Scattering Stars Like Dust.

Ron felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle; he was being watched. He knew it, so he stopped in his tracks, gazing warily around him and reaching for his wand.

Nothing.

Nothing, except… he heard a metallic scratching sound and wheeled about in the narrow alley. An uncannily intelligent-looking raccoon sat perched on a rubbish bin, preening its front paws and staring at him. Ron gazed back at the animal for a few seconds before waving at the interloper.

"Gerroff, you!" he said, brandishing his wand as though the creature would recognise what was being aimed at it. "Stay out of those bins!" The raccoon's beady eyes remained focused on Ron as he gesticulated wildly, then it ran off, almost turning over the metal bin in its haste to escape.

Ron was frowning as he clomped up the stairs to the flat he shared with Draco. "Ruddy rubbish-combing raccoon," he muttered, pausing again before unlocking the door. He thought he'd heard the sound of someone Apparating, but they were in a Muggle neighborhood. He shook his head, sure his mind was playing tricks on him. "I could swear that one's made a nest or something, see it all the time."

"What're you mumbling about now?" Draco's slightly breathless baritone called out from the kitchen as Ron shut the door behind him and shrugged out of his St. Mungo's healer's robes.

"That bloody raccoon," Ron replied, walking to their refrigerator and taking out a butterbeer. "Seems to have made a home or something out in the alley. I swear I've seen it around heaps of times. Kind of gives me the creeps," he admitted before taking a long pull on his drink.

"Why?" Draco raised his eyebrows and stopped the knives that had been dicing onions on the cutting board. "Do you find raccoons offensive or something?"

Ron shook his head, relaxing against the countertop near his lover. "No, just pesky, that's all. How was your day, anyway?"

The blond smiled. "The usual, I'm pleased to say."

He was studying to become a master chef. Not that he ever intended to work in that field, but through a combination of his admiration for and affinity with potions, and a highly refined palate, it was a pursuit that Draco both respected and enjoyed. He practised many of his new, complicated dishes in the evening at a flat in a Muggle part of London near the culinary institute, part of the reason why Ron was there so often for meals.

Growing up in the Burrow, Ron hadn't been treated to fine food. Rather to his surprise in the months following his healing of and subsequent partnering with his former sworn enemy, Ron found he quite looked forward to feasting on the scrumptious meals his lover created.

"What's on the menu?" he asked, taking another drink.

“Filet mignon,” Draco answered, waving his wand back at the knives that resumed their meticulous cutting. "You in the mood for meat tonight?"

"Always," Ron said, attempting a sultry smirk. "Especially if it's yours."

"Perv." Draco leaned back against the countertop.

"Takes one to know one, mister 'guess what I found, oh it's my old Slytherin tie and I'll make dinner in just it and-'"

"I served a most extraordinary crème brûlée," Draco said, his upper lip quirked in a smile. "Though I was also wearing an apron."

"Don't remind me," Ron said, placing his beer on the counter and rubbing his groin against Draco's. "Might put me in the mood or something."

"Enough of your frottage. Go on and dress down." Draco jutted his hips forward, pushing Ron slightly away. "The evening's young yet." He picked up and shook a pastry brush. "And dinner won't make itself."

"Practically does," Ron tossed out as he walked sulkily away from the kitchen.

Draco let the implied insult roll off of him and turned back around to the recipe. Moments later he couldn't help the low throb that began in his cock when Ron said huskily in his ear, "You haven't got anything actually baking or boiling yet, d'you?"

Draco shook his head.

"Good. I want you naked and on your back on the table, Malfoy."

Draco slowly turned around and Ron got even more excited. His face flushed under his freckles as he saw the expression of lust and potential defiance on his lover's face. He knew Draco would comply- and he did.

"Merlin, oh holy fuck, Ron!" Draco panted a while later, following a stream of colourful profanity. "We're going to eat on this table, you know."

Ron snickered as best as he could, given that his tongue was enthusiastically exploring Draco's musk-scented entrance. Once Draco had introduced him to the erotic and incredibly intimate experience of rimming, Ron had found he couldn't get enough of it, especially when he discovered Draco had never allowed anyone to do that to him. Until Ron. Ron reverently fondled the blond man's taut sacs, his nose occasionally bumping into the cock ring he'd placed none-too-gently on his partner, knowing that Draco adored that thin line between pleasure and pain. He trailed a brief slick path up to Draco's cock and took the turgid, slender penis in his mouth all at once as he snapped off the ring.

"Oh, Ron, fuck!" Draco yelled, coming almost instantly in Ron's mouth as soon as his cock was let loose. Ron swallowed the tangy fluid and licked at the softening cock until Draco moaned, "Too much, please," and Ron released him.

With a very self-satisfied grin, Ron watched his lover gracefully get up on his elbows. "You've been working too hard at dinners. Forget the table- I thought we'd get takeout tonight."

Draco rolled his eyes, but held out his hand. "It makes no sense, but I do adore you, Ron. Back's killing me, though. Bed?"

Ron pulled Draco up from the table. "I can wait for a while. Food first. Me rogering you until I see stars, second."

Draco let out a sated chuckle. "Thai?"

"Oooh, yeah." Ron padded toward their room wearing nothing but orange Chudley Cannons boxers Draco had given him and pushing away his erection. As Draco had said, the evening was young. But he did have to put on clothes before going out.

***

"Did you ever want to be an animagus?" Ron asked a few days later as Draco carefully tended a dijonaise sauce for their decadent brunch.

For a few moments the only sound in the kitchen was that of Draco's whisk making concentric circles in a skillet while he stood over his deep pot of boiling water, his spoon mirroring the motions of the whisk but far faster, as though to create a mini-hurricane in which to ensconce the cooking egg.

"Perhaps," Draco replied drily, his back to Ron, still focused on the whirling water around the egg. "You?"

Ron stared over the Daily Prophet to Draco, whose ears had turned a rose colour. "Of course," he snorted. "Just figured I never had the patience for learning how to do it, and Merlin knows it'd be a hell of a time deciding what animal to be. And don't even say the w-word," he threatened half-heartedly.

Tantalysing scents filled the small room as Draco tended to their brunch. "I was under the impression that the attributes of one's personality and ability pretty much did the choosing for you, like it or no."

Ron crumpled the paper in his lap as he sat forward, exposing a wrinkled ad with the twins making nearly lewd gestures in front of the Wheezes shop. "So. Ferret," he said, amused. "Any guess as to what form you would take? If you could?"

A hovering-charmed timer went off and Draco levitated the saucepan with the dijonaise sauce off of their stove. "Why should I tell you, Weasel?" He jerked his head at the pantry and Ron shot up from his chair, retrieving two large plates and cutlery. He went foraging for juice glasses but stopped when he felt his lover's long fingers forcefully clench his forearm. "Sparkling wine, I think, for this conversation," he enunciated before releasing Ron, "if we’ve already resorted to insults. And some pumpkin juice on the side. Wouldn't want you getting ill after this exquisite breakfast." He looked challengingly at the redhead.

"Rest assured I'll love it and will probably be begging for more," Ron said salaciously, running his tongue over his upper lip before fetching champagne flutes and a chilled bottle of something bubbly.

They'd tucked well into their sophisticated meal before Draco re-addressed the subject. "I would not choose a ferret," he said calmly before licking egg yolk from the tines of his fork.

Ron could only watch the golden stuff glide through his lover's lips, unable to come up with either a slanderous or a supportive remark.

"Not that there's anything wrong with ferrets, of course." He put his fork on the table, dipped his bread and made a trail through the brightly-coloured sauce before holding it in front of his mouth. "But an ocelot, or other cat-creature would be nice. Like my patronus. A panther is so sultry by nature, you know." Ron sat riveted, mesmerised by the bread Draco was about to eat. "But I'm far too clever, and not one for fading into the shadows." He began chewing, then daintily dabbed at his lips. "I don't suppose you could even begin to guess your own animagus form, much less mine. You'd imagine yourself as some large, ferocious animal. A lion." He drawled out the vowels even as Ron's eyes lit up.

"Right! Oh Draco, you're brilliant!" He threw back his champagne while Draco shuddered.

"Yes, I am. Which is how I can tell you authoritatively you'd never be a lion." Draco turned over his hand to look at the palm and his fingernails.

All of a sudden Ron felt that he’d seen that gesture before, and recently, but he couldn’t place where. Draco glanced over at their clock. “Of all the…” he began. “Do you still want to go on the tour of this posh kitchen with me?”

Ron nodded as Draco’s wand and spell-castings became a blur. Dishes flew into a cleaning frenzy as Draco exclaimed, “We have ten minutes! And do try not to look shabby.” He strode off to their bedroom, winking as Ron trailed in his wake. “A bloody lion,” Draco said haughtily, dressing in a well-pressed suit while Ron frantically searched for anything presentable to wear. “Bloody Gryffindor. Too blind to your own essence, you are.”

They Apparated not far from the culinary institute, but Draco pulled Ron into a small alley before they met up with all of the Muggle students.

“Love you,” he breathed against Ron’s neck before depositing a spine-tingling kiss. “You just aren’t willing to acknowledge what you are.”

Ron had been grinding his teeth since the lion comment, and despite hearing his partner say the unexpected l-word for the first time, his one-track mind was still on the insult. “What I am?” he muttered to himself. “What’s bollocky wrong with me that I couldn’t be a lion?”

Draco turned around and gave him a commanding look of ‘shut up, we’re in Muggle territory and even they try not to talk to themselves.’

Ron made a rude gesture, then enjoyed the fascinating tour of a professional kitchen. He was soon rendered speechless by the appliances, all of which ran without magic, of course. Draco smiled at the stunned expressions on Ron’s face, and gave his hand a quick squeeze when no one else was looking.

***

“You want me to do what?” the grizzled wizard yelped despite his obvious pain.

Ron put on his most professional healer’s face while holding out the two magazines in front of his patient. “Mister MacFusty, I need you to produce some ejaculate. Your wife-”

“Ex-wife,” the wizard interrupted, his eyes blazing with anger.

“Right. Well, from my analysis of your condition, your ex-wife did a lot of research into clan-specific hexes before casting this one on you. And you know it’s sex magic-”

“Bloody well do I know that,” MacFusty grumbled.

“Regardless, I’ll need some semen. Pick your poison.” Ron put the magazines side by side, almost 100% certain which one his patient would prefer, but a good healer always provided options. In his right hand was Playwizard, on whose cover a voluptuous witch coyly undid the strings of her black bikini and waved the ends before retying them. In his left was Wand's Envy, the title not betraying the content though the picture on the front most certainly did: one male wizard had undone the clasps on another wizard’s robes and was moving his wand seductively around the man’s nipples while reaching for his groin.

“You need…”

“Just go ahead and wank, all right?” Ron was losing his patience.

“Oh, give me that,” MacFusty snarled, snatching at the copy of Playwizard.

A shudder of ill ease coursed through Ron. Something was wrong with Draco, and he knew instantly that he needed to get home.

“Leave your sample with the healer at the end of the corridor,” Ron said as he rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He ran past several other healers, nearly knocking over a junior assistant before seeing Thalia, another ex-Gryffindor, who now worked in record-keeping.

“McGhinty,” he burst out, hands splayed on her desk as she looked up at him, startled. “Taking lunch early. Gotta go to my flat. Back soon. MacFusty will be bringing his sample down to you.”

“So he’s-” She bit down on her lower lip.

“Tossing off. You’ve got his casework. Sorry to be so abrupt, but, oh bollocks.” Another wave of fear/confusion/pain shot down his spine, leaving his face all tingly as though the blood had left it. “Gotta go.”

She stared at him as he fled toward the main Apparating point, his robes half-shucked from his shoulders and trailing behind him. Ron Apparated into the alley by their flat and found he was actually hoping he’d see the silly raccoon that was always there. The alley was empty, save the rubbish bins. He tore over to their stairs before stopping abruptly. There were dark red droplets making a queasy trail leading up to their door.

“Fucking Merlin,” Ron whispered, taking the steps two at a time. The door was open, and Ron burst into their flat. “Draco!” he yelled, following the bloody path into their loo. “Draco?” he whimpered, falling on his knees by their tub.

Draco was sitting in the large bathtub, his shirt drenched in blood. He slowly turned his head to look at Ron. “Sorry ‘bout the mess,” he slurred before a coughing fit overtook him.

“Oh, fuck, Draco, you’re alive!” Ron exclaimed before reaching over to undo the buttons on Draco’s shirt. “What the bloody hell happened? We’re going to St. Mungo’s. Now.” He gave a gasp as he saw the hole and torn skin below Draco’s clavicle. “Are you okay to Apparate?”

“Do I have a choice?” Draco said weakly.

“Absolutely not.”

The blond closed his eyes.

“You stick with me, you hear?” Ron tried to heave Draco as gently as possible out of the porcelain, but recognised he didn’t have the strength, plus he was beginning to panic. Being a healer of obscure hexes was one thing; he’d never seen so much blood in his life. It must’ve been Muggle work. He crawled into the tub and eased Draco over so that Ron was on his back. They were now face to face, Draco moaning in pain the whole time. “Sorry mate, but I can’t Apparate you upright. You ready?”

Ron got a heavy-lidded glimpse of grey eyes, which he took as a yes. He reined in his own terror enough to visualise the coordinates for the surgery ward and, clasping a hold of Draco’s back, Apparated to St. Mungo’s.

***

It seemed like absolutely ages, but Ron realised it’d probably only been thirty minutes or so since the healer for non-magical injuries had gone into Draco’s room. He paced outside, not even noticing when his fellow healers stopped by to ask what was wrong. Eventually the healer assigned to Draco came out into the corridor and Ron exhaled a sigh of relief.

“He’s going to be all right,” Ron stated, and the healer nodded, smiling.

“He lost a lot of blood, that’s for sure. But he’s not one to give in easily, and good thing, that.”

Ron looked at the healer’s nametag. “So, Drinkwater, what happened?” he gulped. “Or can I go in and talk to him?”

Drinkwater nodded again and opened the door. “Don’t mind the coagulasonic; his blood type is quite rare and it’s taking a while to get him back to normal.”

Ron nodded impatiently and went into the room, closing the door behind him. Draco looked even paler than usual, but thankfully seemed no longer to be in pain. He slowly opened his eyes as Ron pulled a chair up to the bed.

“Merlin, Draco, what happened to you?” He about crushed his lover’s hand in his grasp, then planted a few sloppy kisses on the palm before holding Draco’s hand in his lap.

“Weasley. You’re so sentimental,” Draco said quietly, but his expression was one of gratitude.

“I thought you were dead, or something,” Ron said, clutching at Draco’s hand. “Got the worst feeling about you, that something awful had happened.”

“Something awful had happened,” Draco acknowledged. “If you don’t mind the tubing here, would you like to join me? I’m still cold.”

“No worries.” Ron carefully clambered into the narrow bed to lie down next to his partner. He gave Draco a very firm but chaste kiss and drew back to rest his head on the pillow.

“Come back here,” Draco insisted, and Ron complied. The art and fire of kissing had been new to Ron; prior to Draco he’d shagged blokes, and enjoyed their company, but all of this complicated intimate stuff had been a revelation. The excitement of having Draco’s warm tongue in his mouth again was beginning to have an effect on his cock, so he grudgingly separated their mouths.

“As a healer, I must say that shagging someone who’s only just been healed is frowned on by the whole healer community.” He looked forlornly at Draco and ran his thumb across the blond’s eyebrow.

“You healers and your bloody ethics,” Draco complained.

“Fine. I’ll be rogering you as soon as you’ve got your blood back. Now tell me what the hell happened.” He snuggled next to Draco, yet another activity he’d never been drawn to until this particular relationship.

“D’you mind casting a silencing charm first?”

Ron got up on one elbow and looked curiously at his lover. “’Course not. You weren’t doing anything illegal, were you?” Ron fumbled for his wand and cast a silencio on the walls. It wouldn’t be as powerful as if they were out of the hospital, but magic outside of healing magic was rendered more neutral within St. Mungo’s walls for security reasons. “Weren’t you in class?” Ron asked, perplexed.

Draco let out a long breath. “I’ve succeeded in becoming an animagus. Unregistered, of course. So, yes, I’ve been doing something illegal, but it wasn’t hurting anyone.”

Ron stared at Draco, mouth wide open. “You’ve been… you’ve learned how to become a bloody animagus? Since when?”

Draco gazed up at the ceiling. “I’ve been practising for a couple of months. I just didn’t count on being shot at by a Muggle with a Muggle gun.”

“Bastards,” Ron swore, burying his head into Draco’s neck. “But how brilliant is that? You’ve learned to change on your own! No wonder you were so funny about it that time over breakfast.”

“Such a good dijonaise sauce that was,” Draco reminisced. “Perfect texture and colour.”

“So why didn’t you tell me? You didn’t think I’d go off blabbing to Dad or Hermione, did you?”

“Certainly not,” Draco replied, insulted, running a hand across Ron’s back. “But you didn’t seem all that receptive to my form.”

Ron frowned. “When would I have seen…” his voice trailed off. “Oh. That raccoon in the alley.” He cringed and beat his head against the pillow a few times.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, oblivious to the most obvious,” Draco drawled.

“Get stuffed.”

Draco lovingly kept running his hand up and down Ron’s back, kneading at a knot he found at Ron’s shoulder blade. “That’s what happened,” he said, caressing Ron through his robes. “And I’m feeling better than ever.” He wriggled provocatively against Ron.

Ron looked up at him. “You can’t be serious.” He blinked a couple of times, trying not to believe the lustful expression on Draco’s face. “What if we got caught? I do work here, y’know.”

“Precisely. Which is exactly why no-one will bother us,” Draco breathed heatedly into Ron’s ear, which sent a frisson of desire straight to Ron’s cock.

“Not fair,” Ron insisted. “You’re still getting blood, for Merlin’s sake.”

“But I have one good hand.” Draco worked it over Ron’s shoulders and down his chest, insinuating it between their bodies to Ron’s growing erection. “And knowing how much you worried about me is quite the turn-on.”

Ron shook his head in disbelief. “Talk about pervy.” Draco squeezed at Ron’s cock through his trousers. “Oy! Careful with that. And I’m not shagging you. It’s not right.”

Draco pouted. “There’s all manners of healing. You thought it was okay to stick your nose in my crotch, don’t forget.”

Ron smiled. “I needed to. That was different.”

“I don’t think so, and I’m the patient.”

Ron let Draco fondle him for a little while longer. “Well, when you put it that way-” he scooted away down Draco’s body. “But no sex. I’ll just, well…”

“Anything,” Draco pleaded, thrusting up his hips from the bed. “You don’t know what it’s like, nearly bleeding to death, too weak even to owl you somehow, and then you showed up. My sexy, freckled saviour,” he said. “Twice now. It’s all getting a bit dramatic. It’s-” his litany came to a screeching halt as under the sheets, Ron’s mouth closed over Draco’s cock. “You’re. You’re amazing,” Draco said thankfully.

Ron smiled as he worked up and down Draco, lapping at the underside of his cock before sucking at the head. He heard a telltale hiss above him and knew his lover was grasping at the bed sheet with the arm not getting the replenishing blood. Despite closing his eyes, Ron could practically see Draco’s long fingers clutching the fabric in his hand, anchoring himself so he could manoeuver his cock even further into Ron’s mouth. Ron prided himself on his now well-practised ability to give blowjobs, so he was rather surprised when he heard his name murmured along with, “Stop it, no more, please.”

Ron slowly moved his mouth off of the insistent cock with a small ‘pop’ing sound, and pulled down the sheet so he could see Draco’s face. “Doesn’t it feel good? I thought you wanted-”

“I want you, Ron Weasley. I’m all done, see?” Draco gestured to the tubing that had been magically inserted into his arm. The bag was empty, Draco’s face was flushed, and Ron could see that the scar on his chest was healing quite nicely.

“Draco,” Ron attempted in his most professional voice.

“Get it out of my arm before I shag you senseless for once.”

Ron stared, astonished, the head of Draco’s cock still bobbing near his throat. “Well, okay.” In a fit of mischief, he took first one and then the other of Draco’s balls in his mouth, earning a smattering of arcane profanity before Ron got his wand and removed the tube. While the tubing wrapped itself back up the pole, Draco leered at Ron.


“On your back on the bed,” he commanded.

Ron did as he was told before Draco said in a worried voice, “Wait. Do you mind if I try and do the animagus thing?”

“No, but you were just shot a couple of hours ago. Why don’t you wait a day or two?”

Draco shook his head fiercely. “I’ve worked too long on it. I won’t be transformed for long.”

“Malfoy,” Ron warned, but seconds later he found he was sharing the hospital bed with the raccoon from the alley. Draco. It examined its hands and combed across its head before focusing on Ron. “Draco?” he said, voice cracking. “Bloody hell.”

The raccoon did a final check of his hands then crawled up to sit on Ron’s chest. Ron couldn’t help himself, and he patted the creature. He laughed as it began going through the pockets of his healers’ robes with clever hands until it pulled out Ron’s spare phial of unguent. “Oy! I need that, y’know!” Ron exclaimed before he suddenly found himself sharing the bed with a very non-raccoonish Draco, looking angrily at the phial.

“Why do you need this?” he asked heatedly. “Shagging patients on the side?”

“Merlin, no!” Ron retorted. “All healers carry ointment. Bollocks.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “Don’t you trust me at all?” he snorted. “Since freckle-covered, red-haired healers are all the rage, y’know. Everyone wants in my trousers.” He rolled his eyes.

“They should,” Draco said gently. “My apologies. But I sure want in your trousers. Is that silencio still active?”

Ron nodded. “Should be. I’ll lock the door, though.” He waved his wand and cast a locking charm that would keep out all but senior healer staff. He didn’t have the privileges to lock the door against everyone.

“Right. Ron, I’d like you to take off your robes.”

He did, which left Ron in boxers and a t-shirt. Draco looked approvingly at the redhead’s form. “I knew you’ve tended to top, but today I want to be the one fucking you.”

Ron grinned. “Works for me. You’ve got the lube. I’m just glad you’re still around, you crazy, sneaky,”

“Generous, attentive lover. Why thank you,” Draco interrupted.

Moments later they were both naked, Ron finding himself on elbows and knees with Draco behind him. The redhead winced a bit as he always did when breached by one of his lover’s fingers, but his body soon grew accustomed to the sensation, and when Draco had slid in a second and then a third finger, Ron was positively howling for more.

“I’m going to enter you now, join with you,” Draco said in a honeyed voice, his fingers still nudging at Ron’s prostate. “You’re mine, Ron Weasley, all mine.”

Ron couldn’t agree more. “Yours,” he gasped as he was left empty, then felt the head of Draco’s cock poised at his entrance. “Yours,” he said more forcefully as his lover slowly slid into his arse. “Yours, yours, oh fuck Draco.” Ron panted in time with Draco’s painstaking thrusts. He didn’t often have the sensation of being filled like this while Draco took Ron’s cock in hand and began to manipulate it in a most talented way, pulling and tugging but never hurting him.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” Ron said as he forced away the images of Draco in the tub in his blood-soaked shirt. Draco’d been healed, he was okay, fuck, he was far more than okay, he was slamming into Ron and fisting his cock and he was going to…

“Gonna come,” Ron moaned, trying both to scoot back and let Draco slide inside him as deeply as possible as well as piston his hips forward so his cock could receive the full benefits of Draco’s hand.

“Do it,” Draco said, his breath over Ron’s spine. “Come for me, come in my hand, you know you want to.”

There weren’t words for what Ron felt as he shuddered, clenching around his lover’s cock and his come running down Draco’s fingers. A low, long dog-like whimper was all Ron could manage as he felt Draco’s orgasm hit him as well. Ron sensed the relatively unfamiliar sensation of warm fluid streaming into him, and it made him smile even as he panted down from the waves of pleasure still coursing through him, making his thighs shake.

“You’re bloody brilliant,” Ron said once he’d caught his breath, leaning his head on his arms.

“And you have the sexiest arse,” Draco replied, tenderly pulling out of Ron.

“No, that’s you,” Ron insisted.

Draco made an amused chuckling sound. “You’re just in post-coital bliss. Do you want me to clean us up? I think my wand’s on the table.”

Ron nodded gratefully. Sex was one thing, but wiping down his arse was quite another. He watched Draco get out of the bed and stand near the table.

“Healer Weasley? Healer Ronald Weasley. Please see your patient in room 411 at your earliest convenience,” a medi-witch’s voice chirped over the St. Mungo’s public address system.

“Oh bugger,” Ron said, wilting into the bed as Draco cast a cleaning spell on both of them. “I’d forgotten all about him.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “You forgot about one of your patients? That’s never a good sign.” Squelching Ron’s acerbic reply, he took Ron’s head in his hands and thoroughly kissed him. “Better get back to your work. This is my bed, after all. I’m the one who needed healing.”

Ron groaned as he climbed off of the bed, then jumped when Draco swatted him on the backside. “Cheeky git!”

Draco merely pulled on his top and waggled his hips so that his flaccid cock swung between his legs. “It was your cheeks getting the attention, if memory serves. But perhaps my memory is far better than yours.”

“You’re just asking for it, y’know,” Ron warned as he pulled on his clothes and robes. “I’ll check up on you later, patient Malfoy.”

Draco smirked as he put on the official St. Mungo’s pyjama bottoms and crawled into the bed. “You do that, Healer Weasley. And bring some chocolates. And that cooking magazine I just got.” He pulled the blankets up around him so he resembled a caterpillar in a cozy cocoon. “Looked as though there were some excellent recipes in them.”

“Malfoy, you do realize I could have you discharged in five minutes.”

“Five minutes? But I just… I just…”

Ron grinned as Draco spluttered. “Don’t worry. With Muggle-inflicted injuries they usually keep patients overnight. Do you really want that magazine?”

Draco nodded solemnly, and Ron sighed.

“Fine. I’ll get it, and check up on you later. Drinkwater will certainly want to visit you and see how your healing process is going.” Ron was halfway through the doorway before he turned around. “But don’t you dare practise any, um, alternative medicine with him. I’m quite the jealous type, y’know.”

“Not to worry. Bet he wouldn’t be able to appreciate that Skyrunner 3.6 like you would.”

“3.6? You hadn’t told me, you wanker.”

“Healer Weasley, patient MacFusty wants to see you immediately,” came across the public address again.

Ron glared at Draco. “You’ve been holding out on me, you big Magpies-loving, secrets-keeping-”

“Go on, Weasley.” Draco smiled languidly at him. “We’ll do lots of,” he paused, “talking, when you return.”

Ron made a guttural sound in reply and slammed the door shut, though he turned around and opened it seconds later. “Stay away from those rubbish bins when you’re, well, y’know,” he said gruffly. “I don’t think I can go through an experience like that again.”

A warm expression bloomed on Draco’s face. “I’ll do what I can. And I love you, too.”

Ron knocked his head against the doorframe in realization of what Draco had said. “I… yeah. You know.”

“Yes, go on,” Draco shooed at him. “But don’t forget the magazine.”

“Healer Weasley-”

“I’m bollocky coming! Shut up!” Ron shouted at the ceiling.

He really does love you, Ron thought to himself, heart fit to burst despite the frustration he knew he was about to face as he tore down the corridor to the lift and then to his patient. Draco showing up in his life was like a shooting star, lighting everything up around him. “Oh, augh,” Ron said aloud as he got in the lift. “You sound like a bloody poof.”

“I thought you were a poof,” Thalia said, apparently relishing the look of horror on Ron’s face as he realized he’d said part of his inner monologue aloud, and in a public space.

“What’re you doing?” he exclaimed, looking around frantically.

“Taking the lift, same as you. How’s Malfoy?”

“Just fine.” Ron sagged against the wall. “Wait- how’d you know I didn’t fancy birds?”

Thalia winked. “You’ve never hit on me. Must be a St. Mungo’s first.”

Ron smiled in return. “You don’t mind, d’you?”

“Merlin, no. You and Malfoy do make an unexpected couple, I must say, knowing you both a bit from Hogwarts. I’m just glad that he’s doing better.”

“So am I,” Ron said, relieved. “Best thing that ever happened to me, Malfoy.” He shook his head. “Never thought I’d ever say that.” The warm sensation he’d felt resolutely continued to expand in his chest, even as the P.A. system addressed him for a fourth time. “I think I love him too, stupid ruddy almost got himself killed Malfoy.”

“Of course you do. Now go take care of MacFusty before the whole floor goes looking for you.” Thalia gave Ron an affectionate pat on the arm before leaving the lift.

Ron paused for a moment, unable to hold in his happiness. It didn’t make sense, but he truly did have strong emotional ties to Draco. He grinned so widely that his mouth hurt as he strode down the corridor.

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