A/N- I’m still alive! And so is this crappy fanfic! I don’t know why, but my inspiration for this is like, dead. I am going to finish this fic, though. And no, it’s not going to take years and years to do it. Just weekly updates are probably gone for good unless I randomly get into this again. Sorry! And I want to thank everyone who has stuck with this story for so long--it's because of you guys that I have any motivation to finish this at all!

Chapter XXII

February 1997

Saturday evening

Despite Ron’s discovery earlier that day, he didn’t feel the least bit nervous about sneaking out to see Draco that night. He had spent the majority of the day lying in bed, thinking over the strange cuts on his chest, and the random sliver of memory. He couldn’t manage to place when it could have happened, which left him wondering if it had happened at all. After all, he had apparently been cutting himself obsessively, so for all he knew, he could have put the initials there himself. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; he loved Draco, why wouldn’t he want to prove to himself that they belonged together by marking himself as Draco’s property?

Once he was sure that the other boys were asleep, Ron slid out of bed and changed into the Weasley jumper and trousers he had worn earlier that day. He was just about to leave when a soft voice stopped him.

“Ron?”

Ron froze. A sense of panic immediately began to fill his chest. He had just gotten out of the infirmary; all he wanted was to spend time with Draco. Now everything would be ruined unless he could come up with a good excuse, and fast.

“Harry,” he responded quietly, trying to sound as pleasant and normal as possible. In the darkness, he could barely see the shadow of Harry sitting up in bed.

“You’re leaving,” Harry said calmly. It wasn’t quite a question, but it wasn’t exactly a statement, either. He sounded like he was accepting it, telling it more to himself than to Ron.

“I’m just going to take a walk,” Ron lied. “Can’t sleep. Er, yeah.” He wanted to slam his palm against his face at his poor lying skills, but he forced himself to stand there calmly and hope Harry hadn’t noticed.

Harry sighed and shook his head. “Alright. Want to borrow my Invisibility Cloak?” Before Ron even had a chance to answer, Harry hopped from his bed and began digging through his trunk. He pulled it out and thrust it into Ron’s hands. “Don’t get caught,” he said quietly, searching Ron’s eyes. “And bring this back in one piece, okay?” There was a hint of a smile as he finished, but Ron couldn’t help but notice that Harry was looking at him strangely—as if he knew something Ron didn’t.

“Thanks mate,” Ron said with a grin. He took the cloak and threw it over his shoulders before Harry could question him further, although he was beginning to get the feeling that Harry had no intention of questioning him at all.

Harry nodded and smiled, watching until the door opened and then closed before he allowed his smile to melt away. He crawled back into bed and stared up into the darkness, wondering if he had done the right thing.

As Ron quietly made his way into the common room, he felt a surge of relief that Harry had let him borrow the cloak. Hermione was slumped over a textbook in front of the fireplace, apparently having fallen asleep in the middle of working on homework. He sighed and shook his head in exasperation. It didn’t look like she was going to be waking up any time soon, judging by the way her lips were parted and soft, purr-like snores filled the room, but Ron didn’t take any chances. He walked as quietly as he could (which, unfortunately, wasn’t very quiet at all), and kept as far away from Hermione as possible.

The portrait door squeaked a little when he pushed it open, but a quick glance over his shoulder assured him that Hermione hadn’t heard it. Once he had just enough room to squeeze past, he slipped out of the common room, closing the portrait door behind him.

Hermione’s eyes cracked open and her fake snores stopped, and she glared at the closed portrait. Either Harry or Ron was sneaking out under the Invisibility Cloak, and she was going to find out why.

Ron made his way down to his and Draco’s third floor classroom without a single run-in with Filtch. It seemed odd; usually he could hear the old caretaker muttering to himself as Ron snuck down the corridors, but instead, the castle was deathly quiet. It was unnerving, and again, he was getting the feeling that he was forgetting something really, really important.

“Hi,” Draco said pleasantly when Ron entered their classroom and discarded the Invisibility Cloak. With a flick of his wand, Draco cast the silencing and locking charms on the room.

“I almost got caught,” Ron told him, grinning. “Twice.”

Draco rolled his eyes and circled his arms around Ron’s neck. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked with a dramatic sigh.

“I believe you promised me a shag.”

Draco raised his eyebrows in mock-surprise. “Did I?”

Ron leaned down and nuzzled Draco’s cheek as he slowly began moving them backward toward the bed that had already been set up. “That’s how we usually celebrate, isn’t it?”

They took a few more steps and then the backs of Draco’s knees hit the bed, and they tumbled onto it with a messy sort of grace. Draco squirmed a little under Ron, trying to get comfortable, and then tugged teasingly at Ron’s jumper.

“Let’s get you out of those clothes, then, shall we?”

Ron’s face turned a light shade of pink and he sat up, straddling Draco’s waist, to pull his jumper off. He immediately felt Draco’s hands pulling at his trousers. His jumper was thrown to the side at the same time he felt his trousers open up completely. Just as he was anticipating the feeling of Draco’s hand, Draco went strangely still beneath him.

“What is it?” Ron asked breathlessly, looking down at him, but Draco wouldn’t meet his gaze. He was staring at Ron’s chest, at the initials that had been carved there.

“Oh, that,” Draco whispered, a strange smile on his face. He reached up, gently trailing his fingers over the cuts. “I like that.”

“I...”

“Did you do that for me?” Draco asked, his eyes shining brightly. It almost hurt Ron to look at him, at how happy he was, but Ron didn’t know why. It was a strange sort of pain, more like sympathy or pity, and even though he was almost certain that he had put the marks there himself, he still felt like he had to lie.

“Yeah,” Ron answered automatically. He leaned back down, brushing his lips softly against Draco’s. “Because I love you.”

Draco’s eyes fell closed and he trembled beneath Ron, his arms snaking around Ron’s neck to tangle in his hair. “You know,” he whispered, his lips brushing Ron’s cheek as he spoke, “That night when you didn’t show up... after Quidditch practice... I sat here all night, staring at the door, waiting for you.”

Ron cringed. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought you had abandoned me. Because... well, because of everything.”

Ron pulled back a little so he could meet Draco’s eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I wrote one more page,” Draco told him, trailing his fingers soothingly through Ron’s hair. “Just one—explaining everything. I’m never going to write in it again.”

“Your—your journal?” Ron asked. He knew Draco kept one, that he wrote in it almost religiously, but he had never thought to ask about the contents. It was personal, and apparently very important to Draco. It seemed strange that he would give up writing in it for no reason.

Draco, however, didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he just leaned up and pressed his lips to Ron’s. All other thoughts and concerns left Ron’s mind as his lips parted and Draco’s tongue slid into his mouth. He cupped Draco’s face with his hands, his thumbs gently caressing Draco’s prominent cheekbones.

Ron didn’t even realise they were moving until he felt his back being pressed into the bed, and Draco situating himself on top of him. He didn’t mind, exactly, even though it went against his plans for the night. It didn’t matter, though, since he couldn’t even form a proper protest with Draco’s hand sliding into his trousers.

He tore his lips away from Draco’s to let out a low groan. Draco laughed quietly and moved off Ron to shove his trousers completely off, and then slid back up Ron’s body to gently nibble at his ear. “I have a game we can play,” he whispered, sucking Ron’s earlobe into mouth.

“Hmm?”

Draco tugged Ron’s arm a bit, indicating for him to centre himself on the bed. Ron immediately complied; he was getting tired of his legs dangling off the bed anyway.

“Good,” Draco said with a smirk, rubbing Ron’s chest, carefully avoiding the cuts. “Now...” He grabbed Ron’s arms and pulled them above Ron’s head, easily holding both of Ron’s wrists in one hand since Ron wasn’t struggling at all. He was simply looking up at Draco curiously.

Draco pulled his wand out of his pocket and tapped Ron’s wrists with it, murmuring a spell. Thin ropes encircled Ron’s wrists, which Draco then secured to the headboard. Ron frowned.

“I don’t think I like this game.”

Draco smirked and trailed his fingers down Ron’s arms, all the way down to lightly tickle his sides. Ron giggled and shifted around in his bonds a bit. “You will,” Draco assured him, dipping down to trail his tongue across Ron’s collarbone.

Once Ron’s eyes had fluttered closed, finally getting used to the idea of being tied up, Draco sat up again and after staring at Ron thoughtfully for a moment, he loosened his tie just enough to pull it over his head. Ron’s eyes flicked open just in time for him to be surrounded in darkness again. A cold fear gripped him—for some reason, he did not like the idea of being blindfolded. It made him feel like he was dying. Part of him expected a rope to be wrapped around his neck at any moment.

“No,” he said sharply. He rubbed his face against his shoulder, trying to move the fabric of Draco’s tie away from his eyes. “Don’t—Draco, no.”

“Relax,” Draco said softly, kissing Ron’s eyes through the blindfold. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Ron tried to answer, he really did, but whatever he had planned on saying came out as a soft whimper. He hated himself for his weakness, but he couldn’t do anything to stop the feeling of panic that was quickly overwhelming him; all he wanted to do was scream and kick and try to crawl out of his skin. It took all the strength that he had to not thrash around and make a complete fool of himself.

“Shh,” Draco whispered, nuzzling Ron’s neck. “You’re alright. It’s just me and you.” Draco stayed there, gently caressing Ron’s chest and whispering gentle reassurances against his skin until he felt the tenseness melting away. Ron’s breathing slowly returned to normal, although he thought he felt tears prickling at his eyes.

“I—I trust you,” he conceded, squeezing his eyes closed despite the darkness.

“Good,” Draco said with a nod. He sat back up to pull his shirt off and toss it onto the floor. He left his trousers alone for the moment—he had better things to do.

He climbed on top of Ron, straddling his thighs, and trailed his fingers down Ron’s chest, teasingly running them across Ron’s nipples. Ron gasped and arched off the bed, surprised by the unexpected touch. Perhaps this whole blindfold thing wasn’t so bad after all.

Draco continued to roll Ron’s nipples under his fingers as he bent forward, tracing the jagged lines of the initials with his tongue. The damp warmth was actually soothing against the sensitive cuts, and Ron let out a quiet moan of approval. He felt Draco’s lips curve into a smile against his skin.

“Like that?” Draco whispered. He dragged his lips to the side, sucking a nipple into his mouth.

“God, Draco, yeah,” Ron breathed, surprised by how much he actually was enjoying this.

Draco shifted up a bit and rocked his hips, grinding against Ron’s erection. Ron’s mouth fell open in a silent groan, which was immediately swallowed up when Draco’s tongue plunged into his mouth again.

Draco tangled his hands in Ron’s hair again and began rocking against him in earnest, his own heavy breaths mixing with Ron’s desperate, breathy moans.

Then, just as Ron felt his orgasm coming closer and closer, there was a strange clicking sound, followed by a loud thud. He and Draco froze.

“What was that?” he whispered. He immediately began wishing that he wasn’t tied up so he could at least touch Draco for some comfort.

Draco looked around the room, frowning. Nothing looked out of place, but... “Nothing,” he said shortly. He looked back down at Ron, whose face was etched in concern. “It was nothing.” As he said that, there was another rattling sound, this time clearly coming from the door. He growled.

“What?” Ron asked, growing increasingly worried. “Untie me.”

“Shut up.”

“There’s silencing charms, Draco, no one can—”

“Shut up,” Draco hissed venomously, clapping his hand over Ron’s mouth. In a sudden burst of anger and frustration, Ron sunk his teeth into Draco’s palm. Draco didn’t seem to notice. He sat perfectly still, his body poised to jump off the bed if need be, and his eyes remained trained on the door.

The handle slowly began to turn and Draco’s upper lip curled in annoyance. He knew they should have been using a more complex locking spell.

Ron struggled to free his mouth from Draco’s hand, but he could barely move at all. His arms were still bound, and with Draco straddling him, it left him nearly immobile. He bucked his hips as hard as he could, trying to throw Draco off of him, but nothing seemed to work. The feeling of panic rushed over Ron again; he needed to see, to prove to himself with his own eyes that Draco was really there, not just some invisible presence. However, his struggles came to a sudden stop when he heard the familiar sound of the door swinging open.

Everything seemed to happen all at once. There was a feral growl and a high-pitched gasp that he would recognise anywhere—Hermione. In that same instant, he felt Draco spring off of him and land on the floor somewhere, followed immediately by Hermione’s screams of, “What have you done to him!? Oh, what have you done!?”

Ron struggled against his bonds frantically, suddenly very aware of his own vulnerability. “Draco!” he called, his voice coming out as almost a whimper.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Draco sounded strange, as if he were in a daze, and then Ron heard a deafening crash followed by Hermione’s enraged scream.

Ron couldn’t help it; he panicked. “Don’t you dare hurt him!” he shrieked, trying once again to dislodge the blindfold. His voice was drowned out in the loud crashes, the crackle of magic, and Draco and Hermione’s incoherent screams. The image it put into Ron’s head was gruesome—by the way it sounded, it made him think of what would happen if two cats were tied together by their tails and hung over a clothesline, ripping each other to shreds in their blind fury.

That’s when Ron’s elbow bumped into something long and smooth against the bed. He froze. It was Draco’s wand. Draco was unarmed.

Hermione was going to kill him.

With a sudden surge of strength, Ron managed to loosen his bonds just enough to lift his arm and use it to slide down the blindfold. His vision refocused to see the room in complete disarray; desks were broken and strewn about, and there were a few burned holes on the walls which could only be explained by a wayward spell hitting it.

But none of that mattered; his eyes scanned the room quickly, finally landing on Draco and Hermione, who had backed themselves into a corner. Draco had fistfuls of Hermione’s hair and was screaming a series of curses and incoherent babble in her bloodied face, shaking her by the hair. One of Hermione’s hands was clawing at Draco’s bare arm, leaving streaks of blood in its wake, her other hand reaching in vain for her wand that had apparently slipped out of her grasp and fallen to the floor.

Ron could do nothing but watch as Draco tightened his hold on Hermione’s hair and slammed her head into the wall with a sickening thud. Her eyes widened in shock and she lunged forward, sinking her teeth into Draco’s neck.

In the midst of all the anger and frustration Ron was feeling, he was surprised when a sharp stab of jealousy hit him. He snarled and yelled something that sounded vaguely like, “Stop touching him,” but his words were lost in the surrounding chaos. He jerked forward, trying once more to free himself and sit up, but he groaned in pain when there was a loud crack and his right arm burned; pain flared from his shoulder all the way down to his fingers.

The noise seemed to snap Draco out of his daze and he slammed Hermione into the wall one more time, this time successfully shaking her off as she fell to the floor; unconscious. Draco turned from her, slowly, staring at Ron for a long moment as he stooped down to grab Hermione’s wand.

At the moment, all Draco could think about was how strangely beautiful Ron looked; covered in a light sheen of sweat, strands of hair plastered to his forehead, Draco’s tie hanging loosely around his neck...

“Draco,” Ron murmured, trying to adjust himself to take the strain off his injured arm. “Draco, untie me.”

But Draco’s attention was solely focussed on Ron’s arm. His shoulder stuck up at an odd angle, bone bulging beneath the skin, causing the rest of his arm to lie limply against the bed. Ron’s face was pale with pain; his eyes barely open as he grimaced.

Draco slowly moved forward, rolling Hermione’s wand between his hands before he finally broke it in two with such carelessness that Ron couldn’t help but wonder if he realised he had done it at all. Instead of untying Ron when he reached the bed, however, Draco dropped to his knees, placing a kiss on the stretched, pasty white skin above the dislocated bone. Ron winced and flinched away.

“Untie me,” he repeated tightly. “Please.”

“My Ronnie,” Draco crooned, nuzzling Ron’s shoulder.

Ron let out a breathy, mystified laugh. “Come on, Draco,” he urged, growing impatient in his confusion and panic. Hermione was still there, after all, and she could wake up at any moment. They had to get away.

“I won’t leave,” Draco told him, dragging his lips over Ron’s shoulder and up toward his neck.

“Right,” Ron panted. “Good. Just please, Draco, it hurts.”

Draco leaned back and looked at him, searching his eyes for reasons Ron could only guess at. Finally, Draco pulled himself up onto the bed and reached for the bonds. Ron closed his eyes in relief, almost immediately snapping them back open again when he felt the cords tighten around his wrists.

“You loosened them,” Draco told him. He sounded amused, yet strangely condescending; as if he were talking to a child. Part of Ron wouldn’t have been surprised if Draco had tacked on a silly pet name or crooned some unintelligible rubbish, judging by his tone of voice.

Sliding back down, Draco nipped at Ron’s chest, grazing his teeth over the blood crusted initials, his hands trailing down Ron’s stomach.

“Draco, stop it,” Ron growled, pushing him back with his knee. “You’re barking mad; we have to get out of here.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed even as an eerie grin pulled at his lips. “We haven’t finished our game,” he rasped. Lightly, he pushed Ron’s leg away and straddled his thighs once more, keeping him from moving.

Ron’s gaze darted between Draco and Hermione, who was still slumped against the floor. It was so easy to picture her suddenly waking, and then... And then, what, exactly? It was just Hermione. Now that he thought about it, it seemed strange that he was panicking at all. Obviously he didn’t want her to see him and Draco together, she just wouldn’t understand, but... That was no reason to think that she would kill Draco; how silly.

But looking back up at Draco, who was hunched over Ron possessively, his eyes dark and unreadable, Ron became very aware of the bloodied claw marks running down his arms and chest, the reddened indentation of teeth just above the hollow of his collar bone, and the bruises that were beginning to darken his skin. He looked shaken, wild; probably having been hit with a spell or two.

Hermione... his sweet, gentle friend. Was she really capable of something like this? She had to be, there was no other possibility, but it was so unbelievable.

“Draco,” Ron said gently, suddenly overwhelmed with compassion and worry. He shifted a little, biting his lip to hold back a groan as the bones in his arm shifted painfully, to rub his leg in a comforting slide against Draco’s thigh. “Are you alright, baby?”

Draco’s expression softened a little and he dipped down, brushing his lips against Ron’s. “Fine,” he whispered. He rubbed Ron’s hipbones with his thumbs for a minute before hooking his fingers beneath the waist of Ron’s pants.

Ron sighed in resignation and tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to Draco’s cheek before he pulled away. If this is what would make Draco happy, then fine. Ron had no choice but to deal with it; not because he was afraid of what Draco might do if he didn’t. It was quite the opposite, actually. Ron always went out of his way to make Draco happy, and there was nothing he would do to get in the way of that. And the sooner they got this over with, the sooner they could leave. He could only hope that Hermione stayed unconscious just a little while longer.

Across the room, huddled over in the corner, Hermione’s eyes slowly slid open. She watched, silently, as Draco pulled off the rest of his and Ron’s clothing; watched as he bent over Ron domineeringly, pressing down on the dislocated bone in Ron’s shoulder, making him cry out in pain; watched as Draco slid between Ron’s legs, yanking them up onto his shoulders. And then, as their loud moans and heavy breaths filled the room, mingled with Ron’s muffled groans of pain, she slowly stood.

She spotted her broken wand, forgotten, next to the bed, but something within her told her not to try to get it. That same, unidentifiable something, was simultaneously telling her to leave the room as fast as she could, and to fling herself at Draco one last time, wrap her hands around his throat and not let go until he died. Logically, she didn’t see why she couldn’t do both. Kill Malfoy, then leave. But—this wasn’t how she wanted him to die. She wanted to see him burn. She wanted to see that perfect skin char; turn grey then black and then crumble into dust. She wanted to hear his screams fade to broken nothingness as the flames destroyed his body.

And then, she would be in the flames with him, dancing and celebrating and stomping on his remains. The fire never hurt her, ever; it was a comfort and a guide, and she would be safe, oh so safe, while Malfoy suffered in hell.

It was with that thought that Hermione turned her back and quietly left the room. She needn’t rush things; it was only a matter of time until Malfoy got what he deserved. But these things take time and preparation; she couldn’t just rush in blindly. That’s what got Filtch killed, that’s what nearly got them both killed tonight. It wasn’t worth killing Malfoy if she had to die, too. Part of her glory would be to finally have Ron to herself; if she died, that would be rather counter-productive, wouldn’t it? Right. This was best, then.

A wicked smile curved onto her lips as a plan started to unfold in her mind. It was only a matter of time.