Magic Immunity

 

Ron walked up a narrow flight of stairs, looking apprehensively at the door. He pulled a scrap of parchment out of his robes, double checked the number, and rapped on the door. Moments later it opened, but no one stood there. He paused, and re-adjusted his satchel, unsure what to do.

“Please come in!” an unfamiliar and official-sounding woman’s voice called out.

“Be sure to close the door behind you,” a very familiar voice rasped. “I don’t want news of this rescue mission to get out, Merlin forbid.”

Ron pulled the door shut. The room was dark, save for two candles that hovered near the unmistakable pale head of Draco Malfoy, bundled in blankets and lying on a narrow bed. A medi-witch whose robes didn’t bear the traditional St. Mungo’s insignia bustled in the nearby kitchen.

“You look bloody awful,” Ron said, shrugging his bag from his shoulders.

“Three years at the finest wizarding medical school and I take it that’s your professional opinion?” Despite being obviously ravaged by illness, Draco managed a tentative lip curl.

“It is, Malfoy,” Ron replied as the medi-witch entered the room.

“Would you care for tea?” she asked.

“No thanks. I’ll just get straight to it. Wouldn’t mind something to sit on, though.” He leaned down and drew out his wand.

“Watch where you point that thing, Weasley,” Draco warned, trying to sit up, but sinking back before he got very far.

The medi-witch brought over a stool and handed it to Ron.

“Brilliant,” Ron said gratefully, sitting down. “Malfoy, may I ask a question?” Ron’s wand was poised above Draco’s head, whose long blond fringe was falling over his half-closed eyes.

“I suppose.”

“Why me? If memory serves, you’d rather die than ask for help from a Weasley.”

Draco opened his eyes. “One learns to be more pragmatic when looking death in the face. I heard you were the best. I’ll pay you well.”

Ron nodded. “So your letter indicated. But why not go to St. Mungo’s?”

“I value my privacy above all else.” Draco was silent for a moment. “You are an expert in these kinds of curses, correct?”

Ron chuckled. “So they say, but I’ve tried not to advertise how much Dark Magic I studied. It’s still frowned upon by the Academy. Now lie still for a minute.”

“As long as you don’t ask me to lie back and think of England.”

“Shhhh.”

Taking a deep breath, Ron closed his eyes and slowly incanted a long spell. With meticulous, fluid movements he ran his hand over Draco’s prone body. The medi-witch watched from the kitchenette as Ron repeated the process two more times, finally stopping as he held his left hand over Draco’s abdomen.

“He got you right below the ribs, on your left side?” Ron murmured.

“She,” Draco sighed.

Ron’s blue eyes flew open as Draco slowly raised his gaze to Ron’s face.

“Surely after Potter’s exchanges with Bellatrix you’d know that witches can throw hexes as much as any wizard.” He closed his eyes. “I told you I was dueling my cousin.”

“I just assumed-”

“Never assume anything about a Malfoy.”

Ron placed his wand on the covers and sat back, legs spread, his wide freckled hands splayed on his knees. A faint smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Sounds like good advice if ever I’ve heard any.” He stooped over his bag and rummaged through it before pulling out a vial. Turning toward the medi-witch, he said, “Give him a dram of this three times a day for the pain.”

She strode forward and carefully took the container from Ron’s outstretched hand. Ron returned his attentions to his new patient. “I’ll need to see you every day for at least a month. Probably more.”

Draco’s dull grey eyes fluttered open. “Weasley, even if I have to tolerate your atrocious hair and lowbrow personality for a year, I’ll find a way, so long as you get rid of this miserable curse.”

Ron shook his head in disbelief. “In the years since Hogwarts you haven’t changed much, have you Malfoy?”

“I don’t see why I should,” Draco said haughtily. “Aside from the rather unfortunate fact that I’m dying, I have no reason to change anything about the charming specimen of wizarding manhood that I am.”

“Yep. You’re still definitely Malfoy, despite it all.”

Draco eyed the tall redhead through slatted lids. “Of course I am, Weasel.”

“Okay, Ferret,” Ron replied, enunciating the words. “Look. Persona immunata is a bloody wicked hex.” There was a gasp behind him. “Whoops, sorry ‘bout the language,” he apologised. “You need to know that you’ll have to spend a fair amount of time with the healer who tries to lift a curse that’s turned your own magic against you. If all you’re going to do is be abusive, you can find another healer.”

Draco feebly gestured at Ron. “Fine, fine. Go on and let me sleep, though I’m certain I’ll be having nightmares about what all this entails.”

“Sweet dreams, Malfoy.” Ron turned to the medi-witch. “Um, miss? Can we talk for a minute?”

The two healers conferred for a while, then Ron went to the door. As he twisted the doorknob, he took a last glance at Draco. He was already sleeping, but breathing shallowly. Ron shook his head and went down the stairs.

Son of a selkie, he thought. What have I got myself into?

***

Ron arrived the next day, greeting the medi-witch as she discreetly took her leave from the flat. He entered the dim room, which, per his directions to Draco’s caretaker, was far warmer than it had been the day before. Ron took the few steps to the bed, evaluating Draco’s condition as he undid his robes and pulled them off.

The faint pink tinge on Draco’s skin somehow made him look even more unhealthy. He was not shrouded in blankets; instead, he was propped upon pillows in an undershirt and pyjama bottoms. Ron had requested the medi-witch to clothe him that way and cast a warming charm instead. Draco looked at Ron as he got out his wand and passed it over Draco’s long but thin figure.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, watching the wood travel from his head to his feet and back.

“Quick auralic.”

“Oh. Prognosis?”

Ron put his wand on the bedside stool and took off his tracksuit top. A fine sheen of sweat had already formed on his forehead and above his upper lip.

“Well, not great,” Ron admitted. “Not only is your aura dull, it’s pulsing toward you, not away. Malfoy, where’s your wand?”

“In a box in that cabinet, second drawer, right side.” He slowly pointed to a squat wooden chest across the room.

Ron nodded and went to retrieve it. He looked quizzically at the unfamiliar handwriting on the box. “I didn’t know you could get wands anywhere else than Ollivander’s.”

“You wouldn’t, Weasley,” Draco said scornfully. “These are even more exclusive. And tend to be frightfully expensive.”

“Look, Malfoy,” Ron said, an old, familiar anger beginning a slow burn in his stomach. “Let’s get something straight. I’m here to help you. You asked me to cure you if at all possible. You’re going to have to at least be civil for this to work. Understand?”

The look of disdain on Draco’s face settled into one of resignation. “I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you. I just want to test something. Hold out your hand.”

Draco did, and Ron tried to place the wand in Draco’s outstretched palm. It hovered just beyond reach, then shot away into the kitchen.

“Are you trying to make me feel worse on purpose?” Draco looked mournfully at his wand as it clattered onto the floor.

“No, really I’m not. I did just a little bit more research on this last night and wanted to test it.” He went into the kitchen and carefully brought the wand back into the main room and put it back into its original spot. “Before we go any further, can I just ask why on Merlin’s beard were you dueling your cousin in the first place?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Had to do with the Manor. That’s really all I have to say about it.”

“Fair enough. Hope you won. Or something. So.” A faint blush crept up Ron’s neck, visible despite the barrage of freckles. “Figure I should get the most awkward part of the first stage over with. I’ll have to smell you.”

“Are you mad?” Draco’s grey eyes grew huge. “Smell me? Why?”

“Has to do with the curse. Basically I’m going to have to know some essential and personal elements about you in order to establish the way your magic should be. Scent and blood are two of the most unique attributes to a person- you can probably guess the third.” Draco began to look nauseous. “Yep. Semen. Not something you have to worry about providing, though. Anyway, once I have a handle on those two I’ll know which rituals to use to try to recalibrate your magic, for lack of a better word. But to get it back to the way it was, I’ll need to know a few things. And it’s not as though you and I have ever been very close.”

“I wish I could keep it that way,” Draco grumbled.

Ron scowled. “You can always change your mind. There are other healers out there, and Merlin knows I’d be more than happy to recommend them to you. If they’re worth their training, though, they’re all going to tell you the same thing. No matter how much you dislike it, undoing a persona immunata requires no small amount of binding in the process. And some trust. At least you know me.” Ron shrugged as he wiped at some sweat on his neck. “Or perhaps it would be better with a complete stranger.”

Draco thought for a moment, then winced as a shudder of pain coursed through him. “No,” he said through terse lips. “Better get on with it.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not like it’s sex magic or anything as intimate as that,” Ron said slyly, anticipating the look of horror on Draco’s face. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Weasley, you’re evil.”

“Nah, just a healer with some odd specialties. Now you get to lie back and think of England.”

Two pale arms raised up as Draco covered his face with his hands. “Maybe death is preferable to this. What was I thinking?”

“C’mon, it’s not so bad.” Ron was quite enjoying making Malfoy uncomfortable. “You bathed last night, but not today, correct?”

“Yes, as requested.” Draco looked at him through his spread fingers.

“Okay. Raise your elbows up a bit. Perfect.” Ron leaned in and took a deep breath of Draco’s armpit. It wasn’t an unpleasant odour; he smelled a bit spicy; tangy, even.

“Weasley.”

Ron inhaled deeply one more time. Quite a nice smell, actually.

“This is embarrassing.”

Ron sat back. “Then prepare yourself. I’m going to need to smell an even more obscure part of you.”

“Excuse me?”

Ron shrugged apologetically. "You can keep your boxers, or whatever you wear on, but I’ll need to take off your pyjama bottoms.”

Draco looked stunned. “You need to smell my crotch?”

“Afraid so. Don’t worry, I’m a trained professional.”

Draco nodded mutely, succumbing to shock. “What does your wife have to say about this?” he asked as Ron gently pulled the silk down to Draco’s ankles.

“No wife.” Ron wasn’t about to add, ‘and never will be unless I suddenly stop fancying blokes.’ They might be acquaintances, but Draco was his patient. He looked up at Draco, whose face bore an expression of abject mortification. “It’s not like I’m asking to shag you. Close your eyes if you want.”

The blond hastily shut his eyes as Ron leaned over. Draco wore silk boxers, and Ron hovered over Draco’s groin, taking deep, musk-scented breaths. He hadn’t slept with many men, and he sure wasn’t thinking about Draco that way, but the smell did manage to cause a slight heated reaction in his lap. He sat back on the stool, memorising the scents for the future.

“Are you quite through?” Draco asked. “I’m not used to having people put their noses so near my private area.”

“Been a while, has it, Malfoy?” Ron patted Draco’s lean thigh before carefully pulling the pyjama pants back up. He’d be surprised if Draco didn’t have a healthy sex life; as irritating as he was, even suffering from illness he was a very attractive man.

“I’m not deigning to answer that.” Draco adjusted the elastic at his waist with long fingers. “What next?”

“I’ll need to get a blood sample, then cast a couple of spells. Are you up for that?”

Draco nodded. “How about you? Been a while?”

Ron grimaced as he readied his kit near Draco’s hand. “Unfortunately,” he mused, watching the red fluid slowly fill the small vial. “I was with somebody for a couple of years, but that’s been over for ages.”

Draco eyed him warily. “Granger?”

Ron chortled. “Hardly. She’s married with kids now, and well, girls don’t really do it for me.”

“Really.” Draco drew out the syllables as Ron stoppered the vial and tucked it into his robe. “Just when I thought you’d run out of surprising things to say.” He looked intently at Ron.

Ron smiled and raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound horrified. You’re not shocked?”

“No more so than when I found out you had become an expert in remedying dark curses.” Draco let out a small sigh. “Besides, I had my suspicion. Takes one to know one and all that.”

Ron was flabbergasted. “You’re joking!” he exclaimed. “Since when?”

“Weasley, this is the longest non-argument we’ve ever had in our lives. Let’s stop while we’re ahead.”

Ron got his wand and rolled it between his palms. “True enough. Let me do these two spells and I’ll get out of your space.”

He cast the two cleansing spells, then readied himself to leave.

“Year seven,” Draco said, pulling an expensive-looking blanket up to his chest.

“Year seven what?”

“Since year seven. I’ve known I was a bloody poof since our last year at Hogwarts.”

Ron paused at the door. “Halfway through sixth year.”

The two men looked at each other, unspoken empathy for their respective situations permeating the space between them.

“See you tomorrow, Malfoy.”

***

That night Ron spent an inordinate amount of time trying to remember incidents from their seventh year. All of his memories to do with Draco were fights, usually started by the Slytherin. Maybe that was why Malfoy had been so vicious; Ron had become prickly and incredibly self-conscious when he realised he wasn’t like his other friends. It wasn’t until after the war was over that he even told Harry. For whatever reason, knowing Draco’s predilections made Ron even more determined to cure him as quickly as possible.

He thought of how Draco smelt and the memory of the masculine, musky scent went straight to his groin. You are not going to wank while thinking about Malfoy, he scolded himself. He’s your patient, not somebody you want to shag. He could do with some release, though, so he tried to think of someone else. Inconveniently, nobody else came to mind, so he went with a tried-and-true memory of one of the first gay porn pictures he’d seen. Ron had been stunned at seeing the two men, together in a way that seemed impossible and looked as though it should really hurt. The blokes in the magazine were obviously really enjoying it, though, and perhaps for nostalgic reasons, he still had the picture. As his breathing slowed after his self-attended climax, it dawned on him that the pair in the picture were a redhead and a blond. Odd, that, he thought. It was one of the reasons why he’d held onto it; though he had a fairly impressive porn collection there weren’t many red haired men in the pictures. Ron had always felt that was unfair. He cleaned himself up, brushed his teeth and fell asleep.

***

The next day they started a routine that went on for several weeks. Ron cast an Illuminous to better see Draco’s magical energy. It still permeated his body, but it was working against him.

“Malfoy, do you trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No, not really,” Ron said from across the room, where he was lighting some candles.

“Then the answer is yes.”

Using a series of arcane rituals, Ron began modifying Draco’s magic. He used Draco’s wand, which had some of his blood on it. He could only manipulate the energy so much at a time, as the process was incredibly painful. Draco bore up as well as he could, and as the days went on, the discomfort he felt while Ron realigned his magical essence diminished.

Ron began bringing lunch with him, and after each session they sat at the kitchen table and ate and talked. Despite their divergent backgrounds, they actually had a lot in common. Quidditch was always a popular topic.

“Once you get me back to normal, as partial payment I’ll get you box seats for those wretched Cannons you insist on supporting.”

“Just because they aren’t winning currently doesn’t mean that they won’t,” Ron said, munching on a carrot. “But thanks anyway. That’d be brilliant.”

“You’re suffering from a major delusion if you think they are ever going to win. Don’t they have something like a century-old losing streak?”

“It’s not nearly that bad!” Ron said, defensively. “But I’ve always been a Chudley Cannons fan. Nothing can change that.”

Draco snorted. “You’re hopeless.” He took a bite out of his sandwich. Ron was pleased to see that as Draco’s magic became closer to its original alignment, his appetite returned. “Is there something in your family crest that indicates your affinity for lost causes?”

“Oy! Leave my family out of this.” He saw Draco’s mouth quirk. “Y’know, I don’t know if we have a family crest.”

Draco feigned horror. “Weasley. How could you not know? All of the old pureblooded wizarding families have crests, seals, and family mottos. Even yours.”

“Why would you know mine?” Ron couldn’t figure out why Malfoy would care one whit about his family history.

“Father made me learn. There was a time that I could have drawn family trees for the 10 most ancient British wizarding families. Probably with my eyes shut.” Draco shook his head. “He wanted me to see how they all interrelated, focusing especially on the Malfoy line, of course.” He looked over at Ron, who was astonished to see an expression of great sadness on Draco’s face. “And I’m the last one.” They ate in silence for a few moments. “Thank you for making sure that I didn’t die way before my prime,” Draco said with an earnestness that caught Ron by surprise.

“Of course. I wouldn’t be worth my healer’s badge if I couldn’t get you back to your charming, generous self.” Ron smirked.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Draco said, winking.

Ron felt a quick flash of desire course through him, and focused on eating another carrot. You do not fancy Malfoy, he reminded himself. It’s just so unexpected to get along with him, that’s all.

***

“All right. I know it’s been a long road, but this is the end. Malfoy, hold out your hand.”

Draco stood in the center of the room, dressed to the nines. Ron had been taken aback when Malfoy answered the door, wearing nicely tailored robes, his hair slicked back, and even smelling faintly of pine. Bugger, but he really is handsome, he thought as Draco took his coat.

Now he was in front of the blond, holding Draco’s wand. He placed it in his hand, and Draco’s long pale fingers slowly closed around the piece of wood.

“How do you feel?” Ron asked, anxious despite the month-long healing process. He didn’t doubt his abilities, but it was still nerve-wracking.

“Excellent,” Draco replied, reverently holding his wand.

“Try something. Something really basic.”

Draco strode over to a collection of candles and aimed his wand. “Lumos,” he said quietly. They all flickered to life, and a look of smug satisfaction came to his face. He whipped around. “Weasley. You did it. Thank you.”

Ron tried not to grin. “All in a day’s work. Why don’t you try something a little more complicated?”

Draco went through several spells; Wingardium Leviosa, Alohomora, Reparo, even Expecto Patronum. Ron was astounded to see a shimmering panther leap from the wand and pace around the room. Draco laughed as Ron gaped at it, a hearty, pleased sound. “What did you expect, a snake? Or maybe a dragon?”

“I suppose. It suits you, though.” He watched the easy grace of the animal, and was immediately reminded of Draco and his hand gestures.

Draco couldn’t stop smiling. “Weasley, though it pains me to say so, I must say that you’re a genius. Go by Gringott’s this afternoon; a deposit has been made in your account.” He transfigured a book into a cactus, and then to a ceramic cat and back again.

“The world must have stopped turning,” Ron said, packing up his satchel. “Draco Malfoy, did you just give me a compliment?”

“Yes. Not to worry, I’m sure it won’t ever happen again.” Draco walked over to Ron and gave him a firm handshake, then pulled him into a startlingly crushing embrace given Draco’s slight stature. Ron awkwardly put an arm around Draco’s back, and closed his eyes, smelling the cologne wafting up from Draco’s collar. Moments later, Draco stepped back. His face was flushed and his grey eyes shone with delight, but all Ron could do was stare at his lips.

No, no, no, he thought. I’m not thinking of kissing Malfoy. Or undressing him and shagging him senseless.

“You okay there, Weasley?” Draco sounded concerned.

“Quite,” Ron said, though his voice cracked as he said it, and he cleared his throat. “Suppose I should let you get on with your life.” He went and fetched his bag and coat.

“I’ll be in touch about those Chudley Cannons tickets,” Draco said, leaning against the wall and running his fingers up and down his wand.

Ron idly wondered if Draco would ever let the thing out of his hand now that he had his magic back, imagining him sleeping with it. No, not thinking about sharing a bed with Malfoy, he probably has silk sheets, and- “Great. See you around, Malfoy.”

“I hope so.”

***

Two weeks went by. The first few days Ron tried to convince himself that he didn’t miss his daily visits to see Draco, but he knew that wasn’t true. He threw himself into his job as compensation, and he was engrossed in writing up some notes from a particularly challenging case when he got an owl. The parchment was creamy and soft to the touch, and the handwriting on it neatly lettered.

 

Ron read and re-read the letter. Each time it did say the same thing: Malfoy was asking him to dinner, and despite how wrong it should seem, Ron could hardly get the ink in his quill fast enough to reply in the affirmative.

 

He attached the piece of letterhead (Ronald B. Weasley, Healer, Obscure Hexes Division) to the owl, and after stroking its head a few times, sent it on its way. He sat, staring at Draco’s parchment with what he was sure was a goofy grin, but as he gave the invitation more thought, his smile faded. Surely the man wasn’t interested in him like that; Ron was the opposite of the type of refined, aristocratic person Draco would be attracted to.

Still, it would be good to see him again. He missed their now-good-natured rivalry and banter, not to mention Draco’s actual presence. Working so closely with someone else’s magic was quite a bonding experience; in some ways it was far more intimate than any sexual act. Not that he would mind that, of course. Since his concentration was broken, Ron let his mind wander, imagining all manner of pleasurable scenarios.

He was visualising an especially tempting vision of Draco lying naked on his bed when a voice jolted him from his daydreams. After having a lengthy conversation with the junior healer who had so inconveniently stopped Ron’s parade of erotic thoughts, he decided to call it a day. Perhaps it was time to get that old magazine out from the box under his bed.

***

Ron was five minutes late to the restaurant, cursing up a storm in his head. He would have been early, but then he opened his closet to pick out something to wear. “Bloody hell,” he moaned, looking at work robes, wrinkled casual trousers and even more wrinkled t-shirts. Eventually he threw on a dark green dress shirt, found some passable corduroys, and pulled on the dragonskin boots that Charlie had given him when he graduated from the Healer Academy.

Draco didn’t seem perturbed. He greeted Ron enthusiastically and soon they were deep in conversation and the meal flew by.

“I’m stuffed,” Ron said, patting his stomach.

“Couldn’t have said it better,” Draco agreed, smiling. “Say, would you like to come back to the Manor for coffee? Or maybe something stronger?”

“The Manor? Well, sure, but I thought you were living in town.” Ron was intrigued by the idea of seeing the Malfoy family home, but it was a bit intimidating as well. There had been rumours of all sorts of Death Eater activities that had gone on there during the war, and he’d believed every story at the time.

“I have several apartments in several cities, but I do spend a fair amount of time at the estate. I’ve closed up parts of it; a bachelor only needs so much space. Even I don’t need a dozen bedrooms to sleep in.”

“I would have killed for a dozen rooms when I was growing up.”

Malfoy looked thoughtfully at him. “I’m sure you would have. In fact, I’m half surprised you didn’t hex those twin brothers of yours.” A vaguely evil smirk crossed his face. “You could’ve used their room as an annex and kept them hidden away in a closet.” Draco’s expression returned to normal. “But enough about that. Do you know the Apparating coordinates for the Manor?”

It was a polite question as Ron was sure that Draco knew that he did. Everybody working against the Death Eaters and Voldemort had several Apparating points memorised, and since there had been a good chance things would come to a head with Lucius Malfoy, the Manor was one of them. The two left the restaurant and went around the corner to an alley. Just before they Apparated, Draco put a hand on Ron’s arm. “Just so you know, some things did happen there. Pretty fucking awful things,” he growled, before regaining his usual composure. “Those are the areas I’ve closed off and warded. Very securely.”

“Glad to hear it,” Ron said, relieved. With two crack!ing sounds, they Apparated.

The first place Draco took Ron was not inside the massive stone structure that was the Manor. To Ron’s surprise, he took him to an adjoining broom shed. “It’s such a nice night, and I haven’t been flying in a while. Care to join me?”

Ron had been rendered speechless, pointing at a sleek black broom hanging from a rack. He turned to Draco. “You have a Skyrunner 3.5? I thought they were still working on the prototype!”

Draco gave Ron a sly smile. “I have a few connections. Yes, it is a prototype. Want to try it?”

“Oh yeah,” Ron breathed, walking to the broom and running a freckled hand gently down the wood. “It’s beautiful.” Coming out of his reverie, he turned and said, “But this is yours. You should enjoy it. I’m sure any broom in here is heaps better than anything I’ve ever flown.”

“I insist.” Draco strode over and hefted the onyx broom out of its holder, handing it to Ron. “I’ll make the sacrifice and fly the 3.4.” He took down an adjoining broom and headed for the door while Ron continued to ogle the one in his hands. “C’mon Weasley. They’re meant for flying, not just staring at.”

“Right.”

Once outside they pushed off from the ground and did a couple of lazy circles near the Manor. Draco pulled alongside Ron and said, “Go on- kick her into gear. You’ve got plenty of space out here above the hills to go as fast as you want.”

Ron didn’t need to be told twice. He raced through the cooling air, flying so fast that his eyes watered. It was liberating; he hadn’t done a lot of flying once he started his healer training and now he wondered how he could ever have stopped. He looked around to see Draco off in the distance, diving and spinning. He’d forgotten that even back at Hogwarts he’d been grudgingly awed by Draco’s flying abilities, second only perhaps to Harry’s. He went up fairly high, slowing down a bit to look at the countryside below him as he looped above a copse of trees. On and around he flew, astounded at how nuanced the Skyrunner was. Even the slightest clenching of a thigh on the wood caused the broom to respond instantly. After a while he realised that he hadn’t seen Draco in a while, so he bolted for the broomshed. Draco was lounging in the doorway, a pleased expression on his face.

“Sorry, Malfoy, I got carried away,” Ron apologised as he dismounted, flushed and exhilarated.

“Quite all right,” Draco drawled. “My pleasure. Or yours, it seems. We should do this again sometime.”

“Sounds great.” Ron started to move past him to rehang the Skyrunner but Draco stopped him.

“No, really. I mean it.” Draco looked intently at Ron, who was still breathing heavily.

“So do I.”

A pale finger started at the base of Ron’s throat and traced a light path until it was above his heart, which continued to beat quickly, though the reason was beginning to change. Draco flattened his palm, then tilted his head as he looked slightly up at Ron, who, at over six feet, towered over many of his friends. “Fresh off a broom looks quite good on you,” Draco said in an unexpectedly husky voice. “Quite good.”

Hoping that he hadn’t completely misread Draco, Ron leaned in so their noses nearly touched. “Thanks, but I’m sure you know that everything looks good on you.”

A languid, feral smile caused Draco’s lips to curl slowly, then he stood back to let Ron pass him. He gestured toward the broom rack and busied himself with adjusting his jacket while Ron hung up the Skyrunner.

Well, fuck, Ron thought as he hoisted the exquisitely crafted broom and gave it a last loving carress before turning around. I’ve obviously gone and bollocksed that up. Fuck, fu-

There were hands on his shoulders and hot breath on the back of his neck. “If you think I look good in everything, I’d be most intrigued to know what your thoughts are when I’m wearing not much at all.” The voice was a low purr in Ron’s ear, and an involuntary shiver raced through him, settling resolutely in his cock.

Maybe he hadn’t fucked things up after all.

***

Twenty minutes later they were finally in one of the studies with a fire lit and a snifter of brandy apiece. Not that they’d had much of it, as Ron found it far more interesting to kiss and lick at Draco’s mouth, which kept his own lips rather occupied. Draco seemed determined to use his tongue to map the inside of Ron’s mouth with the fervor of a cartographer let loose in a new land. Ron, blessed (or cursed, he sometimes felt) with very acute senses, ached all over. He wanted Draco to be draped on top of him, to sink into the thick carpet with the other man’s body weight pushing him down. He almost popped all of the buttons on his shirt in his enthusiasm for removing it when Draco had finally drawn back, breathless, and asked that he take it off.

“Lie down,” Draco commanded. Ron complied, omitting a moan when Draco straddled him and he felt an equally hard erection grinding slowly against his. Seconds later he was writhing against Draco’s groin. The tongue that had been so talented exploring his mouth was now laving his nipples, first one and then the other, then nipping at them with clever teeth and lips, even licking through the chest hair at the juncture of his ribs.

“Merlin, Malfoy,” Ron panted, rubbing his hands up the inside of Draco’s thighs, using his thumbs to stroke the bulge pressing against the tailored trousers.

“It’s my turn now,” Draco said, and Ron assumed that he wanted the same ministrations, which was fine with him, though he was pretty sure he didn’t have the same abilities. Ron started to sit up. “No, not that.” Draco slid his legs down so that he could lie prone on Ron’s chest. “Now I get to smell you.”

“Oh god. Malfoy, um,” Ron tried to say something but Draco shifted his hips and the delicious friction of feeling another hard cock rubbing against his own rendered him unintelligible. Draco sucked the side of Ron’s neck and exhaled into his ear. Ron thought he would explode right then, but the words he heard next put a definite damper on how he felt.

“You certainly have a lot of freckles.”

Ron groaned and tried to move away from Draco’s still-seeking lips. “Yes, I know. I’m fucking covered in them.”

“Covered? Everywhere?” Draco asked lasciviously. “I’ll so enjoy finding out if you’re telling the truth.”

Ron turned back and grasped Draco’s head, almost crushing Draco’s mouth to his in his enthusiasm. He plundered Draco’s mouth for a bit, but then his neck hurt, so he rested his head back on the floor, running his hands through Draco’s shiny pale hair. “Your voice should be illegal,” he rumbled. “And why didn’t we ever do this before?”

Draco was nonplussed. “Couldn’t stand each other, remember? Now lie back like a good boy and stretch out your arms.”

Having one’s armpits sniffed by someone is frightfully intimate, Ron realised when he felt Draco’s pointed nose nudging around an area that he only thought of in terms of perfuctory washing. He also noticed that he was probably blushing.

“You smell good,” Draco breathed into Ron’s ear after taking several deep breaths under Ron’s arm.

“I thought you did too, but it wasn’t appropriate to tell you at the time,” Ron said before again losing his powers of speech while Draco kissed his way down Ron’s abdomen.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, though,” Draco noted.

“Too right,” Ron agreed, beginning to unbutton his pants.

“No. Please, let me.”

Ron was surprised and let out a noise of loss when Draco got up, but as soon as he saw the wand pointed at him he grinned. “Suppose you’re still pretty excited to have your magic back.”

“You have no idea.” Draco thought for a moment before casting a spell on Ron and then himself.

Ron looked up and saw Draco wearing nothing but dark green silk boxers. Merlin, but he was even more handsome now that he was back to full health. Certainly a different build from himself, but still muscular, and pale everything. Well, almost everything. The dark rosy head of his cock was peeking out from the top of the elastic of his drawers. Merlin, fuck, Merlin. Looking down, he found himself in his boxers, and boots.

“Um, I think you forgot something,” Ron said as Draco situated himself between Ron’s legs.

“Don’t think I did. I like them.”

“You can’t mean the… Oh bloody hell. I forgot I was wearing these.” He hadn’t planned on anyone seeing his rather ancient and threadbare Gryffindor boxers.

“Well, if they were Slytherin I’d really have to wonder,” Draco said before exhaling a hot breath over the tented cotton of Ron’s erection.

“Boots. Meant the boots,” Ron managed as Draco pulled the lion-covered fabric down.

“So did I.” The blond scooted back and to the side of Ron’s legs. “Feet off the floor please,” he said as he took the boxers off and threw them to the side with a flourish. “Now I’m really going to smell you.”

Ron had no words for how it felt to have Draco Malfoy, former sworn enemy and former patient, gently but insistently sniffing around his privates, so he didn’t even try. The moans of pleasure he made when Draco began using his tongue to actually taste them seemed to be satisfactory, and Ron couldn’t help but pull his boot-clad feet up nearer his arse and spread his legs wider. Where had his shame gone, anyway, sod it all? Then the tongue went-

“Merlin, Malfoy!” Ron exclaimed as the tricksy muscle darted into a location so intimate even he had never breached it.

Not bothering to get up from his position except to raise his head, Draco merely pulled back a bit so he could see Ron, flushed and panting and leaning on his elbows. Ron’s blue eyes were so wide as to be startling. “Just Malfoy will do,” he said, before contemplatively licking around his lips. “By your response, am I to take it that you’ve been shamefully deprived of this particular pleasure?”

Ron could have heard the words in ancient Egyptian and his cock would have throbbed in the same way. “Um, is this common or something?”

“You unfortunate soul.”

“I guess that’s yes.”

“Yes.” Draco’s tongue bathed a path in and around Ron’s cleft. Ron, despite having shagged a few men and been in a year-long relationship with one, had never done this. It was completely new to him, and despite loving how it felt, it made him feel horribly out of his realm. “Malfoy?”

“Mmmm?”

“Um, how can you possibly like this?”

Ron was rather disconcerted to see the grey eyes light up.

“Shut up and think of England.”

The last thing Ron was going to think of was England. England, hell, the whole world could sod off as far as he was concerned. He lowered his hand and began stroking on his cock. The sensations were indescribable until the warm tongue vanished. Ron looked down and saw that Draco had risen to his feet, shed his boxers and was walking over and getting a vial of something out of a sideboard.

“What’s that for?” Ron asked, trying to delay his orgasm by slowing down his hand motions.

Draco rolled his eyes. “When you said it had been a while, you really meant it, didn’t you?”

Ron was suddenly serious. “Malfoy. I really like you and all, but, well, oh bugger it.” He collapsed on his back, then raised himself back up on his elbows when Draco kneeled back between his legs, rolling the vial between his palms. “This is going to sound incredibly stupid, but I don’t know that I’m ready for a shag quite yet.” He paused. “I mean, I’d love to, and fuck but you have a gorgeous arse, much less the rest of you, but I’m not into the one-night stuff, y’know?”

A warm smile lit Draco’s face. It was an expression unlike any Ron had ever seen on him, certainly never one he’d experienced when they were in school, nor during their healing sessions. “Neither am I. Tonight will be preliminaries. I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life and next time we get together we can discuss the possibility of you having the privilege of fucking me so soundly I won’t be able to walk the next day. How’s that?”

Ron grinned. “Brilliant.”

It was the best orgasm of his life. Draco coated his fingers and eventually had three of them inside Ron’s arse, pressing against some inner part of him that he hadn’t known existed and made him see sparks even brighter than the twins’ Wildfire Whiz-Bangs, all while Draco had Ron’s cock in his mouth, sucking and swallowing him through the last shudder and cry of “Draco” that rang into the room.

Once he could get his breath again, Ron staggered back up onto his elbows. Draco looked decidedly pleased, like a cat surrounded by implicated bird feathers. “Merlin” was the only word that came to his lips.

“Indeed.” Draco’s cock was still jutting out from his thatch of golden hair. Ron hadn’t even touched him. Bollocks but I’m selfish, he thought.

“May I, um,” Ron started to say, but Draco seemed to know what he was going to ask and knee-walked up Ron’s body until the tip of his cock was right in front of Ron’s mouth.

“Yes. That would be delightful.”

Ron took a swipe across the head, enjoying the tangy taste of the drops that were there. He was more skilled with his hands, but if ever there were a time to improve his oral skills, it was now. After a few tentative thrusts Draco was fucking Ron’s mouth in earnest, holding Ron’s head and making sounds that made Ron’s cock partially revive in response. Draco tried to pull back just as he climaxed, but Ron moved with him, swallowing and then continuing to lick until Draco forcefully left his mouth.

“Sorry. It’s just too sensitive,” he said, running his fingers through Ron’s shaggy russet hair. “But that was pretty amazing.”

“Really? Never thought I was any good at that,” Ron admitted.

Draco quirked a smile as a challenging look crossed his face. “You can have all the practise that you want.”

***

Two days later Ron received a package. Beautifully wrapped in shiny dark green paper were two pair of boxers. One was orange with black balls and double “C”s: Chudley Cannons, with box seat tickets tucked inside. The other was black silk for the Montrose Magpies, also with box seat tickets. A scroll of parchment was tied with a green silk ribbon, and Ron untied it, flabbergasted.

 

Ron smiled and went to fetch his broom.

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