off the bed, landing with a thunk on the floor.

"Ow," he said softly, blinking up at them.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked politely.

Nodding, Beans scrambled back up onto the bed. "Mr. Malfoy..." he started tentatively, shooting his brother a speaking glance.

Jem pursed his lips. "Did you an' Dad really have a Wizard's duel?"

Draco was mentally taken aback. Ron had been telling his sons tales about him? "Once or twice," he conceded warily.

The pair gazed at him with something akin to awe. "Dad says you almost killed him," Beans said, voice hushed.

Starting to become uncomfortable with their intense scrutiny, Draco coughed and said, "Yes, well..." It was true, of course; he had almost killed the redhead. Although it had been completely by accident. Well, he admitted to himself, not completely, even though he'd had no idea the curse would act the way it had.

"Boys!" a shout came from the stairwell. "Come say goodbye to your mum!"

With twin shouts of "Mum!" they scurried off the bed, pushing each other out of the way as they rushed the door. Feet skidding on the hardwood floors, they ran past their father at the top of the steps, ignoring his admonishment to slow down.

"Sorry about that," Ron said as he moved into the doorway, leaning a hip against the jamb. He hadn't donned a shirt yet, and had failed to completely fasten all the buttons on his jeans. The barest hint of a farmer's tan was visible on his biceps, his neck just a shade darker then the fine planes of his chest, nearly smooth with a faint trail of ginger hair disappearing into the waistband of his boxers.

Draco swallowed hard and shrugged with forced casualness. "What time is it?" he asked, dipping his gaze to the covers and picking at it lightly with his fingertips.

"Just after seven," Ron replied, moving to his closet and scooping up a ratty work t-shirt, pulling it over his head. "The rain's stopped at least, so you can spend your day outside." He eyed the blond sitting in the middle of the bed speculatively, the white sheets pooled in his lap, his hands loosely draped over his knees. Silver hair fell just below his ears, a few strands curving across his left eye, and he looked... disturbingly fetching. Honestly, there were worse things to wake up to than a half-naked blond. "The boys will probably pester you to death."

"About your sons, Weasley," Draco gave him an odd glance. "Who exactly named them? Jem and Beans?"

Ron laughed and shook his head. "James and Eric, actually. James being the one who likes to--"

"Name things after food, yes, I see," he finished for him, arching an amused brow. "Beans."

He shrugged. "Gabby's the only one who really calls him Eric anymore. Mum's even made him a jumper with a 'B' on it." Ron sat heavily on the edge of the bed and sighed, reaching for his scuffed boots.

"So..." the blond started. "You married a Delacour?"

Ron gave him a lop-sided smile. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Never knew you went for babies, Weasley," he smirked. "How old was she when you married? Fifteen?"

"Funny, Malfoy," Ron said dryly. "And here I was going to offer you coffee in bed." He chuckled at the sudden longing on the blonde's face. "Too late now, Blondie."

Draco sneered, then snapped, "Fine, Red."

The ex-Gryffindor cocked his head to the side. "Doesn't have the same derogatory connotation, does it?" he quipped.

"Elaborate vocabulary for a Weasley," Draco shot back, eyes narrowed. "Finally save up enough for a dictionary?"

The tips of Ron's ears reddened.

Ignoring the rather obvious signs of the redhead's growing anger, Draco went on, "Although I suppose Gabrielle brought a fair amount of Delacour money into the marriage bed with her. Tell me, Weasel, are you taking alimony? A monthly stipend?" His smile was sweetly vicious.

"You should really learn to keep your gob shut, Malfoy," Ron bit out, fingers gripping the bed sheets tightly.

"What, Weasley? Can't take a little playful teasing? Friendly ribbing?" he asked with mock-innocence, gray eyes wide.

Ron stared into the silently challenging irises, then finally said stiffly, "Point taken, Malfoy. We're not friends. We'll never be friends. So let's just try to be civil and not piss each other off, eh?" Rising from the bed, he stalked to the door, giving the blond one last glare before retreating down the hall.

******

Hermione was spitting mad. Furious. In a heated rage.

"I don't see what the big deal is, Hermione," Blaise said, trailing after her as she hustled down the corridor to the Great Hall, fists clenched at her sides.

"You don't see...?" She paused, turning to glare at him incredulously. "You don't see what the big deal is? Zabini, you've been spying on me! For ages!"

The dark-haired professor shrugged. "So? Water under the bridge now. I've seen you naked by your conscious choice," he pointed out calmly. "Let's keep the past firmly in the past, shall we?"

Gaping at him, she really couldn't believe his gall. She'd actually been starting to think that things might work out between them. He was attractive, after all, and amusing when he wasn't being a total bastard to her. And then he went and told her he'd been spying on her. As a bloody mongoose! "It's creepy, Blaise, and very disturbing," she said, her voice a low hiss. Students were starting to stare.

"You should be flattered I made the effort."

"Flattered? That you invaded my privacy?" Not only was she angry, she was mortified. The things he could have seen! She regarded her rooms in the castle as a retreat. A place where she could relax, melt away stress. Act extremely un-Hermione-like, if she so chose.

He grinned winningly at her. "You do a charming rendition of... what was it...?" He hummed a few bars of I Feel Pretty from West Side Story.

That he even knew the melody of something so entirely Muggle betrayed just how often he'd caught her singing it to herself. "You're not helping your case, Zabini," she said through clenched teeth, her cheeks alarmingly warm. Pivoting on her heel, she sent the lingering, curious students a glare and stalked past them into the Great Hall.

Blaise followed close behind, persistent as always, and took his regular seat across from her at the staff table. He arched a brow, his lips quirked. "You're going to have to forgive me, Hermione."

"I don't have to do anything," she bit out, shoving a piece of chicken into her mouth and chewing viciously.

Leaning forward onto the table with his elbows, he rested his chin on top of his clasped hands and fixed her with a steady gaze. "Let me outline this little scenario for you: You, being stubborn and unnecessarily embarrassed, will start avoiding me like a Hufflepuff, skipping meals and slinking around corridors, retiring early and getting entirely too much sleep, creating a mean glint in your eyes that will no doubt make all the students terrified of you. Or more so.

"I, being highly sexed, not to mention wily and determined, will eventually hunt you down, most likely in your classroom, filled with impressionable little fourth-years, and trap you against your desk, or chalkboard, or, better still, a student's desk, and proceed to hike up your robes until my starving, itching palms come in contact with your--"

"Enough!" Hermione cried out, eyes wide, face red and breathing just a bit erratic.

He smirked. "Ready to forgive and forget?"

"I never should've gotten involved with you in the first place," she muttered, scowling at her lunch. The man was infuriating. And manipulating. And, she realized, there was no way in hell he was ever going to let her get away from him.

The thought was oddly comforting.

With a flurry of flapping wings, a few late mail owls soared into the Great Hall, and a small brown owl perched on Hermione's shoulder, nipping playfully at her ear. She untied the parchment attached to Ham's leg and gave the owl a piece of biscuit, sighing as it hooted happily and hopped up onto her head. The small bird was much more subdued than its sire, Pig, but had many of the same annoying habits.

"Another note from Weasley?" Blaise asked, eyeing the runty bird with amusement as it settled down into Hermione's mass of hair.

"From Malfoy, actually," she said absently, scanning the missive. She gave a snort of laughter. "'Dear Granger, tea was lovely the other day. I found your presence marginally helpful, if grossly uncomfortable at times. I bear no ill will towards you for departing without a proper goodbye. Blaise's forcefulness is to be admired, along with his nicely shaped bum.'" Hermione glanced up at the black-haired man with a grin. "He has a way with words, doesn't he?"

Blaise shook his head. "Does the letter have a point?"

"Other than to beg me to visit? No." She frowned. "He really must be bored out of his skull over there."

"Nothing else?" Blaise sank down in to his seat, disappointed. "I think I prefer Weasley's letters. Much more juicy."

"Well, he does say that he needs my advice. 'Weasley's in a snit, which is entirely not my fault; however, I'm afraid that he might be under the impression that it is. Although, I stress, it is clearly not. Even so, I'd prefer that he not be angry, as he is my only companionship - besides two boys and a dog - and I am anxious to chat about things that do not involve a) dirt, b) slobbering beasts, c) how far Beans can stick his finger up his nose, d) bugs that look suspiciously like dirt, or e) wet dirt, i.e. mud.' He's crossed out an entire line here." She held the paper up to the light. "Looks like, 'I'd greatly appreciate your help with this matter.'"

"What'd he write instead?"

Her lips curled up in wry amusement. "'I expect your help forthwith, or I shall take great joy in exposing the insecurities you entrusted me with yesterday.'"

"Forthwith? Who uses forthwith? Was Draco always this odd?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I guess I should visit, then," she sighed. "Don't suppose you'd want to go with me?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he said, grin wide.

******

"Are you sure about this?" Beans looked doubtfully up at him, hand cupped over his eyes.

Draco swung his legs back and forth, the thick limb underneath him swaying slightly with his movements. "Just get your foot in the crook of the tree, there," he said, "and I'll grab your hand."

Teaching Ron's kids how to climb a tree had not been on the agenda for the day, but they'd been following him around like puppies ever since he'd stepped outside. Jem was already in the branches above him, making clucking chicken noises at his brother.

Beans scowled at the wordless insult and resolutely lifted his foot, pulling himself up and digging his stubby fingers into the rough bark, scrambling slightly as he started to lose balance.

Jem laughed, and Draco leaned down to reach out a hand, catching the boy's wrist before he could topple backwards onto the ground.

"Easy, Beans. Just lean into the tree. All right?"

The boy nodded and Draco guided him higher, keeping a firm hold on him as he climbed onto the limb next to him. "I did it," he beamed, breathing hard.

A natural in the thick maple, Jem dropped down beside him, wrapping an arm around his brother's neck and digging a knuckle into his scalp, causing a slight tussle that Draco eyed with apprehension. They were only about ten or so feet off the ground, but Ron would likely kill him if they fell out of the tree.

Over the course of the day, Draco had noted several small differences between the two boys, the bulk of it personality wise. Beans reminded him a little of Ron, hesitant and defensive and quick to temper, while Jem, confident and outspoken, was perfectly capable of needling his brother relentlessly, evidence of a slight malicious streak that he could only assume originated from his mother. Neither boy was particularly difficult, though. And, for the most part, Draco found them amusing, if a bit tiring.

Dastardly, the boys' Newfoundland - which they had assured him was a dog, but looked suspiciously like the result of some mad union between a grim and a bear - gazed up at them adoringly from the ground below, his furry maw wide, tongue lolling in a pant, muzzle flecked with strings of drool. He was easily the size of Draco and the boys put together, and the blond had taken an instant dislike of him. Which, of course, meant that the beast greatly desired to be attached to his hip. At all times. He'd taken to the tree in desperation, and the dog was waiting patiently for him to climb down.

"No rough play in the tree," Draco finally admonished, surprising himself with how adult he sounded.

Apparently, though, the twins didn't quite agree with that assessment, as they completely ignored his warning. Jem's fingers dug into his brother's side, causing Beans to erupt into harsh giggles. In retaliation, Beans grabbed one of Jem's legs, yanking upward, and Draco watched in horror as they teetered on the limb, their bodies locked together.

One hand automatically going for his wand, the other reaching out to the boys, Draco managed to fist the back of Beans' t-shirt. But the worn material gave way under his fast grip, and the twins' startled cries filled the air as they toppled off the branch. It all happened far too quickly for the blond to even palm his wand, but he didn't think that excuse would appease Ron when faced with his injured sons.

Dropping out of the tree, Draco briefly pondered fleeing, but reasoned that death by an irate Ron's hands would be marginally better than death by Lucius'. Probably.