Changing Channels

Changing Channels

Marcia was nervous. Normally, Mr. Weasley was a wonderful boss - understanding when she needed to take a personal day, generous in his yearly bonuses, known to give her the afternoon off on a whim - but he had been under a lot of stress lately, and the owl post she was about to deliver might push him over the edge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ron Weasley had taken a simple concept and turned it into a multi-million Galleon business. He gambled on the idea that there were others in the wizarding world like his father, wizards fascinated with Muggles and how they function in a world without magic. It began with a corner in his brothers' joke shop - Muggle Novelties to Impress Your Friends. Ballpoint pens, batteries, and rubber ducks were instant hits. Soon he opened a shop of his own and 'Mugglenation' was born.

Within a year, he had four stores with a booming trade. When people discovered silver discs with music, or moving-talking picture stories, his became the fastest growing business in Britain. When he figured out how to market Muggle television, he went global. Wizards, it seemed, just couldn't get enough Buffy.

Everything he touched turned to gold.

But life was terribly boring for Ron Weasley. Having money was a nice change of pace, and he rather enjoyed spending it and giving it away, but that wore thin after a while. There was a decided lack of excitement in his life. He needed a new venture, a new world to conquer.

The answer came to him during dinner with Harry Potter.

"Come over for dinner tonight, Ron."

"Is Luna cooking?"

"Would I do that to you?"

"Yes."

"All right, I would, but I promise she's not."

Dinner at Harry and Luna's was always an adventure. Ron liked seeing them together-- Luna so oblivious to the world and anything that resembled logic, and Harry so oblivious to Luna's eccentricities. Ron understood why Harry was drawn to her. There was no pretense with Luna, no mask of any kind. What you saw was what you got, and it was that very honesty that won his heart.

After dinner, they adjourned to the living room, which held Ron's latest gift to his favorite couple-- a 65-inch flat screen television that Luna was currently using as a stand to display her photograph collection of Turklefinckers--which as it turned out were invisible, so the pictures were mostly of trees and dirt.

"Don't you ever watch the thing, Luna? I would think you'd love it--a world that lives in a box."

Luna gave a little giggle. "Why would I watch Muggles....such odd creatures. I can't make heads or tails of them. Now Three Spiked Knipknacks, now those are interesting...."

She kept talking but Ron stopped listening. Muggles were odd creatures. Not all wizards could relate to them, or would find them interesting in the least. Maybe it was time to re-evaluate his target audience. Maybe it was time to take things to the next level.

And right there, with Luna's wistful voice talking of her encounter with a Gnippergnap, the idea glowed as brightly as any Golden Snitch - a television channel with programs geared towards wizards, created by wizards. The possibilities were endless. Wizard news, Quidditch, fashion programs with the latest in robes, Quidditch, Martin the Mad Muggle cartoons, Quidditch. He started to get goose flesh.

Once the logistics were figured out, Wizard-TV was launched. It was an instant hit. Wizards from all over the world tuned in every week to watch the hottest trends in fashion on 'Wizard Style' hosted by Pavarti Patil, or the latest advancements in agriculture on 'The Magic Garden' with Neville Longbottom. Charlie Weasley hosted 'The Bestiary', with tips on how to care for magical pets. Some of his most popular shows featured Hagrid, who was often a guest bringing in the more exotic creatures.

'Saving Sickles' was hosted by Molly Weasley and broadcast straight from the Burrow. 'Facing Your Boggart,' a program hosted by Remus Lupin, who helped people through some of the tougher times in their lives with tea, chocolate and conversation, was oddly popular among homemakers and hairdressers.

The nightly news was hosted by Hermione Granger, with sports commentary from Oliver Wood and weather predictions by Sybil Trelawney - who was prefect for the job because apparently it mattered little if the forecast was actually correct.

'Live from the Hogshead' featured live musical performances broadcast from the inn made famous--and currently co-owned--by Harry Potter. Harry had always fancied himself a bit of a musician, but no one took him seriously, so he bought his own club.

'Apparate' was a travel program. 'Riddikulus' was a comedy/variety program. 'As the Time Turner Turns' and 'St. Mungos Hospital' were full of romance and drama.

Wizard businesses from all over the world advertised on his station. Even Gringotts Bank, whose slogan was "Gringotts: As if you had a Choice", couldn't resist. Ron's Midas touch struck again.

Unlike his other ventures, Wizard-TV was constantly changing. He could run special programs, move programming around, and try different formats. The schedule was constantly evolving. The strategist in him loved piecing the puzzle, trying to find which programs were the most popular and what worked best in what time slot. Each change brought him more and more viewers and more advertisers. Nothing could stop him.

Then came Howler-TV.

It was the worst kind of sensationalistic garbage. Some of it was painful to watch. 'Chamber of Secrets' was a talk show where the host divulged his guests' greatest secrets and watched as they argued and eventually dueled with those who were once their friends. 'Dungbomb' was a program where people would play vicious practical jokes on unsuspecting friends, and the entire travesty would be replayed to the public. 'Foe Glass' and 'Unspeakables' were soap operas full of deviant sex and violence. They were instantly popular. 'Life with Vernon' was a reality-based program that chronicled the daily lives of the Dursleys. Ron didn't think the Dursleys even knew that there were cameras in their house.

It was appalling. It was disgusting. It was eating away at his profits. Sensationalistic garbage though it may be, the viewers loved it...and so did the sponsors. Ron had no idea who was behind it. It was a privately owned business, which meant one person was financing the entire operation. There just weren't that many people with that kind of capital after the war.

Ron didn't mind a little competition, but if someone wanted to step in his territory they had better be prepared for a dog fight.

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"Mr. Weasley?" Marcia couldn't keep the nervous tremors from her voice.

"Come in, Marcia," Ron said, without looking up from his papers. Marcia noticed that the crease between his eyebrows was growing deeper by the day.

"I have...I have the report from the private investigator, sir."

Ron looked up quickly and nodded. Marcia placed the report on his desk and hurried out of the room. She didn't want to be around when he read the name on the bottom of that report. Her fingers tapped anxiously on her desk as she waited for the reaction, listening carefully for the sounds of broken glass and rampant swearing that she was sure would be forthcoming. Instead, however, she found an all too eerie silence. When he emerged from his office an hour later he was the perfect picture of calm. "I'll be away for the next few days, Marcia. Cancel my appointments."

"Yes, sir," she began nervously. "Can I ask where you'll be?"

"I have a small matter to take care of."

He left the office without another word. Marcia gave a shiver at the sudden chill in the air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The office was just as he expected it to be-- cold marble, expensive paintings, high ceilings, and obnoxiously shiny floors. A beautiful façade to hide what was at its core, namely a bitter and hateful man who seemed to derive pleasure from being a thorn in the side of everyone else who had the misfortune of making contact.

Ron stalked out of the elevator, down the long corridor to the doors with that blasted name embossed in gold lettering on its face, past the secretary saying something about 'not to be disturbed,' and threw open a pair of large mahogany doors with the sheer power of a decade and a half's worth of pure abhorrence. "You can't seem to leave me alone can you?" he snarled.

Draco Malfoy looked up from behind his desk, where he was perusing a rather large stack of files. "Weasley...what a pleasure. Please feel free to intrude and break into my office."

He looked just as Ron remembered: pale, fine-boned, and sharp enough to slice open a pair of unsuspecting wrists. It had been years since they set eyes on each other, but to Ron Weasley, he was still an eleven year old boy facing another with enough hate between them to burn down Hogsmeade. He stomped to Draco's desk. Digging his fists into the wood, he leaned forward so that he was almost nose to nose with the Slytherin. "It kills you doesn't it, to see me successful, to see what I've become."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "All I see before me is a raving lunatic who barged into my office and started shouting, much like the boorish, uncivilized troglodyte he always was. What exactly have you become?"

Ron stood up straight, his shoulders finally broad enough to match his height. "Rich on my own merits," he said with satisfaction. "A respected member of society with a name to be proud of and a man you obviously feel is a force to be reckoned with."

Draco's eye roll and smirk made him appear highly amused, but incredibly bored. It was a gift really. "Working too hard, Weasley, has evidently affected your brain. Money can't buy breeding, so I don't care how much you have. You will never have any sort of station in high society. Additionally, the respect of the plebes you surround yourself with isn't something I strive for. As for being a force to be reckoned with....well, you can't really be serious."

It was a very familiar game, but Ron wasn't about to give up any advantage. "Howler-TV, Draco. Bad enough you completely stole my idea, but couldn't you come up with anything more creative than the schlock you're putting on the air?"

"True, Weasley, you've had an idea worth stealing, which in and of itself is almost beyond the realm of reason, but in true Gryffindor fashion you acted on it without looking at the big picture. That schlock you are so carelessly referring to is making me a fortune, which is why, I'm assuming, you are here. Can't take a bit of competition?"

Draco had stood up and walked around his desk so that he was uncomfortably close to Ron, but Ron wasn't going to let that half albino intimidate him. "I can take anything you can dish out, Malfoy," he growled.

Draco grinned and spoke softly. "Then the race is on, isn't it?"

Ron stared at Malfoy with every bit of contempt he could muster before walking to the door. He stood at the threshold and turned to face Malfoy one last time, shaking his head slowly. "Still chasing Gryffindors, Draco. Haven't you anything better to do?"

"No, not really," Draco drawled effortlessly. "There are other things to do, of course, but none are better. And after all, everyone needs a hobby." The last word fell from his lips and the heavy doors closed with a sharp snap.

The gold lettering on the door, glittering and bright, seemed to mock him as thoroughly as the owner of the name, causing his blood to boil over. It was war. And if the little conniving ferret wanted a war so badly, he was going to get one.

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What ensued was the most brutal fight anyone had seen since the days of the last great war. Each day, the bitter battle could be found in agonizing color on the front page of The Daily Prophet. Once the public got wind of who was behind Howler-TV, and realized that once again a Weasley and a Malfoy would be squaring off, the ratings of both stations skyrocketed. There was no publicity in the world better than open hatred and public rivalry.

The combat was fierce and unremitting. Ron aired game shows like 'Name That Charm', and 'Transfigure Your Future' - fun, family fare with celebrity guests and amiable humor. Draco slaughtered them with his own show, 'Your Potion or Your Life', where contestants drank an unknown potion and had thirty minutes to brew the antidote. It was hosted by none other than Severus Snape, who made things as uncomfortable as possible for the competitors by drawling insults against their abilities, their ancestry, and their general stupidity.

He became an overnight sensation. Sales of black robes and hair oil went through the roof as well as t-shirts with the phrases, 'Were you born without a brain, or did it abandon you along with your dignity?' and "How many times did your mother drop you on your head as a child?'

Draco produced "Sneakoscope", a program full of gossip, rumors, and the latest in celebrity couture to air against "Wizard Style." It gained almost a cult following as it seemed people cared more about fashion if someone famous was wearing it.

Ron would not be out-done. He produced his own reality show to combat the hugely successful 'Life with Vernon.' 'Muggle House' challenged six wizards to live like a Muggle for eight weeks. The one who lasted the longest won huge sums of money and a recording contract - whether they could sing or not. Ron capitalized on its success by parlaying it into three spin-offs - Muggle Office, Muggle Restaurant, and Muggle Island. If his research showed him anything, it was that if one had a good idea, one should come up with enough sequels to flood every open timeslot.

One of Ron's most popular shows, 'Wizards Most Wanted', featured re-enactments of the hunt for some of the world's most dangerous wizarding criminals. To counter it, Draco produced 'Aurors!', which followed real life Aurors as they chased down felons. To counter that, Ron hired the somehow-not-dead Sirius Black as host. His sad life story and roguishly handsome features made him a sensation. Soon, he was on the cover of magazines and had a line of sports apparel...and a recording contract. Draco, trying to make his show more edgy, tried to have the Aurors 'accidentally' tear the clothing off the prisoners. They walked off the show.

Smelling blood, Ron went in for the kill. 'Muggle Eye for the Wizard Guy' had honest to goodness Muggles teaching Wizards to be more Mugglelike. It was hosted by the Muggle cousins of Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, who had an unexpected flair for accessorizing and grooming. Almost immediately, 'Metro Muggles' became the rage all over the wizarding communities. Three-piece suits and evening gowns replaced dress robes at Ministry functions, cell phones replaced floo-calls, and everyone had a laptop and a screen name.

Ron knew Draco was getting desperate when Charlie told him that Draco approached him to come to his network to star in 'The Dragon Hunter.'

"Can you imagine the gall?" Charlie scowled over a glass of Ogden's. "As if I would ever even think of hosting a show that had me wrestling dragons. He must think I'm insane. What sort of idiot would put himself up against a ferocious wild animal?"

"I have to admit it's pretty brazen, even for a Malfoy." Ron couldn't help but be impressed. Draco was creative.

"Brazen and stupid," Charlie continued. "What would make him think that I'd go against family for the sake of a few galleons?"

Ron shrugged. "He never had a real family, Charlie. He doesn't understand that kind of loyalty." He drained his butterbeer and looked up to see Charlie staring at him, wide eyes blinking rapidly.

"Did you just defend him?" he asked incredulously.

"Don't be ridiculous."

Charlie continued to blink. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? You're enjoying fighting with him."

Ron shrugged again. "Maybe. It has been pretty exciting checking the papers to see what's being said, who's saying it. Finding ways to out-maneuver him, being out-maneuvered. It has all the excitement of war, without the casualties."

Charlie gave Ron a small smile that Ron wasn't entirely sure he liked. Choosing to ignore it, Ron continued, "Do me a favor and let him think you're considering it."

"What?"

"I want to find out what he offers you. It's not often one can get a man on the inside like this. You'll probably get some gifts out of the deal."

"And what's my reasoning for suddenly being interested?"

"I don't know ...tell him I sent Lupin or someone a bigger fruit basket, or gave them a better spot to park their broomstick, and you feel undervalued. Tell him you feel stifled and that you want to explore your range as an artist."

"That is the most asinine thing I've ever heard."

"Trust me," Ron smiled. "Malfoy will understand perfectly."

Somehow the press got hold of the information and the bidding war for Charlie Weasley was the headline every morning for weeks. Ron kept offering bigger and more outlandish perks to Charlie so that Draco would have to one up him. Gold plated quills, spider silk robes, valet broom parking at the studio, imported bottled water from a glacier, daily massages and pedicures for him and the dragons. The list grew daily. Ron was having the time of his life.

Charlie came into his office late on the night that he was supposed to tell Draco that he made his choice.

"Did you tell him to stuff it?" Ron asked excitedly, not bothering to look up from his paperwork.

"Not exactly," he answered nervously.

Ron felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "What do you mean, not exactly?"

"He wouldn't see me."

"Why?"

"Well, I guess you weren't the only one with a strategy."

"What are you talking about?"

"This." Charlie handed Ron the late edition of The Daily Prophet, the headline practically glowing off the page, "Howler-TV Wins Exclusive Rights to Air the Quidditch World Cup. Wizard-TV Completely Shut Out."

Ron read the words over and over, as if trying to translate them into a language he could understand. Then, as if hit with a spiked bludger, he jolted. He realized what had just happened. Without a word to his brother, he grabbed the newspaper, crushed it in his trembling hands, and stormed out the door.

The war was about to get bloody.

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Ron once again stalked out of the elevator and down the long corridor to the doors with that blasted name embossed in gold lettering on its face. There was no secretary there to stop him this time; no one at all. No witnesses would be a good thing, he thought, as he threw open the large mahogany doors.

"That took long enough," Draco remarked in his most disinterested voice. "I'd have figured you'd been here seconds after your brother left. Age slowing you down, Ronald?"

"You bastard."

Draco looked up, the side of his mouth slowly rising. "That's one way to look at it, I reckon. Others might call me a tactical genius."

"The whole thing with Charlie was a rouse. You never wanted him for your network. You were trying to distract me long enough to get the rights to the Quidditch World Cup." He threw the crumpled newspaper on Draco's desk.

Draco eyed it for a moment. "For the love of... You'd think they'd have a better picture of me than this one. It's got to be two years old. I have a dozen sitting in my desk. I get new ones weekly, you know. I need to remember to send them some for their files."

Ron watched as Draco made a note to himself to send the paper updated photos. "Oy, ferret boy, I'm still here."

"I noticed, but I have yet to figure out why."

"Why?" Ron roared, incredulously. "Why? When I started this venture, I did it with the hope of broadcasting Quidditch to the world, of making it possible for everyone to have access to all games whether they could afford tickets or not. I've been broadcasting all the league games preparing for the World Cup; for the premier Quidditch Tournament in the world. And you come along and take away the one thing that meant the most to me, and you wonder why I'm here."

"I'm not giving it up, Weasley," he said as he stood, moving around his desk and towards Ron until they were face to face. "It's a ratings goldmine. I can't help it if you were out-maneuvered."

Ron didn't flinch, and he wouldn't walk way. "Out-maneuvered? So you think, Malfoy. You've never broadcast a sports event. You haven't any idea how."

Draco blinked, but otherwise gave nothing away. "If you can do it, Weasley, I can do it better."

Ron gave a small smile. "International Quidditch has rules about who can and can't advertise. How many times they can advertise in a single broadcast. What the commercials can and can't say. But I'm sure you know about all the restrictions. If not, give them a call. They'll be glad to send you volumes 1 through 4. That would be a good start."

Draco blinked again.

Ron's smile grew. "Who'll give commentary?"

"Who else?" he answered with just a touch of disdain, "Lee Jordan. He's the voice of Quidditch. Don't you ever listen to your own games?"

Despite Draco's tone, Ron fancied he saw a grey eye twitch slightly. "Lee Jordan doesn't work for The Quidditch League. He's under an exclusive contract with me, so try again."

Draco blinked twice.

"Yes, Draco, you out-maneuver me and you put yourself in a right tight spot." Ron inched closer to Draco, so that they were almost brushing against each other.

Draco regained his voice. "You're better at this than I gave you credit for," he said amusedly.

"You're not so bad yourself."

They stood smiling at each other until Draco broke the silence. "I figured you came here to introduce me to your fist."

"That may have crossed my mind once or twice on the way over."

"What changed it?"

"I'm not sure. It seemed less like a fight and more like...more like-"

"Foreplay," Draco whispered, tilting his head up and rubbing the tip of his nose against Ron's before brushing it with his lips.

"Something like that," was the breathy reply. Ron leaned down, his lips hovering just over Draco's. His eyes locked on the soft outline of the small mouth, pink like cotton candy. He felt the rapid rise and fall of Draco's chest against his own and wondered briefly why Draco didn't appear so sharp anymore. Draco's lips parted slightly, perhaps to throw a scathing remark, perhaps to beg Ron to make a move, perhaps to laugh - all seemed distinct possibilities. Ron decided he wouldn't wait to find out. He pressed his lips to Draco's with a softness that he never associated with his relationship to Draco; with a gentleness that he didn't realize he possessed.

Their mouths fit together perfectly, lips layered atop each other with soft sinewy tongues sliding in and out. Draco tasted of mint and dark chocolate, and he made light noises which would have sounded like whimpers coming from anyone else. Ron slowly brought his hand up and dug his fingers into the silvery blonde hair. Soon he felt Draco's own small hands snake their way under his clothing, until they touched Ron's bare skin. When sharp fingernails scratched his torso, Ron lost all reason. He picked Draco up by the waist and propped him up on the large desk.

Hands began to tear at clothing, bites were placed on necks and shoulders, growls and moans replaced soft whimpers, and the gentleness of their first kiss gave way to a dizzying frenzy. Draco's skin was perfect, smooth and unmarked, and Ron took pleasure in peppering it with love bites.

In between whimpers and whispers, Ron thought he heard Draco mutter something, and turned when he heard furniture moving behind him. The chairs and table at the end of the office neatly stacked themselves away as part of the wall opened to reveal a small chamber. Ron was surprised to find a large and plush bed with silk sheets and down pillows. "You keep a bed in your office?" he asked incredulously.

"Had to," Draco answered. "Trying to out-do you is time consuming. I end up staying here more nights than I would ever admit to."

"Convenient, that."

"Very."

Draco lay back on the bed, his hair perfectly complimented by the soft green of the bedclothes. Ron wanted to comment that only Draco would have a bed color-coordinated to match his complexion, but thought better of it. Considering their history, the fewer words between them at this moment, the better, and besides...Ron thought Draco looked rather lovely.

It was while staring at Draco, beautifully naked and waiting for him on a lavish bed, that Ron started to feel nervous.

"Stop it, Weasley. Stop thinking."

"Ron."

"Fine....Stop it, Ron."

There was almost something desperate in Draco's voice...something vulnerable. It was madness--every bit of it--but nothing had ever made him feel so alive. Draco always brought out something fierce in him. It used to be hate, but it could just as easily be...something else. Frankly, he was sick of fighting it.

"You're very pushy for a bottom," he said with a smirk, as he lowered himself onto the bed and next to Draco.

Draco relaxed when Ron's skin touched his. "Who said I bottom?"

Ron smiled as he nuzzled Draco's neck. "Please Draco, everything about you screams bottom."

"I never scream."

"Is that a challenge?"

Before Draco could answer, Ron bit his neck and Draco arched his body and let out a gasp. "Do you always use your teeth so forcefully?"

"Only if you're nice."

"I'm not nice...but I am good." Ron could feel the smirk, even if he couldn't see it.

"Do you ever shut up?" And again, before Draco could answer, Ron distracted him. This time by running his tongue down Draco's torso to his navel. "Fuck, you taste good."

"Enough with the witty banter," Draco said, his eyes closed. "You obviously can put your mouth to better use. I suggest you do so."

"So damn pushy," Ron murmured with a chuckle, into the soft skin of Draco's thigh. He stopped talking and instead showed Draco just how versatile his mouth truly was.

It was to be the first time that either could remember when they were completely silent in each other's presence. No insults, no mocking words, no bitterness; just a blissful silence occasionally broken by a soft moan, a gasp or a cry of pleasure.

Ron ran his tongue over Draco's body and was pleased to discover every inch tasted like candy; like lemon drops, and fireballs, and pixie sticks. All his favorite things wrapped up in a slender, pale frame, beautifully packaged.

Afterward, Ron's long body was draped over Draco's, blanketing him. It was an odd feeling, to want to protect that which he previously hated. He was too tired to try to explain it to himself or to anyone else. No, this moment would be his and Draco's. With a gentle, "Nox," he extinguished the dim lights, wrapped his arms around his lover, and slept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marcia sat at her desk with the late edition of The Daily Prophet spread across her desk. She read the headline over and over. Draco Malfoy's network would air the Quidditch World Cup. Mr. Weasley would have seen this last night, which meant he would either be enraged to the point of spontaneous combustion when he finally came into the office, or he was already in Azkaban for murder. She looked up at the clock - 10:30 a.m. Mr. Weasley was always in the office by 7:30. Azkaban was looking like more of a possibility by the minute. She was about to call Mr. Potter - perhaps he knew something - when the door finally opened.

"Good Morning Marcia," Ron Weasley said jovially as he entered the office. His cheeks were pink and his eyes sparkling. Marcia's heart dropped into her stomach. He didn't know.

"Mr. Weasley," she said timidly, "I...I think you need to see this." A shaking hand held out the newspaper.

"I saw it already, dear. It's all right. I actually have a meeting early this afternoon with Mr. Malfoy. Cancel all my other appointments, won't you?"

Marcia stared at him unblinkingly. "Here, sir? He's coming here?"

"Yes. He's going to try to convince me to loan him Lee Jordan to give commentary on the World Cup."

"He's going to what?" She wondered briefly why no one told her hell had frozen over.

Ron only smiled. "He's coming here. Oh, and Marcia, take the afternoon off. He'll be convincing me for a very long time."

Finis