Adeste Fideles.

 

The package arrived three days before Christmas. It had the overall appearance of a medium-sized box wrapped in plain brown paper with thick twine, and the only marks on it were the name and address, slightly smudged by an early wet snow. Draco refused to touch it.

"You're paranoid," Ron said.

"A box that size could hold all manner of curses."

Ron examined the blurred ink. "That's my mum's handwriting. You really think she'd send you a curse?"

"What else could she possibly be sending me?"

"...something that's not a curse?"

"It could be a trick," Draco said. "It could be from one of your siblings."

"They wouldn't send you a curse, Draco."

"How can you be so sure?"

In truth Ron wasn't sure; it was more like a desperate sort of hope that no matter how much they might dislike Draco, they wouldn't actually try to do lasting physical damage. It was too much to hope that the twins wouldn't give their best shot at lasting psychological damage, and Ginny was always up for physical damage of a more transitory sort, but even Ron could dream. Perhaps he should've put that on his Christmas list. Dear Santa, this year I'd like a boyfriend that my family and friends don't loathe. You can do what you like with the current one.

"I'm not opening it," Draco said.

"Fine," Ron announced, and put it on a shelf in the closet. "It's right there if you change your mind."

"What if it explodes?"

"I'm going to work."

"What if it attacks me?"

"I'm going to work."

"You," Draco announced, "are no help at all."


 
x-X-x-X-x


"He's being ridiculous," he complained to Harry later at work.

Harry snorted without looking up from the paperwork he was processing. "What d'you expect? He's Malfoy."

"Well, yeah, but most of the time he does manage to act like a grown man."

He waited for Harry to say something like you'd be paranoid, too, if you'd gone through what he did, but instead Harry snorted and said again, "He's Malfoy." Ron wanted to point out that it had been Harry who insisted they help Draco when they found him months ago, half-starved and wandering a heath on the run from his former master. Harry had insisted they take Draco in and give him Order protection when Ron had been more than willing to turn him over to Aurors instead. Then again, Harry and Draco hadn't ended up sleeping together, so Ron supposed he was entitled to a slightly different perspective.


 
x-X-x-X-x


The package was bound tightly with ropes when he got home, but it was still in the closet and Draco refused to explain how he'd done it. "It's just a precaution," he said.

"What, d'you think Hagrid sent it?"

"He never liked me."

You never wanted him to, Ron wanted to say, but he was working on a throbbing headache and didn't feel like pounding his head against Draco's tonight. Instead he asked, "You doing the usual for Christmas?"

"Of course. You?"

"Have to."

"I ordered pizza, by the way."

Draco was extremely adept at ordering in, although Ron had managed to teach him to fry an egg and heat things that came out of tins. He still occasionally worried that Draco would starve to death if he was called on a long field assignment, but Hermione had insisted a human could go forty days without food, so perhaps hunger might manage to drive him out of the flat before then. Or maybe not. There wasn't much these days that could.


 
x-X-x-X-x


Draco didn't mention the parcel the next morning, so Ron ignored it. Draco did mention that he was having lunch with Zabini. Ron tried to ignore that, too, but Draco insisted on talking.

"His pardon his still pending, of course," he announced with a little flourish of the butter knife. "The Wizengamot won't hear it until the New Year, though, and until then he's gotten a special order to allow him in the borders for seventy-two hours."

"Charming," Ron told his coffee. "How much did that cost him?"

"Not as much as you'd think, really," Draco said. "I think he just went down on the right people. I'm quite sure he had pubic hair on his lapel the last time I saw him."

"And when," Ron asked the Quidditch section, "did you last see him?"

"Oh, he firecalled me a few days ago to chat about...things."

"Really."

"Yes." Draco took a delicate bite of his toast. "The new villa, the new wife, the new mistress, the old mistress, the business...you know how it is."

No, Ron thought, he didn't, because he wasn't a fabulously wealthy international playboy with cheekbones you could slice cheese on. And he was fairly certain Draco didn't know either, or else he'd been keeping it to himself until just the right moment, and just because Ron knew it was a game didn't mean he didn't have to play it.

"You really should stop grinding your teeth like that," Draco said.

"I'm going to work," Ron told Pig.


 
x-X-x-X-x


"He wants you to get wound up about it, of course," Hermione told him over lunch.

"Then why shouldn't I give him what he wants?" Ron asks. "Early Christmas present. He'd probably like it more than the cufflinks anyway."

"Cufflinks?"

"What's wrong with cufflinks?"

"Nothing...I suppose it is hard to shop for the man who has everything."

Or the man who has nothing and refuses to admit it. "Anyway, he knows I'm hacked off about it, so he'll make kissy-kissy when we get back and pretend it didn't happen."

Hermione frowned. "You shouldn't be so calm about it. He's testing you."

"Is that what he's doing?"

"He is," she said firmly. "He's trying to see how far he has to go to hurt you. It's the same thing he did in school. If you don't sort it out now, the next thing you know he'll be sleeping with Zabini or something."

Ron shook his head. "Draco wouldn't do that."

"How do you know?"

He didn't know; he just believed, with a force that surprised even himself from time to time. Intellectually there was no reason why Draco wouldn't sleep around, but Ron had given up on the intellectual thing a while ago because when it came to this relationship, thinking made his head hurt. Instinct and intuition had always worked better; just going with what felt right at the time had started the whole thing, so he didn't see any reason to quit now.

"Anyway," she said briskly, "I wanted to ask how the twenty-third would be for the wedding."

"Of February?"

"January," Hermione said. "I know it's short notice, but Uncle Algie isn't doing so well and Neville wants him to be there. And I want to make sure you and Harry will be there before I start fiddling with the caterers and things."

Ron smiled. "Hermione, you know I wouldn't miss your wedding for the world."

"Are you sure it's all right?"

"The twenty-third is fine."

She was giving him That Look, though. "You know what I mean, Ron."

He had never really mastered any Looks of his own, unless he counted the Look At His Shoes and Pray For Death, which he only ever used on his mum anyway. So he just looked her in the eye. "It's fine, Hermione," he said. "I'm happy for you."

"You really don't mind being an usher?"

"I'm not jealous, Hermione."

"Good," she said, in a way that really meant, why not?

Because there are some things you can't share without ending up hating each other a little bit, Ron wanted to say, but instead he said, "Look, you know how Harry's got the saving-people thing?"

"Yes," she said, all drawn out into I-don't-see-where-this-is-heading.

Ron took her hand. "Well...you've got a fixing-people thing."

"I do?"

"Yeah," he said. "And I don't want to be fixed."

"And what about Malfoy?"

He knew where this was heading, so he shrugged. "Draco likes me broken."


 
x-X-x-X-x


Zabini was still in the flat when Ron came home from work: they were laughing and drinking fancy drinks with olives in them. Zabini's fancy robes were undone and Draco's face was incredibly pink, and they both looked up when he entered the room with lazy smiles. "Weasley," Zabini said. "A pleasure."

"Zabini," Ron said. "Fucked any good widows lately?"

"I don't kiss and tell," Zabini said pleasantly. "You look like shit you know."

"Solar events are busy times of year," Ron explained, tossing his cloak onto the peg. "Still cleaning up from the night of the solstice."

Malfoy sniggered. "Honestly, love," and the hair on the back of Ron's neck stood up, "don't you know that real Dark magic has nothing to do with the bloody moon and stars?"

"Mostly," Zabini correctly.

"Mostly?" Draco added.

"I didn't say we caught any real Dark wizards, did I?" Ron said. "The lockup is currently full of idiots and wanna-bes who are lucky they didn't blow themselves up, and St. Mungo's has half a ward full of the idiots and wanna-bes who did."

Draco raised his drink in a toast. "To idiots!"

"To idiots!" Zabini said.

"I'm going to change my clothes," Ron said.

Draco came up behind him while he still had his shirt off and sagged against his back. "You were jealous this morning," he said.

"I was not," Ron said.

"You were."

Ron located the shirt in the closet he was looking for; Draco reached and around and started to glide his hands up and down Ron's chest, open-palmed and a little cool. "I wasn't," Ron said.

"You were grinding your teeth."

"The Cannons lost again."

Draco snorted.

Ron wiggled out of his embrace and crossed to the bed to put on his vest. "I'd let you know that Hermione and Neville are moving the wedding if I thought you were anywhere near sober enough to remember it an hour from now."

"Wha?"

"They're moving the wedding up to January. Something to do with Uncle Algie."

Draco's arms wrapped around his torso again and they weren't quite so limp as before. "Where'd you hear this?" Draco asked, with a distinct lack of a slur.

"Oh, we had lunch today."

"Oh."

Ron glanced over his shoulder; Draco's eyes were dangerously narrow. His mouth tasted like booze when they kissed, ice and booze and olives, and for a moment that was all they did. Then Ron got himself turned around, and he was amazed just like every time when Draco got down on his knees.

Draco yanked down Ron's trousers and seized his cock, practically shoving it in his own mouth. Ron hissed at the jagged contours of his teeth and seized Draco's head, wrapping all that cornsilk hair around his fingers. Draco grabbed Ron's balls one-handed and started to squeeze. It was hasty and rough and left Ron with a set of scratches that started on his belly and ended on his thighs, and when they were done Draco spat, wiped his mouth, and went back into the living room. Ron finished getting dressed.

He didn't like the way Zabini leered at him as he left, but Draco had brought home Chinese food from wherever they'd been, so Ron ate it and tried to look grateful. In the middle of dinner, Draco said to his spring roll, "Don't play games with me, Weasley."

Ron swallowed a mouthful of rice. There were quite a lot of ways to respond to that and only one was part of the rules. "I won't."


 
x-X-x-X-x


And then it was the day before Christmas Eve, and Draco was gone before Ron got up. He searched the flat for him, but there wasn't so much as an inkblot, pinfeather or twiglet to of evidence. Leaving the flat twice in as many days was quite a departure for Draco, but without signs of foul play Ron had to assume he'd left willingly. Ron had to believe he'd be back.

Ginny showed up to take Harry to lunch and they graciously invited him along, despite the perfect opportunity for some holiday fornication. They ate in a private room at the Leaky Cauldron and chatted about the hospital while Ron ignored the game of footsie going on beneath the table.

"By the way," Ginny asked between sandwiches, "Mum wants to know if It has decided to come tomorrow after all."

"He's got plans," Ron said stiffly.

"Thank goodness," Ginny said.

Harry cleared his throat but didn't say much, and Ron didn't really blame him. Part of him would've liked to be able to sit around bitching about Draco and making nasty jokes, too, because there was plenty to joke about, but he couldn't do that any more than he could insult his own mum. Who was, incidentally, responsible for the whole messy situation, anyway. If she hadn't taken Draco in after Harry had brought him to the Order, if she hadn't been fooled by his attempts to be charming, if she hadn't made Ron play nice...

"How's he doing?" Harry asked. "Malfoy, I mean."

Ginny rolled her eyes while Ron shrugged. "Usual," he said.

"Has he opened the package yet?"

Ron had just about forgotten about the package, what with Zabini and all. He shook his head. "Still in the closet."

"What package?" Ginny asked.

"Something Mum sent him." Ron swallowed down a bite of stew. "Any idea what it is?"

"How should I know?" she asked sourly. "I don't care what Mum does with It."

Ron growled; Harry said, "Maybe you should just open it yourself and show him."

He shook his head. "Nah, I think that's what he wants me to do."


 
x-X-x-X-x


When he came home that evening—over and hour late to make up for a lingering lunch—the flat was dark and cold. Ron flicked on the lights and found Draco curled up on himself on the couch, shivering. "What happened?"

Draco didn't move.

Ron dropped to his knees in front of the couch and forced Draco's head up. "Draco? What did you do today?"

Draco's eyes snapped into focus after a heart-stopping delay, and he almost seemed to laugh a bit. "Christmas is a time to be with family," he said.

"Shit." Ron summoned a blanket and wrapped it around Draco's shoulders, then wrapped himself around Draco's whole body and pulled him close. Draco was covered in a cold sweat and shivering hard, and he stayed completely passive while Ron got them situated. Ron conjured a mug of tea and wrapped Draco's hands around it. "What the hell's gotten into you?"

"I wanted to see him," Draco said weakly. "I haven't been to see him since I was a kid."

"You shouldn't have gone by yourself," Ron said. "You should've told me."

Draco shook his head and sighed, and as he sighed he sagged, like he was letting all his strength our. He settled against Ron's chest and breathed along his collarbone. "He didn't recognize me," he said softly. "He had no idea where he was. He kept asking...kept calling for the house elf and things. Like he was at home again."

"Jesus," Ron whispered.

"No else visits him, though," Draco said. "There's no one left. He wanted me to stay...he didn't know who I was but he wanted me to stay with him. But I couldn't...couldn't do it...."

Ron pressed his face into Draco's hair and squeezed Draco's hands between his own and the mug. He absolutely hated this. He still knew the Death Eaters were evil and deserved the worst punishments that magic could devise; he had no regrets about the dead or those who had been locked away. Draco, though—Draco mourned them all. Ron just mourned for Draco.

"Drink your tea," he whispered against the back of Draco's neck.

"It's cold."

Ron untangled his wand arm and cast a warming spell. Draco sipped it.

"Still tastes like shit."

"Drink it anyway," Ron said, and Summoned a bar of chocolate from the pantry. Not the most nutritious dinner, but given Draco's track record with Dementors he'd probably puke up anything else.

They went to bed early and for once Draco let Ron hold him, actually curled into Ron's chest a little. Ron stroked his hair and asked him, "Do you want me to go with you tomorrow?"

For a moment he thought Draco was asleep. Then a shrug. "If you want."


 
x-X-x-X-x


Christmas Eve dawned and Draco seemed mostly recovered. "You really ought to open that package," Ron said, because it was better than talking about prison.

Draco raised his eyebrow. "Do you know what's in it, then?"

"No," Ron said.

"I'm not opening it until I know what's in it."

"Ginny didn't send it, if that's any help."

"How do you know she didn't?"

"Because she blinks too much when she lies," Ron said, for lack of anything better. He didn't believe that Ginny would really try to kill Draco with a packaged curse. He had to.

The whole Aurors' office got sent home at midday, and Ron made a tactical decision and a stop in Diagon Alley. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was still doing a roaring trade and he had to elbow his way up to the counter past children, displays of trick decorations and several overcoats that kept trying to give people hugs.

"Hiya, Mr. R!" the shop girl said while trying to gift-wrap a scarf that kept crawling away from her. "Bosses didn't do anything illegal again, did they?"

"Dunno yet. Are they in their office?" Ron asked.

She shrugged. "Mr. G is, dunno about Mr. F."

"Good enough, thanks."

Both the twins were in fact in their office above the shop, along with a large keg of mead. "Mum's going to kill you if you go home drunk," Ron told them as he entered.

George's feet fell off the desk and Fred dropped his mug. "Bloody hell," George said, "you ever heard of knocking?"

"If I knocked I wouldn't get to see Fred shoot mead out his nose."

Fred wiped his nose and glared. "And what brings you here this afternoon? We didn't get caught again, did we?"

"No," Ron said, "but I had something I wanted to ask you."

"Something that couldn't wait until tonight?"

Ron grabbed a chair and sat down. "Did you send Draco some kind of package? Individually or as a pair?"

Fred's lip curled and George snorted. "Why the hell would we sent him anything?"

"Yeah," Fred said, "that would require acknowledging his existence."

"He might try to thank us."

"Or even shake our hands."

"There's not enough soap in the world for that."

Ron rubbed his temples. "You could have just said 'no.'"

George shook his head. "Ron, if you're going to carry on with this gay business, you really need to get better taste in men. Our janitor, for instance. We could set you up."

"I am not going to date your janitor," Ron said.

"Come on," Fred said. "He's better looking that Malfoy by a mile. I mean, that face—"

"—that voice—"

"—that nose—"

Ron said, "You're not ones to be talking about Draco's nose."

They asked in unison, "What's wrong with our nose?"

"It's distinguished," Fred added.

"It's huge," Ron said.

George rolled his eyes. "It's genetic, dear brother."

"Or haven't you looked in a mirror lately?"

"Since we've established that everyone has horrible noses," Ron said, "can you let Mum know I might be a little late to dinner tonight?"

Stone silence reigned in the office for a few minutes. "You," Fred said softly.

"Are going to be late?" George asked.

"To Christmas dinner?"

"With Mum?"

Ron cringed. "Something came up."

They stared at him.

"I'll only be late by a little bit."

"You," Fred said softly, "are a braver man than I."


 
x-X-x-X-x


Draco insisted on taking a taxi, something Ron had never questioned even though it didn't make a damn bit of sense. Everything he needed to bring to the Burrow, he shrunk and put in his pockets, and he tried not to look at his watch too often. Draco wore black and didn't seem to be looking at anything at all.

The taxi driver being a Muggle, he couldn't take them all the way to the cemetery, though he did get as close as he could. They walked the rest of the distance to the gate, along a dirt lane that was still soft from rain but not quite actually muddy. Once inside Draco must've walked the long way round, because it took them ages to get to the massive stone marker even though it was just on the other side of the first hill. Narcissa Cassiopeia Black Malfoy, one side declared; the other hadn't been cut yet. Ron wondered if Draco would even be able to get the body from the Dementors to bury.

Ron stayed back several feet while Draco laid the flowers out. He knelt on the wet grass and seemed to be speaking; at least, Ron heard low sounds, though in the twilight it was hard to tell if his lips were actually moving. Ron refused to let himself look at his watch, so instead he looked at the other headstones, the bare trees and the last pale bars of the sun. He very discreetly rubbed his fingers and stamped his feet, trying not to think of his mother's Christmas goose and mulled wine. Draco had to be freezing; Ron wondered how long he usually stayed out here, and what he was going to do when he went home.

When Draco finally stood, he pressed his palm against the stone for a moment, before turning back to Ron with a toss of his head. "Let's go," he said.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked.

"I will be."

They walked back to the gates the short way (Ron knew it) because, well, it wasn't that it was impossible to Apparate out of a cemetery—it was just very rude. Draco didn't seem to be the least disturbed by the fact that the taxi had already gone. "You're going to the Burrow now?" he asked mildly.

"Yeah," Ron said. "Want me to tell Mum the usual?"

Draco shook his head, and drew his wand. "I actually rather thought I'd do it in person this year."

Ron blinked. Draco stayed where he was. "What?"

Of all the things Ron would've expected in that situation, Draco smiling was not one of them. "I think we've reached the point of being fashionably late, now, yes?"

"Sure." Ron managed to say this without squeaking, but only just. "Do you want to run home and get your bezoar and your body armor?"

Draco actually seemed to consider this. "No," he said. "I'll take that risk."


 
x-X-x-X-x


On Christmas morning Ron woke up in his old bedroom at the top of the house with more hangover than blanket. He poked Draco in what he assumed was the back of the head. "Hey," he said. "Gimme."

"Nggamaph," Draco said from somewhere in his cocoon.

Ron wrenched an extra measure of quilt out from under him anyway and nestled closer for warmth. He supposed it hadn't been that bad of an evening. His mum had been too ecstatic about Draco coming to heap guilt on him, Draco had been on his best behavior, and his family had even behaved themselves. The massive snog they'd shared under the mistletoe might've been pushing it a bit, but Draco actually managed to keep Fleur from insulting Celestina Warbeck all night, so he supposed that the cosmos remained in balance.

He was just getting comfy again when somebody pounded on the bedroom door. "Breakfast!" Hermione sang out. "And presents!"

"In a minute," Ron grunted.

"I know you're in there—"

"I said in a minute!"

"She's a morning person, isn't she?" Draco said mournfully from his bundle.

Ron shook his head. "Just teetotal."

"That's even worse."


 
x-X-x-X-x


They lingered for brunch, which gave Ron the pleasure of seeing Draco get roped into a game of pick-up Quidditch with his nephews in the back garden, despite the fact that their new toy broomsticks only flew about a foot off the ground. Ron stayed inside with a mug of cocoa and watched from the window as Draco attempt to be as a satisfactory a hoop as Harry.

"You really do love him, don't you?" Bill said, which made Ron start and slop some cocoa down his front.

"What? Huh?"

Bill smiled. "You and Malfoy. You care for him."

Ron turned back to the window. "Thought we proved that under the mistletoe."

"Nah," Bill said. "That was just to wind up the twins. I could tell."

"They've got something against his nose, apparently."

Bill put his hand on Ron's shoulder and they both watched one of the kids drill Draco in the stomach. "I didn't know that's how it was with you two, is all. I would've gotten him a gift I had."

"How what is? How is it?" And no one had gotten Draco a gift, not even Mum, so Ron didn't see what Bill was getting at.

Bill watched his kids with a bit of a smile. "I reckon we're stuck with him now. Mal—Draco, I mean."

Ron doesn't like the sound of this at all—something about Bill's face and Bill's voice and the clear winter morning and calling Draco by his name—too optimistic. Although—"Yeah," he said. "For now, at least."

"You don't think it'll last?"

"I'm no Seer."

"He obviously cares for you."

Ron shook his head. "He needs me. A bit of a difference."

"Ahh," Bill said. "And you think, when he stops..."

When Draco doesn't need Ron anymore, Ron believes that he will stay anyway. He can't believe anything else.


 
x-X-x-X-x


Before they Flooed back, Ron's mum kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "Didn't he get my package?"

"He won't open it," Ron said. "He's afraid somebody cursed it."

"Oh, the poor dear," his mum said, which was just the sort of thing Ron had expected. She had a thing about adopting little lost boys, and Draco had made certain to act the part that long strange summer of death. It had taken a left hook and a stinging hex for Ron to figure out which parts of the act were real. "I'll just tell him."

"No—" Ron stopped her. "I'll take care of it."

"You're sure?"

"I promise, Mum."

"I just felt so bad not seeing him get any gifts—I would've made him a stocking if I'd know he was coming."

"He knows, Mum."

They Flooed home and Ron emptied yesterday's clothes into the hamper. Draco was wearing yesterday's clothes, but he still did his regular walk-through of the flat, as if he were checking that the place was still in one piece.

"Are you ever going to open that package?" Ron called.

"What package?"

"Your Christmas present from Mum."

"We don't know it's from your Mum."

"She told me it was from her."

"It could've been tampered with."

Sooner or later, Draco always got what he wanted. Ron Summoned the package from the closet shelf and placed it on the kitchen table. "I'm opening it."

Draco stuck his head in the doorway. "If it makes you explode, I'm not cleaning it up."

Ron made a great show of performing several diagnostic charms, the cut through the ropes with a large kitchen knife and pulled away paper and twine. Draco hung back in the doorway, out of blast range and with maximum potential shielding from any projectiles, but he watched, which Ron thought was a good sign.

The contents of the box were wrapped with old pieces of newspaper, a few photographs still struggling in their crumpled frames. Ron unwrapped them individually with great flare. A tin of biscuits; a parcel of small mince pies; a bag of different sweets. And then another parcel wrapped in its own paper, which Ron unwrapped while Draco slunk timidly forward.

When Ron realized what was inside, he laughed out loud and tossed the parcel to Draco, who seemed to change his mind at the last possible second when he caught it. He fumbled a bit before pulling all the paper away: inside was a large jumper, somewhat casual and floppy, made of fuzzy dove-gray wool and with the letter D worked in darker gray wool over the breast. He blinked at it like it was from another planet, then looked at Ron, with a look of confusion that bordered between desperate and comical.

"Happy Christmas," Ron said.

......................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Fin