Don't Let's Start

Chapter Six

They weren't moving.

They weren't moving, and for a brief instant, Draco actually thought they were dead. Which was absurd, of course. They'd only fallen ten feet. Still, he started mentally rifling through all the places he could possibly hide that didn't require him leaving Ron's wards and getting himself killed.

But then he heard a few hitched breaths and a whimper and both boys blinked up at him with large, watery eyes.

Relief flooded through him, and he held up a finger. "No. No crying," he said hastily. Ron hadn't seen this whole fiasco happen and, as far as he was concerned, the important thing was that Ron would never find out about it. "You're fine," he insisted, even though he really had no idea if that was true. They could have internal injuries, couldn't they? "All right?"

The boys nodded jerkily, sniffling, and Draco helped them sit up, running his hands over their arms and legs, surreptitiously checking for broken bones and blood. All seemed intact.

"Now," he said matter-of-factly to the still mute boys, "here's what we're going to do. We're going to go inside and clean up a bit, get some cookies," the twins brightened perceptively at the word 'cookies' and Draco grinned, "and we're not going to mention this little incident to your father. Ever. Okay?"

"Okay," they chorused.

Excellent. Ron wouldn't suspect a thing. Except Beans' knee was a bit scraped up, and Jem was limping noticeably, but if they kept their little maws shut about this, those injuries could be attributed to any number of little boy shenanigans. All of which would have nothing to do with Draco.

Unfortunately, Ron was in the kitchen making the boys a late lunch when they entered, and he took one look at them and asked sternly, "What happened?"

"We fell out of a tree, Dad," Jem cried excitedly.

Draco groaned and smacked a palm against his forehead.

"Did you?" Ron asked, his voice low and surprisingly calm.

"Look!" Beans lifted his arm and revealed a bloody elbow.

Making as little sound as possible, Draco started backing out of the room.

"Hang on a minute, Malfoy," Ron said without looking up, eyes examining the proudly displayed shredded elbow and skinned knee. He wasn't too worried about the boys. After all, they'd gotten into far worse scrapes before - an incident with a duck, Das and his parents' pond came to mind - and he didn't doubt for a minute that it was the twins' own faults that they'd managed to tumble out of a tree.

A glance at Draco, though, showed the pale man even paler, on the verge of flight, one hand clutching the doorjamb.

"I found them," Draco lied hastily, then cursed at how utterly stupid that sounded, not to mention the fact that it wasn't even a decent lie. Somehow, in the years spent on his own, he'd managed to misplace his glib tongue.

Jem tugged on his father's shirt. "Mr. Malfoy showed me how to climb, and then Beans didn't want to, 'cause he was scared and I thought he was going to cry, but he didn't and then Mr. Malfoy pulled him up and then--" He stopped abruptly, clearly having recalled that they'd been fighting on the branch, and rightly assumed that his dad would most likely blame him for starting it. "Beans pushed me," he said finally, pointing accusingly at his brother.

Ron looked skeptical, and Beans shouted, "Did not!"

"Did too," Jem countered, a stubborn tilt to his chin.

"Did not!"

"Did too."

"Did--"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin," Draco exclaimed, his head hurting from the inane arguing. He turned to Ron and crossed his arms over his chest, daring the redhead to get angry at him. He couldn't do anything rash, after all, with the boys watching them intently. "Beans didn't push Jem. They were fighting."

"Is this true, boys?" Ron asked them, knowing full well that it was. It was only all too typical of the constantly squabbling twins. He never remembered Fred and George having this same sort of sibling rivalry.

The tops of Jem's cheeks pinked. "No."

"Are you saying Mr. Malfoy's a liar, then?" he asked softly, aware that his son couldn't look him in the eyes. That, coupled with the blush, told him all he needed to know.

But still, Jem responded with a short nod of his head, and Beans, in a rare display of brotherly solidarity, fell stubbornly silent, refusing to either dispute or agree with Jem's account, despite his earlier protests.

"I see. Well, I suppose I'll have to punish him." He sent Draco a speaking glance, hoping he'd play along. "Because we don't tolerate lying in this house, do we boys?"

Several naughty things crossed Draco's mind at the thought of Ron punishing him... several inappropriate scenarios that he didn't think he'd mind at all. He understood the gist of what the redhead was trying to do, though, so he kept silent and turned sad eyes on the twins, hoping to riddle them with guilt.

The little bastards just nodded solemnly.

Draco arched a questioning brow at Ron, wondering what he was planning to do now. He really hoped liars didn't get spanked. Or rather... well... He felt himself heat up a bit at the thought and coughed to clear his throat.

Ron smirked. "Well, Malfoy, what do you have to say for yourself?"

This was completely ridiculous. Draco scowled at the other man's patronizing tone. "Not a thing," he replied stiffly. What did he expect him to say?

The redhead shifted his gaze between his boys, who were staring at their shoes, to Draco, who was glaring at him expectantly, and he sighed. "All right. Lunch will be ready in a few. Why don't you two go find Gina for me?"

Jem and Beans couldn't get out of the kitchen fast enough, pushing each other past Draco and through the doorway to race down the hall at full speed.

"Excellent parenting skills, Weasley," Draco bit out.

"Just wait," Ron said, turning back to finish making sandwiches. "Do you want ham or roast beef?"

"Roast beef. What do you mean, just wait? Wait for what?"

He waved a sharp knife nonchalantly. "The guilt will set in soon. Especially if they know you've been properly punished."

There was that word again, sending a sliver of heat down his spine. Punished. Gods, he never suspected he'd had a kinky bent before. He waited a beat, until he was sure his voice wouldn't break, then asked, "Properly punished?" There, that sounded normal. Didn't it?

"I think a day inside should be sufficient."

Draco bristled. "Look here, Weasley. You can't really make me do anything. Besides the fact that I didn't actually lie--"

"You did."

"What?"

"You did lie."

"I did not," Draco stated, affronted.

Ron shot him a glance over his shoulder. "You said you'd found them, when you'd really been with them in the tree."

"I... ah..." He trailed off, well and truly caught. And now he'd have to spend the rest of the glorious day inside. Bugger. "Must I go to my room, or am I allowed to roam the house?" he asked petulantly.

Ron finished off the sandwiches and shoved a plate into Draco's hands. "Your room would be more effective, but I'm not going to make you."

And that's when Draco realized it. Realized that something was off. Ron was talking to him, yes, when he rather expected to be ignored after their words that morning, but the... the teasing, damn it, was gone. Once the twins had left the room, all emotion had leached from the redhead's voice. It was disconcerting.

He wasn't about to comment on it, though, as it was what he'd wanted all along, so he nodded a curt thanks and strode from the room, intent on having a good, long sulk.

******

Ron could hear his boys just outside the den, whispering harshly to each other, and he smiled down at his book. It'd taken a little longer than he'd hoped - it was just after seven - but the empty space at the kitchen table at dinner seemed to have tipped the scale of guilt over the edge. To a Weasley, almost nothing was more important than food, and they'd caused Draco to miss an entire meal.

"What is it?" Ron called out, watching the doorway as the twins shuffled inside, hands deep in pockets, eyes wide and lips pouting.

"Daaad," Jem drew out, looking up at him through his messy fringe.

Oh, they were pulling out all the stops. Ron bit his lip to keep from smiling. "Yes?"

Tears threatened to spill down Beans cheeks as he took a shaky breath. Whether they were from guilt, fear or for show, Ron wasn't quite certain. Perhaps it was a little of all three. "Jem lied," he said softly.

His brother shot him a nasty look. "You did, too."

"Did not," Beans cried.

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Boys," Ron interrupted, a warning in his voice. "You both lied about Mr. Malfoy." When Beans opened his mouth to protest, he went on, "You didn't say anything, Beans, but sometimes, not speaking up for what you know is right is just as bad. Understand?"

"Yes," Beans answered sullenly.

"And so what are you going to do now?" he asked expectantly.

"'Pologize to Mr. Malfoy."

"And...?" he prompted.

Jem bit his lip. "You'll still love us?" he asked hopefully in a blatant attempt to avoid punishment.

Ron's mouth twitched, but he hid his amusement behind a cough. "That, too."

He really wasn't fond of disciplining the boys, Gabrielle was much more adept at it than him, but he followed them up the stairs, nudging them towards Draco's door when their steps lagged.

At the threshold, they squabbled a bit, shoving each other forwards, arguing in hushed voices about who should knock. Ron reached over and rapped loudly on the door, frowning down at them. He couldn't imagine how they could be so mean to each other, yet fiercely protective at the same time.

Draco had a funny little disgruntled tilt to his mouth when he opened the door, his clothes slightly wrinkled, as if he'd been sprawled in one position for hours - which Ron suspected he probably had. His feet were bare, and although the blond man had spent much his time at the refuge barefoot, it suddenly hit Ron how sweet he looked, almost vulnerable, fully dressed and shifting impatiently on sock-less feet. Something about the pale, narrow appendages peeking out from under overlong jeans just caused an odd constriction in his chest.

"Yes?" he asked, one brow arched.

Ron cleared his throat meaningfully, and Jem kicked out a foot, thumping his trainer against the doorframe. "M'sorry," he mumbled.

"Louder," Ron admonished.

Jem rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry I called you a liar," he reiterated, if somewhat belligerently.

"I'm sorry, too," Beans piped in.

"Fine," Draco said shortly, then went to close the door in their faces.

Ron slapped a hand out, strong-arming the door open, while the boys looked on in open-mouthed silence. "Malfoy," he grit out, "don't you have something to say as well?"

The blond gave a long-suffering sigh. "Oh, all right. You're forgiven. Feel free to squeal with joy," he said dryly.

Apparently, being caged up all day tended to make the ex-Slytherin even more abrasive and ill-tempered than usual.

"You two," Ron said, looking sternly down at his sons, "off to bed."

The boys groaned, as it was a full two hours before their normal bedtime, but it was a relatively light punishment - certainly less than they would have received from their mum for a like offense - so they trudged down the hall to their bedroom with little grumbling.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he turned back to Draco. "Care to join me in the den? We could play a game of chess, if you like," he suggested, feeling slightly guilty that the man had been forced inside all afternoon, even though Ron hadn't really expected him to stay in his room the whole time.

The blond gave him a scathing glare, then said, "No," and slammed his door shut.

Ron blinked at the dark wood, then mentally shrugged. He'd tried his level best to remain neutral to Draco since that morning, speaking civilly and calmly, but it didn't seem to satisfy the prat. In fact, it only served to make him more surly and churlish.

Making his way back to the den, the redhead sighed and sank low in the sofa. He just couldn't win.

He'd just cracked open his journal when the hearth sparked to life, and Hermione stepped into the room, followed closely by a grinning Blaise.

"Not that I'm complaining," Ron said, "but I think I've seen more of you two this week then I have in the past year."

"That's because you're practically a hermit," Blaise pointed out blithely, skirting his gaze around the room. "Where's Draco?"

"In his room."

Blaise's eyes lit up. "Do I detect a hint of disgruntlement in your tone?"

He arched a brow. "What of it?"

Hermione smacked Blaise's arm. "Stop it. Now."

"Come on," Blaise went on, ignoring Hermione, "we know you'd be in there with him if you had your druthers. No use pretending for us."

Ron gave the dark-haired man an incredulous look, then turned to Hermione. "What's he blathering about?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Blaise is infatuated with you and Malfoy. Specifically, you and Malfoy shagging," she clarified.

"Each other?"

"No, me," she cracked, then narrowed her gaze at Blaise when she spotted a gleam of interest in his eyes. "Don't even think about it."

"What?" he asked mock-innocently, a wicked smile playing about his lips.

"Incorrigible git," Hermione muttered under her breath. Her scowl, though, didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Tea, anyone?" Ron said, getting to his feet, eager to change the subject.

Blaise shook his head. "Oh, no, Weasley, you're not getting off that easily."

"Didn't you want to talk to Malfoy, Zabini?"

"Coward," Blaise drawled.

"Pervert," Ron snapped back. "Now that we've gotten the name calling out of the way, why don't you trot upstairs and see Malfoy? Hermione, can I talk to you alone for a moment?"

Blaise waggled his brows suggestively, which didn't suit the man at all, and Hermione viciously pinched his side.

"Ah, retribution," the ex-Slytherin purred dangerously. "We'll continue that later, my love."

"Blaise," Hermione hissed, blood rushing to her cheeks.

The man just winked and strode from the room, humming under his breath.

Ron rounded on her as soon as Blaise disappeared up the steps. "What did you tell Zabini?" he demanded.

She dropped down into an armchair by the hearth. "You said you fancied him, Ron. Blaise knowing seems a moot point, doesn't it?"

"Moot how, exactly? I said I fancied him," he ranted. "Doesn't mean I'm going to do anything about it. And now Zabini's going to tell--"

"Why not?" she interrupted sharply.

Ron blinked. "Why not, what?"

"Why aren't you going to do something about it? And if Blaise tells Malfoy, it's hardly going to be traumatizing news for the man." She gave him a smug smile. "I think he's fond of you as well."

The redhead snorted and took the seat across from her, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I doubt it."

"But--"

"I'm not arguing with you about this," he said firmly, blue eyes flashing. "He's made his opinion of me clear enough on several occasions." And if Blaise said anything remotely damning to the blond, he was going to kill him.

Hermione sighed, knowing a brick wall when she saw one. "I'll take that tea now."

******

"Knock, knock."

Draco yanked open his door to find Blaise standing there, hands in his pockets. "That's very annoying," he growled, stepping aside to let the man enter.

"What's got your knickers in a twist? Never mind," he said, a sly turn to his lips. "I know exactly what... or should I say who?"

The blond crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "I asked for Granger, not you."

"We're a pair now," he said nonchalantly, bouncing slightly on the edge of the bed.

"You mean you're shagging her," Draco clarified.

Blaise shrugged. "Among other things. Now, I've got a list right here," he said, pulling out a piece of parchment and smoothing it open on the comforter.

"A list of what?" the blond asked, curious despite his knowledge of Blaise's often sordid predilections. Or perhaps because of just that.

"Ways for you to seduce Weasley."

"I don't want to seduce Weasley."

"Of course you want to seduce Weasley," Blaise countered.

"Look, Blaise, I don't know what kind of sick fantasy you've got stuck in your mind this time, but I do not want to seduce Weasley."

"You want him to do all the work, then?" he asked amiably. "I think we can come up with a plan for that."

"No one will be doing any work," Draco said, his voice tight. "No seducing will be going on whatsoever."

The black-haired man sighed. "I can understand Weasley's stubbornness," he started, "since he's always been a contrary arsehole. You, however, never used to have any qualms about doing whatever you pleased, no matter the consequences. So what's holding you back now?"

"I grew up," Draco quipped lightly, although his eyes belied his flippancy, "and realized that consequences can sting quite harshly."

Blaise stared at him a moment, his gaze searching. "You're afraid," he accused finally.

"No, not at all." It was a blatant lie, of course, and Blaise knew it.

"You're afraid," he laughed. "Of Weasley. Merlin, do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"

"I'm not afraid of Weasley! I don't want anything to do with Weasley!" he shouted, face rapidly blooming red. "He can go to hell for all I care."

"You might want to keep your voice down."

Draco spun around to face the doorway to see Ron standing there, a wide-eyed Hermione by his side. The redhead's irises were cold, and Draco swallowed, unable to think of anything proper to say. "What?" he managed.

"I'd rather not have the boys hear you yelling about how much you hate me, Malfoy."

"I wasn't..." Draco trailed off, sending Blaise a helpless look.

"Your mouth has always been your downfall, Draco," Blaise said, shaking his head wryly. He started for the door, but pressed the small piece of parchment into the blonde's hand as he passed. "Think about it."

Draco's fingers tightened involuntarily around the paper as Ron shot him an unreadable glance, then followed Blaise and Hermione down the hall. Shit. He'd just made a muck of things.

Not that having Ron think he hated him was a bad thing. It really didn't matter at all in the long run and...

And who the fuck was he kidding? He wanted the infuriating redhead, and he was terrified of that want. He was fairly sure the ex-Gryffindor felt something akin to reluctant lust for him, and that just wasn't... well, it wasn't quite enough.

He had set up careful barriers around himself over the years, set limits on his friendships and lovers, having had enough trauma and heartache the first eighteen years of his life to choke a hippogriff, not the least at the hands of his own family. And as trite as it sounded, he feared Ron had the capability, and motivation, to break his heart.

With a choked sound of disgust, Draco sneered down at the crumpled bit of parchment. Break his heart? It was trite. And, after having the words rattling around in his head, utterly laughable. The redhead didn't have, and would never have, that kind of hold over him. Blaise was right; being scared of Ron, being afraid of wanting the man, was beyond ridiculous.

His heart didn't have to enter the equation at all.