Precious Things

"I need your help."

Ron looked up from his paperwork. The woman who had spoken was standing a few feet into his office, her thin hands holding her handbag tightly at her side. He hadn't seen her in years, as evidenced by the new lines he noticed around her mouth, but her pale, pointed face still held the same look of disdain.

He looked back down at his desk, not interested in whatever Narcissa Malfoy thought she needed from him. "We imprison Death Eaters here, not help them."

"My son wasn't a Death Eater."

Ron looked up at her sharply, curious despite himself. "Wasn't?"

"Wasn't." She looked at him unwaveringly.

He looked back for a moment, then cocked an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. "So am I to assume that has changed? Or is he dead?"

Her mouth set into a firmer line. "Do you agree to help me?"

"Not until I know whether or not I'm helping a criminal."

Narcissa's chin jutted forward. "My record is clear."

Ron pushed back from his desk, starting to feel annoyed. He had never wanted to be reminded of Draco Malfoy again, but the memories were flooding back. "Technically."

"Which means the Aurors are obligated to help me." She had him, and they both knew it. He tried not to snarl.

"Alright then, talk." He stretched out and put his feet up on the desk, a bored expression on his face. "Why can't one of the other Aurors help you?"

"Because I know about your relationship with my son."

Ron felt all the blood in his veins freeze. He slowly uncurled his fingers from around his tea cup and fixed her with an insolent look. "You know no such thing."

"No need to put on a act with me, Mr. Weasley. I know enough to get you terminated and your name splattered messily all over the papers." Her gaze was calculating and showed no hint of weakness.

His jaw clenched tightly. "Fuck you."

Her expression didn't waver. "Now, I say again, Mr. Weasley--I need your help. Immediately." She broke his gaze and began to walk towards his desk, reaching into her handbag. "There will be a meeting in a few minutes to discuss details." She handed him what appeared to be an expensive Muggle pen, then made to leave.

Before going through the door, she spoke again. "I trust this will be kept confidential."

He didn't answer.

"Good." She left.

Ron exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair, and examined the Portkey he had just been handed.

"Minty clean."

The door to the prefects' bathroom opened with a slight groan, and an exhausted Ron stepped through it. His Quidditch robes were dirty and his muscles ached. He was looking forward to some time alone in the bath before making his way back to Gryffindor Tower and enduring more NEWTs-related nagging from Hermione.

He was closing the door behind him when he heard the sound of taps being turned off. He moved into the room regardless, assuming whoever it was would finish their business and leave him be.

He turned just in time to see a thin blonde boy step out of the bath. His cheeks flamed. "Malfoy."

Draco looked at him briefly, taking a towel off the rack and wiping down his chest. "Weasley."

Ron averted his eyes and began to unclasp his outer robes. "Don't you ever bolt the bloody door?"

"Why should I?"

Ron turned and shot a glare at Draco. "Oh, maybe because I'm not interested in seeing your dangly bits right now."

Draco stopped mid-swipe, the soft towel landing on his thigh. Ron felt his gut turn over.

"No?" The towel slid up to his hip, dragging Ron's gaze with it.

He snapped his attention back to undressing. "No. Now put that thing away, will you?" His shirt hit the floor. "It's making me ill."

Draco calmly ran the towel through his hair. "Your sister doesn't seem to mind."

The air crackled. Ron had him up against the wall in a split second, red fingers snaked around a pale throat. "Stay away from my sister." His breath hissed onto Draco's lips.

Draco's eyes widened momentarily, but he quickly found himself. With surprising strength, he prised Ron's fingers from their grip.

But Ron didn't move away. The adrenaline was too strong and the thrumming in his head hadn't quelled enough to move.

Draco looked at him assessingly. "You want me all for yourself, is it?" He shifted his skin against Ron's smoothly, and got a satisfied look on his face when discernable goose bumps appeared.

Ron jerked away, nearly stumbling backwards. "Get off me."

Draco smirked. "If I recall correctly, Weasley, I wasn't the one on top."

Ron stared at him, chest heaving slightly. His heart refused to slow but he felt sicker than ever, his stomach roiling rebelliously. "Get out."

A clock down the hall clanged and Ron snapped out of his reverie. He glanced at the pen again, then hastily used it to scrawl a note on the nearest piece of parchment. He folded the paper quickly and wrote a name on the front, leaving it on his desk for the recipient to find if something were to ... happen.

He was slipping an arm into his cloak when he felt the tug right in front of his gut, and the office around him disappeared.

---

Narcissa Malfoy's sweeping hair was the first thing he saw. It glowed in the dim light like a beacon, and he had to blink to focus.

As soon as he could see where he was, he reckoned he might get sick all over Narcissa Malfoy's shiny pointed shoes.

Hogwarts loomed before him in ruins, with its gutted towers and ashen hallways leading to nowhere. His throat constricted and he couldn't help but think of Harry. And Hermione.

And Malfoy.

"You look tired, Ron. Are the dreams getting worse?"

Ron's head snapped up so fast he heard a decided 'krick.' The library seemed to echo with the noise.

"How did you--" Ron stopped abruptly, his ears red. "Right." He ran a hand through his hair and looked at his sister. "You know the answer to that, Sister Seer."

Ginny grimaced at him. "Don't call me that in public, you wanker."

He looked around, then lowered his voice resignedly. "I don't suppose you can tell me what they mean, can you? Or do I have to read some sodding book that will spend eighty-seven pages telling me useless information about Winnifred the Wasted and the similar dreams she had in 1743?"

Ginny sighed and sat down next to him. "I've tried, Ron. You know I have. It's not a perfect gift. In fact, I'm beginning to think it's highly useless." She wrinkled her nose. "Or at the very least, highly inconvenient. As you know."

Ron snorted. "Oh no, having dirty dreams about an absolute arsehole that sometimes end in my death, or his, or both, is just ducky." He stabbed the parchment in front of him with his quill. "Let's hope they're not accurate."

Ginny shook her head nonchalantly. "Death in a vision rarely actually means death. Just... trauma. Or the possibility of an ending."

Narcissa turned to him swiftly. "He's in there." She pointed at the one room that had remained, for the most part, intact.

Ron squinted, and saw a small light emanating from what had at one point been the magnificent Great Hall. "I never would have guessed," he said wryly.

"You have to go and speak to him. Now."

"Just me? Shouldn't I get some more of my men out here? We are dealing with a--" Disgust lodged in the back of his mouth. "Criminal."

"He's been asking for you."

Ron's jaw clenched. He looked at her after a moment. "What's it to you?"

She lifted her chin. "He's my son."

"Right." Ron raised an eyebrow. "And?"

Narcissa's lips pursed sourly. "And he has something I need."

"Good girl. And what exactly is it that he has?"

"A family heirloom," she said loftily.

Ron tsked mockingly. "You Malfoys and your dusty trinkets."

"A very important family heirloom." Her tone left no room for questioning. And frankly, Ron didn't care enough to question. His mind was on that small light.

"Well, I think I can manage." He started towards the building, wand in hand.

He was nearly at the ruined main entrance when he heard Narcissa's voice calling to him. "Mr. Weasley." Ron stopped but didn't turn. "He has something else you might be interested in preserving."

"Oh?" He looked over his shoulder at her. "And what would that be? More 'heirlooms'?"

"No." She looked smug. "Harry Potter's wife."

---

The light, as it were, was coming from a small glowing ball held in a thin hand. It shone on Draco's pale visage as he watched Ron approach, and Ron found himself unable to look away. His wand hand fell slowly to his side.

Ron stood over the wash basin, clutching its smooth rims so hard his hands paled.

He couldn't stomach these dreams much longer.

Draco always looked angelic, ethereal light filtering down onto his pale head from somewhere, or up from somewhere, in every single dream. As they sat, or talked, or fucked in these dreams, he was radiant. Ron woke gagging, or choking, and had had to sprint to the washroom more than once to empty his stomach.

Like this morning. Although last night's dream had been different. Ruins of a building and Draco's hands glowing as he ran them over Ron's skin.

He bent over the toilet once more.

"Did my mother bother to tell you what this is?" Draco said to him, looking from Ron to the trinket in his hand.

"No." Ron's voice was low. He was torn between his instincts as an Auror and his past with this man. Sweat prickled his skin in the damp air.

"Hmm." Draco turned his attention back to the orb he held.

Ron started to move closer. "Are you going to tell me or just tease me?"

"You know me." Quick as lightning, Draco had his wand pointed at Ron's throat. "Don't even think about it."

"Yes, I do know you." The corner of Ron's mouth turned up as he took another step. "And you won't kill me."

"No?" Draco's eyes traveled down Ron's body slightly wistfully. "Perhaps not. But I will kill her." He casually pointed his wand to the opposite corner of the room, which was covered in shadows.

A woman's voice came out of the darkness. "Do it, you coward." Ron's heart clenched in his chest and he stopped his advance. She was so goddamn stoic, just like her husband.

Draco seemed thoughtful. "You know, I could now that he's here. You were just a tool."

A growl rose up in Ron's throat and he raised his wand. "Do it and I'll kill you."

"My, my, Weasley. Such vehemence about a person you're not even close to." Draco raised his voice. "Susan, come here."

Susan Potter emerged from the shadows. Her long hair was loose and tangled, her clothes smudged and disheveled, but she met Draco's gaze steadily as she approached him. His wand remained aimed at her heart.

"Closer," Draco demanded. She had no choice but to obey, though Ron could see her eyes smarting with indignation.

Draco trailed his wand along her arm almost intimately, then pushed it sharply into the soft flesh of her lower stomach. "Never had a chance to make babies, did you, Mrs. Potter?" He pushed again. "Had barely got over being Miss Bones when your husband went and got himself killed." He looked up suddenly. "Right here, in fact, if the stories are true."

Ron flinched.

"Just go, Ron! Now!" Harry's eyes blazed bright as the fires raging around them. "You can't save Ginny, or me, so go save what you have left while there's still time!"

Ron couldn't breathe for the smoke and the fear. Tears threatened to squeeze out of his eyes. "I won't, I can't just--"

"You have to! And you know it. You should be with him. Help him." Harry clasped Ron's shoulder. "Thanks for everything, mate. Now get out of here!" Then he shoved Ron away and turned, sprinting towards the Great Hall without looking back.

Ron looked at the falling stronghold, the bastion of his childhood, covered in bodies. Everyone he cared about was either dead or in hiding. He had nowhere else to go but after Draco.

Susan looked over at Ron, her eyes filling with tears. He seethed under his skin and his mind ticked over into strategy mode. "Cut the traipse down memory lane, Malfoy, and let her go. She's not the one you want."

"No, she's not. But she could be awfully fun." His wand trailed lower, a malignant smile on his face. "If I was of the persuasion, that is."

Ron felt disgust crawl through his stomach. "Have you really sunk so low? The Malfoy I knew would never--"

Draco's sudden laughter brought Ron up short. "Didn't my mother tell you, Weasley? I've cracked up. Lost it. Gone round the bend." He shook his head, his voice wry. "She has no idea."

"No idea of what?" Ron took a step closer. Draco appeared not to notice. "She seems to know quite a bit."

"Oh please! Don't delude yourself. My mother is a Black. She'll play whatever cards she needs. And she needed to get to this." He tossed the glowing orb into the air as if it were a Quaffle. Ron's eyes automatically followed the arc of light, and suddenly the pieces fell together.

"Le Globe Toujours Pur," he said quietly.

Draco caught the orb and turned to Ron, admiration in his eyes. "Good show! All that time playing Auror has helped you in some respects, at least." He smiled. "It has indeed helped me."

Ron's stomach twisted into another knot. "Why do you have that? If you destroy it, you'll--"

"Destroy my whole family, yes, I know." Draco returned to contemplating the orb.

"Including you."

The orb flew into the air once more. "Yes, well. Sometimes the bad comes with the good, right? Isn't that what they say?" And again. "And I know your department would just love getting rid of the scourge that is the Malfoys without even getting their hands dirty. Wouldn't they?"

"You've spent all these years surviving when no one wanted you to, Malfoy, so why the sudden love for your fellow man?"

Draco turned to him sharply, his grip on the orb tight. "What would you know about love, Weasley?"

"More than you, if you're willing to sacrifice your family for no reason."

Draco snorted delicately. "Right. The Weasleys know everything about love because that's all they could afford to give each other. How sweet." He pointed his wand at Ron again. "But even a Weasley wasn't able to love a Malfoy."

"I can't do this anymore." Ron leaned against the doorframe and looked out the window of his flat into the fog.

Draco raised an eyebrow from his spot on the bed. "Which part?"

Ron turned to him. "Helping you." Harry's last wish echoed in his ears, as it had for the past five years. "Getting that search warrant overturned for you almost cost me my job. I can't do it again. And this--" His gaze drifted down Draco's body. "Well." He turned away again.

"Have you met someone else?" Draco asked, sounding almost disinterested.

"No." Ron's answer was sharp.

Draco looked at him, then sat up and stepped into his shoes. "Fine." He stood and walked up to Ron, standing close enough that Ron could feel the heat coming off of his skin. "But don't think I can't tell that you're lying."

Ron's mind sprang into action. "Susan," he said loudly, "get out. Now."

Malfoy echoed him smugly. "Yes, Susan, get out. Wouldn't want you to hear anything that would make you think less of your rescuer."

Susan looked at Ron mutely, and he nodded. She seemed frozen for a moment, then sprang forward as if possessed, streaking past him out of the room.

Ron looked at Draco, focused. "Come on, Malfoy. You've got me here, you might as well tell me why. What's got you so fucked off?"

"I know about the man you left me for."

Ron's heart thudded. "I told you, I didn't--"

"Don't lie to me. I saw the picture in the Prophet."

The thought of that picture made Ron's stomach flip over. He swallowed hard. "For Christ's sake, Oliver and I are just friends. I left you because I couldn't help you anymore. And you don't give a rat's arse anyway, Draco, so don't try to pull any heartstrings over it."

Draco's regarded him coldly for a moment. "You think you know me? You think you know what's been going on while you've been off playing Ron Weasley, Auror Hero?"

"I know enough."

Draco made a noise. "Right. Enough to keep the surviving Death Eaters out from under ministry suspicion for nearly five years."

Ron's heart thudded once. "What the fuck are you talking about? I've only ever helped you."

"Exactly." Draco touched the tip of his wand to the inside of his forearm, and to Ron's horror, the outline of the Dark Mark rose to the surface.

Death in a vision rarely actually means death.

"How long?" His voice was a growl, his blood boiling and his body sick with anger.

"Oh, since the beginning," Draco said matter-of-factly. "As soon as I was old enough. I was a special operative. Very few people knew." He looked at Ron, a quirk to his lips. "And you. You came and found me in the woods that night, even though I was in no danger. You helped me for years, putting your job and your life on the line, and were unknowingly helping your greatest enemy. You let me into your bed, for God's sake. You fucked a Death Eater, Ronald Weasley." He spun the orb on the palm of his hand. "How silly must you feel right now?"

Just... trauma. Or the possibility of an ending.

The rage boiled over. Ron threw down his wand and walked swiftly up to Draco. "What the fuck do you want?" he hissed.

Draco looked up at him for a moment, contemplating. His eyes dropped down to Ron's lips, and Ron felt fire in his gut that he had thought long-since put out. "I just wanted you to be here for this." He leaned in and touched Ron's lips with his, briefly, and Ron felt the coldness seep into him to quench the fire. "For me."

Then he smoothly pointed his wand at Ron and hurled the globe towards the far wall, the words of the killing curse slipping past his lips. The last sound either heard was the shattering of glass.

---

In the wee hours of morning, a burly man stepped into Ron Weasley's office, his eyes reddened and his face pale. He spied a note sitting on Ron's desk, picked it up and read it through. When he was finished, he looked out the window for a moment before sitting in Ron's chair. There, his head in his hands, Oliver Wood wept.