warning
short fic. slash. nasty things implied. NC-17?
disclaimer
characters and general situations belong to J.K Rowling & Co.
my undying gratitude belongs to Kristen for the betaing.
present situations... well they belong to me.
author
notes
written
for Veela-Inc V-day Challenge. my assigned quote was:
"The
meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances:
if there is any reaction, both are transformed." Carl Jung
irreversible
by
blue
§
everyday §
Ron
watches Malfoy.
Lately,
he catches himself doing it disturbingly often.
At
meals. In classes. On the Quidditch pitch. In the halls.
Every
time it happens he tells himself that it's for lack of distractions. With
Hermione so busy as new Head Girl and Harry - Harry slipping further away
everyday.
Ron
watches Malfoy and when his brain protests too loudly he tells it to shut the
fuck up that there's nothing better to do, really.
With
such constant attention Ron begins to make small discoveries about Malfoy.
Discoveries that make him feel like doing that muggle game Harry gave him.
A
puzzle.
Only
there's no reference picture to show him the meaning of each piece.
Or
Malfoy's meaning.
But
Ron keeps watching nevertheless.
He
watches Malfoy bite his bottom lip, tear away the skin, bleed, frown, lick. He
wonders what Malfoy is thinking of.
He
watches Malfoy stare into space during Binns' lessons. He wonders what Malfoy
isn't thinking of.
He
watches Malfoy start when Zabini leans casually towards him and says something
in his left ear. Ron wonders why Malfoy pales. Why Malfoy nods.
Most of all he wonders why Zabini smirks and the class erupts into furious
whispers.
Day
by day Ron collects more of Malfoy's pieces. They lay in his head, scattered
around.
At night he patiently tries to make them fit.
But
it's difficult when your hand wanders under suffocating sheets and you swallow
a moan.
Much
more difficult than Harry's muggle puzzle.
§
overheard §
"Maybe
we should meet later."
The
voice is behind the corner. Just three feet away.
Maybe
Ron should turn on his heels and get back to Gryffindor Tower.
Maybe Ron should round the corner and head to the Great Hall.
"Maybe
not."
A
ragged breath. Ron doesn't think it's his own. He's not breathing, after all.
"Malfoy."
"I
said I don't - "
A
thump. A whimper. A dejected sigh. An harsh laugh.
"Prefects
bathroom in an hour. See you later, Malfoy."
Steps
fade. Ron breathes.
Then
he moves.
The
Gryffindor Tower is near. And he has an hour. But he runs anyway.
§
voyeuristic §
Draco
Malfoy is on his knees.
And
Ron shouldn't watch.
Draco
Malfoy is on his knees in front of Blaise Zabini.
And
Ron shouldn't watch.
Draco
Malfoy is on his knees in front of Blaise Zabini, giving him a blow job.
And
Ron shouldn't watch. Really. But he does.
"Swallow."
There,
all done.
Zabini
leaves without a word.
Ron
finds himself alone contemplating an equally alone Malfoy. He's still on his
knees staring into the wall where Zabini was. When he gets up he sways a
little.
His
breath rebounds brokenly on the prefects bathroom walls.
Into Ron's brain, making him ill, driving him mad.
Malfoy
reaches the sinks on the wall. He leans against one of them as if the very
centre of his world depended on it.
His breathing stops. He retches.
And
Ron can't stop looking.
Malfoy
spits and cleans his mouth with cold water. He scrubs it until it's bruised.
Then he looks at himself in the mirror.
Ron
is right behind him, peering over his left shoulder, but Malfoy can't see him.
Thank
Merlin. Thank Harry.
Suddenly,
Malfoy's jaw clenches. His fist too. It smashes against the clear surface.
Once.
Twice. Thrice.
The
mirror goes into thousand pieces.
Seven
years of bad luck. Ron wonders if Malfoy knows it. If he knows that he's
probably broken his hand.
Surely
he does know he's cut his skin. He's bleeding as a slashed lamb.
§
meeting §
Ron
wishes that he had never watched Malfoy. He wishes that he never heard Malfoy
and Zabini. He wishes that he could have lived just off his fantasies for a
while longer. He wishes -
"Weasley.
Look where you are going."
Of
all people.
"Malfoy
-"
"What?"
Ron
sees the fresh bruise on his cheek. He sees the angry dots marring his neck
just under his jaw.
Then Ron sees the doors from which Malfoy got out opening and closing. He sees
Zabini giving them a maliciously amused glance before slipping away through
the shadow of the deserted hall.
"Why?"
It's
just a word but Ron thinks it says enough.
"I
don't know what you are talking about."
"I
saw you and Zabini in the Prefects Bathroom."
There's
a calculated silence.
"How
much?"
"What
do you mean?"
Malfoy
shakes his head tiredly. As if he had done this a thousand times before. Which
is probably true.
"How
much do you want, to keep your mouth shut?"
"I
don't want money."
"I see."
"No,
you don't. I'm not -"
"-
a fag?"
This
shuts Ron up. Malfoy takes the moment to come towards him. Closer. Too close.
"I
know. Nobody is a fag here. Nobody but me. Don't worry Weasley, it's not
contagious. Tomorrow you'll still be able to fuck your little mudblood
friend."
Malfoy
voice is strangely reassuring. But Ron takes a step back. His shoulders touch
the wall.
If
it could swallow him, he would let it. Gratefully.
"If
you don't trust me, ask Zabini. Despite everything, he doesn't seem to have
problems fucking that Brown girl."
Ron
would like to answer, but he can't because Malfoy's hands are suddenly on him.
Light. But definitely there.
"Malfoy
-"
"Shut
up, Weasley."
And
Ron shuts up. Because it's difficult to talk with Malfoy's lips on your mouth.
His left hand on your shoulder. The other wandering down.
Malfoy's
tongue plays on Ron's skin. Leaving a fresh taste instead of the expected
bitterness.
Lips
lightly parted. Demanding. And Ron answers.
"No."
He
pushes Malfoy away.
"No
what? I can tell you were enjoying it."
Ron
can tell it too. His hard on doesn't pass exactly unnoticed into his second
hand jeans.
"Not
this way."
Malfoy's
face crumples and Ron suddenly faces another boy, a confused one. The one
stuck alone inside a web of well placed lies.
"I'm
not Zabini."
Malfoy flinches, as if Ron has slapped him.
"Then
go away."
It's
a barely whisper. But in their silence it sounds as a cry.
§
agreement §
"Zabini."
Ron
smiles reassuringly.
"A
word with you, if you don't mind."
Zabini
frowns. He must have sensed the danger. As the beast he is.
But
Ron is not going to give him the time to retreat. He grabs the collar of his
robe -
"What
the-"
-
and drags him into the nearest classroom. Then he shuts the door behind him
and pauses to contemplate the situation.
"Weasley.
What the fuck do you want?"
Ron
thinks this is a good question. A question which deserves an answer.
"This."
His
fist connects with Zabini's cheek. It's a wonderful sensation. Satisfying.
Blows
are administered in rapid successions.
Soon
enough Ron's knuckles burn. Zabini's skin has surrendered long ago. In the
end, Ron's fingers are stained red when he lets Zabini slump to the floor.
"Zabini?"
No
answer.
"Can
you hear me?"
A
sharp intake of breath.
"Leave
him alone."
Walking
down the halls Ron thinks it has been a pleasure talking with Zabini.
Blood
stained hands stuck in his pockets, Ron almost wishes he could do it more
often.
§
reaction §
"Zabini
is not coming. He's busy."
"And
what would you know about it?"
"Enough."
Malfoy
doesn't question further.
"Aren't
you leaving?"
"No."
Malfoy
sighs.
"What
do you want, Weasley? Came to collect what you threw at my face last
time?"
"Maybe."
He
looks at Ron. And Ron can read the challenge hidden behind those apparently
bored eyes.
After
six months of continuous Malfoy-watching it's easy.
And after six months of touching himself whispering his name it's easy to
gather the courage to raise a hand and touch that pale hair.
"What
-"
Malfoy's
eyes are on his reddened hand.
"It's
only ink."
Six
months ago Ron wouldn't have lied so fluently. Six months ago he wouldn't have
beaten up a student so badly. Six months ago he wouldn't have stolen Harry's
cloak. Six months ago he wouldn't have drawn Malfoy nearer and kissed him
softly, as afraid everything would explode like a soap bubble in a moment.
Ron
guesses that he has changed.
He
wonders if Malfoy can feel it, when his hands explore his skin.
He wonders if Malfoy is going to change too.
Then
maybe, that already happened. Probably in those few moments in which Ron
wasn't looking.
Ron
doesn't know. And right now he doesn't care.
He
just wishes that, whatever happened, is going to be irreversible.
§§§
.stop.