Word Count: 1,465
Rating: PG-13
Category: Romance, Angst, AU
Notes: This is what happens when the author has trouble sleeping at night and then combines this idea for the Harry Holidays 2006. Thanks to Christine and Sooji for their inputs! Thanks to Cru for the beta!
Summary: Ron contemplates on how much the war has changed everyone and everything around him after its fifth year anniversary.
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Warnings: Slash
Dedications: Rosacurry
Completed Date: December 3, 2006
Christmas, the fifth one after the war, lingers around the corner.
For the longest time, I couldn’t enjoy it. All the gaiety and festivity, displayed by others, crushed me.
In a twisted way, Christmas marks as the anniversary of the day where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named finally died, along with many others.
The others include my two best mates, Harry and Hermione with many of our classmates and acquaintances.
Unlike the first time, this one ended with no cheers of joy. Everyone, including the Death Eaters, had many losses. Too many to even think about celebrating the day we all waited for.
The rest of the year went on, and the wizarding world started to heal. As the first anniversary approached, Diagon Alley seemed so fake, though, with all the people trying so hard to make it feel like Christmas. I felt numb, walking through it, the bright colours nearly blinding me.
I left there quickly, through the Leaky Cauldron, and stepped into the Muggle world. I looked around at the fascinating ecletric lights blubs, blinking everywhere, and tears came to my eyes. The Muggle’s technology reminded me of my dead father. Along with him, everyone, except for Percy, was dead. Percy will forever be at St. Mungo’s, just like Neville’s parents. He may as well be dead.
I feel like I’m the only Weasley left. And as being the only survivor among the trio, I’m treated as a hero.
Back in my first year at Hogwarts, when Harry showed me the Mirror of Erised, I saw myself standing alone with the Head Boy Badge, posing as the Quidditch captain, and holding the Quidditch cup. I wanted glory, I wanted to break away from my older brothers’ shadows, and I admit, I did want to be like Harry, getting all the attention.
I don’t want that now. I know that if I were to look in that forsaken mirror, I’d see something close to what Harry had seen instead.
Then, there’s Draco Malfoy. The bane of my existence since we were young enough to understand the concept of the whole feud our families went through several generations. I never thought I’d say this, but this whole war made us be similar in one aspect: that we are pretty much the sole survivors of our families. And of course, I never would have thought he and I would become lovers.
Yes, hell has frozen over. To think I’d be with a pompous arse who only cares about himself is simply bizarre.
For two years, I hadn’t seen him. He just disappeared after the war ended, despite the fact that he fought on our side. Then, by chance, I saw him at the cemetery where our families and friends were buried.
As I entered, he was on his way out. We stopped in front of each other, a few feet apart. He said to me, “Weasley, I guess no matter how much fame and money you have, you will always look like a pauper.”
I felt the old spark of anger in me when he said that. The first real emotion I felt in the last couple of years that wasn’t numbness. With reflex, I glared at him. The old me would have snapped something along the lines of “Eat dung, Malfoy,” but I didn’t say that. Instead, I noticed that Draco was just as lost as I was, for his usual air of arrogance and the lack of his trademark smirk were replaced with an exhausted look a lot of us carried.
My glare lessened as I sighed and said, “What I look like doesn’t really matter, Malfoy. ‘Sides, you don’t look any better than me.”
He waved a hand of indifference at me, walked past me, and stopped next to me. “Weasley, as much as I’d love to stay and chat, I have other business to attend.” He apparated away, leaving me to wonder why that soft, warm whisper lingering on my ears sent shivers down my spine.
After that encounter, I saw him more, always unintentionally. Usually in the Leaky Cauldron, when I didn’t want to go to my flat after work, I’d sit there with some firewhiskey, drinking the night way. He would join me, usually once every couple weeks, and then it increased to once a week to almost every other day.
The first several times we were together, we just sat at the bar in silence, each nursing our drinks. The hushed moments between us were comfortable. We had plenty to talk about, but neither of us wanted to hurry into them since they required going into the past, our memories of happier days. Days with our families, friends, and heck, even days of our hostility-filled quarrel between my friends and his.
As time went on, though, we’d talk. From banal subjects about the weather to work, we tentatively would talk about more personal stuff. Our talks would get into heated discussions sometimes, sometimes to the point we’d be sniping at each other like in our schooldays. Whenever we did get into those moments, I couldn’t help but revel in the fact that I can at least still be hot-tempered, and he can still be a pretentious prick.
That fateful day occurred about a year later. We both had a bad day at work for various reasons. Unwisely, we both had gotten drunk. Thankfully, we were coherent enough to avoid apparating. We flooed into his place, a fancy flat that he moved into after he sold the Malfoy manor to whoever wanted it.
We arrived at his place, but without our usual balance and coordination, we landed on the floor, with me on top of him. Both of us stared at each other with silly looks at first, but then we realised how close we were. The warmth from his body coursed through me. Being celibate since the war ended, I felt intoxicated with needs. I had the urge to kiss Draco Malfoy, something I never would have considered.
Till this day, I do not know who moved first. It could have been me, could have been him, or could have been both of us. All I know is that our lips met with urgent needs, with my stubbles scraping against his, our lower bodies grinding for that pleasurable friction, our hands finding the warm skins to soothe our repressed emotions away.
Whether it was all alcohol-induced or not, I do know it felt good. I can give myself credit for remembering that.
To say that the morning after was awkward was an understatement. He woke up before me, telling me that he had already showered and was on his way to work. He acted like nothing happened and so did I.
But I was afraid. Afraid that somehow that night screwed up our slowly built comradeship. I had thoughts that he would never come to the Leaky Cauldron anymore. For the next couple days, I cursed to myself, cursed at the alcohol, and cursed at my other head for taking over. When he didn’t show up the first day, I told myself to be patient and that he needed time to recover from this. Couple more days passed as well. By then I was a basket case inside.
He did show up though. I had to almost cast a body binding spell on myself from going up to him and…do what? Punch him? Hug him? Shove him against the wall with my tongue in his mouth? I didn’t do anything, and we didn’t talk about it. Still, we had more nights where we’d end up at one of our places and have sex, frottage, or whatnot. First couple times, we had to be drunk to get into it, and like the first time, we never discussed it. Then, as it became more regular, we did it without alcohol. We would actually make love instead of going at it like two desperate people who needed a way to cope with the post-war syndromes.
Love. Our love for each other pulled us out of that wall we had put up around ourselves like medicine. Both of us had come a long way.
Now the fifth anniversary is today. I have gone through Diagon Alley and out to London. Instead of feeling what I have felt previously, I feel at peace with myself. I have bought presents for Draco…and even for Percy. Draco and I will go see Percy tonight and hope that someday he will come out of that catatonic state.
I hear the familiar “pop” as I see Draco apparating to my place. I set the presents I have been holding down, and we embrace each other. After softly kissing him, I smile and says, “It finally feels like Christmas, Draco. Happy Christmas, love.”