Author: Jadea

Disclaimer: I'm a Yank, which automatically discounts me from owning JKR's wonderful characters. (We don't do fantasy as well as the Brits, sorry)

Summary: What happened after Draco left the cave in "A Deal With the Devil"

Warnings: This is an *Interlude* between "A Deal With The Devil" and the sometime-in-the- future sequal. This fic details what happened after Draco left the cave. I strongly reccomend you read ADWD before this, especially if you want to understand this. For those who say "full steam ahead" consider yourself forewarned; really, *really* nasty things happened to Harry and Ron in ADWD. This fic picks up where ADWD left off, the sequal will hit a little later in the timeline, when the revenge plot really gets underway.

This will be slash, Harry/Ron, and references to forced Draco/Ron.

Rating-R. Whoo boy. Yeah.

Note: I would like to thank everyone very much for their reviews of ADWD. Especially Rose-thank you for e-mailing me; it was a nice boost of confidence for a first time author who *never* imagined herself writing slash.

***********************************************

*Remember Potter. I won.*

The words echoed on the stone around him, fading with every repitition until they dissipated, inaudible; but not before they had engraved themselves on Harry's brain.

Malfoy was gone.

After what he had done. . .he had simply walked away.

/He'll pay. I'll make him pay. Somehow, you bastard. I'll get you, if it's the last thing in the world I ever do, I'll stand over you as you breathe your last. . ./

The rasp of his own breath filled the cave; hoarse and quick, as if he had just sprinted a mile.

Ron didn't make a sound.

*Ron*

Fumbling in the darkness, Harry sat up for the first time in what seemed like centuries, wincing in anticipation of the stabs of frozen pain that would wrack his body, shredding his lungs. . .

But the pain didn't come.

The cold, the ice that had bore down on him for the last hour was gone, melted like the snows of winter with the coming of spring. He wasn't going to die. Malfoy had reversed the 'Tempus Mortalis' spell.

Because of Ron.

Because of what Ron had done.

Abruptly, heat rushed through Harry. A fierce, blistering heat that incinerated everything in its path, making his head swim and his eyes sting. Minutes ago he had been cold, frozen. Not now. Now there was only heat.

God, he hated Malfoy.

He shoved himself to his knees, desperate to get to Ron. Sharp pain sang in his arm; he had forgotten about his elbow. Broken in his tumble down the steep stone stairs that descended into this little hell.

The darkness in the cave was almost total; the only source of light the dim outline of the door leading into the quidditch shed. It was fully night outside and the glow of the stars illuminating the shed did not reach this far below the earth. No matter how hard he stared he could not see even the outline of the form of his best friend.

Ron's name trembled on his lips, but he could not bring himself to break the silence that had descended upon them. Speaking his name, shattering the silence that surrounded them seemed profane, somehow. He needed to see Ron. To touch him. To make sure he was. . .

Ok?

Harry knew damn well Ron was not Ok.

Ron might never be Ok again.

Illuminated by the sickly hue of Malfoy's wand, the cave had seemed small, no more then ten feet tall and high. The spaces seemed to have grown in the dark; the distance stretched out around him as he searched, blindly, for Ron.

The first thing he felt was not Ron, but rather his own wand.

A rush of gratitude hit him as his fingers closed around the phoenix feather wand, smoothing the familiar wood with the pads of his fingers.

He was no longer defenseless. They were no longer defenseless.

Malfoy must have left it for him to find. Lying, discarded, on the floor.

"Lumos."

Even the dim white glow thrown by his wand made him blink, eyes adjusting to the scattered light.

Oh, God. . .

Ron.

He looked so small.

So vulnerable.

So very, very hurt.

Curled up on his side on the floor of the cave, knees drawn up, eyes closed. His fingers were clutching the fabric of his robes, flung on the floor beside him, clenching and unclenching the torn scarlet cloth.

Harry gingerly made his way over to the form of his best friend, dragging himself the last couple feet on his knees. He ignored the pain in his elbow, the wet cloth of his own robes as they clung to his body. He ignored everything but Ron.

Clear channels cut through the dust on his friends face, evidence of the tears Ron had cried earlier. Earlier, when Harry had been dying. And later, when Malfoy was exacting the price for Harry's life.

Images flashed through Harry's mind.

*Malfoy, hands clenched in Ron's fiery hair.*

*Malfoy, seizing Ron's mouth, forcing his foul tounge inside.*

*Malfoy, naked. Groaning in pleasure as his teeth bit down hard on a pale throat.*

Gently, gently, Harry brushed the red fringe of hair out of his friends eyes with his own shaking fingers.

Slowly, reluctantly, Ron opened his eyes, blinking against the light.

"Ron. . ."

Some deep noise in his throat, some half strangled expression the other boy could not voice. Then Ron's hands seized his shoulders and pulled him down, clutching him tightly.

Harry clung to the taller boy, closing his eyes, burying his own hands in Ron's hair. Stroking through the soft strands, murmuring nonsense in Ron's ear. He jarred his broken elbow but ignored the pain that rushed through him, completely focused on tangling his fingers in Ron's hair, on the whisper of the other boy's breath on his neck, on the comforting beat of the other boy's heart.

"Harry. . .you're alive."

A sob strangled him, nearly escaping his throat. Ron had been worried. . .for him. Such relief, in that voice.

That voice had always had more power over him then any other. It was a voice he heard, more often then not, in his dreams.

Gently, his fingers traced the length of his best friend's face, marveling at how soft Ron's skin was. He cupped one cheek in his hand, feeling the heat of the other boy's skin, the soft grit of dust, the clear tracks made by his tears. Those blue eyes held his own green ones. Those familiar blue eyes, windows to a soul he knew as intimately as he knew his own. Such new pain in those familiar eyes. . .

"Harry. . .Harry, he. . .he hurt me."

Tears stung the corners of his own eyes. But he would not let them fall. Not with Ron's achingly blue eyes watching him. He would not.

He would cry later.

"I know, Ron."

Those blue eyes watched him, their wounded gaze settling around him, grounding him with their weight. Harry had always loved Ron's eyes, the dark blue of the sky on a summer evening. Bright eyes that, when combined with the freckles that dusted the other boy's cheeks, made him look incredibly young. Eyes that still held all the innocence and wonder of a childhood Harry had never been able to experience.

His fingers traced the paths the tears had made on the other boy's face, marveling at their existence. Before today, he had never seen Ron cry. But here was evidence, right at his fingertips.

Words caught in this throat, choking him. What could he say? He wanted to comfort Ron, wanted desperately to reassure him, but he didn't know how. He had never been good with words, never known how to express his regular feelings to others, let alone feelings of the intensity that were rippling through him now.

Ron, on the other hand, was transparent as glass. His face, his eyes, his entire body revealed exactly what he was thinking, feeling, all the time. He never even thought about doing or saying the right thing, he simply did and said what he felt.

The words trembled on the precipice of his lips. Earlier, he had been *cold*, vapors of ice freezing his lungs, unable to breathe or talk. Now, it seemed, he was equally unable to say what he wanted, *needed* to say. The words would not come. . .but Ron had to know.

Gently, he tilted his best friend's face up to meet his own and lowered his mouth to Ron's.

All the intensity of feeling he could not express in words, all the emotions wracking through him; the rage, the sorrow, the guilt, but most of all, the love he felt for the boy with him were conveyed through the kiss.

Their last kiss-the first kiss they had shared-had been gentle, wistful.

This one was not.

Ron's arms twined around him, pulling him closer and closer, mouth moving under his, lips parting, inviting Harry to deepen the kiss. His own hands moved restlessly through Ron's fiery

hair, rubbing his fingers against the other boy's temples before drifting down to caress his trembling neck. . .

Trembling?

Oh, fuck.

Abruptly, Harry pulled away, wrenching himself out of Ron's grasp, rocking back on his heels. Shaking, he ran a hand through his own messy dark hair.

"God, Ron. . .I'm so s-sorry."

Another wave of guilt washed over him, threatening to drown him. Malfoy had just. . .done *that* to Ron. Because of him. *For* him. And now he had just pounced on his best friend. . .

"Why the fuck did you do that, Harry?"

He winced at the hurt tone in the other boy's voice, closing his eyes. He didn't think he could bear to see the pain in the other boys face. . .his fist clenched tightly around his wand. . .

"I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kissed you. . ."

A hiss of pain from the other boy and Harry couldn't keep his eyes closed, he watched apprehensively as Ron pushed himself into a sitting postition.

"No, Harry. Not 'Why the fuck did you kiss me?' Rather, 'Why the fuck did you pull away?'"

Unable to reply, Harry simply blinked, gaping at Ron. The other boy was glaring at him furiously, crimson hair tumbling wildly around his face, an angered expression on his face-as if he had just been slapped.

"Ron. . .you were-were shaking when we were-were k-kissing, and-M-Malfoy just-"

"Damn it, Harry. I know *exactly* what Malfoy just did to me!"

Harry stopped himself from wincing again at Ron's bitter yell. He knew this expression well.. his best friend's emotions had reached a pitch point-they had to be released, or Ron would shatter.

"Fuck, Harry. I know EXACTLY what that little Slytherin *murderer* did to me. I know what he did to you, too. That little bastard, he put an unforgiveable curse on you, and he ra- he rap-"

Ron's voice broke off, he was trembling violently in the dim light thrown by Harry's wand. His hands twisted his already torn quidditch robes so roughly Harry heard the cloth rip; the other boy raised his hands, clenching them in his touseled hair, white knuckled. Ron's jaw was clenched tightly, biting down hard enough on his lip to draw blood.

Almost faster then Harry could see, Ron's fist flashed out and he struck the stone floor of the cave as hard as he could; a harsh cry of pain burst from the other boys lips, furious tears stinging those innocent blue eyes.

Moving before thought, Harry grabbed Ron's shoulders, shaking him hard. Ron struggled, twisting and squirming, but Harry clung to him, fingers clutching tighter and tighter in a grip that would undoubtedly leave bruises.

As abruptly as Ron had begun struggling he stopped; all resistence in him seemed to melt away and he collapsed, burying his face in Harry's shoulder, shaking and shuddering.

Again, Harry found his hands running through Ron's hair, rubbing his back. Speaking words of comfort that offered none, slipping his arms around the trembling form of his best friend. Broken, strangled words muttered into the sweaty fabric of his own quidditch robe.

"Harry. . .Harry, he hurt me."

As tenderly as he could, Harry raised Ron's broken hand to his lips and kissed it.

*******************************

(Bangs head against desk numerous times) Aaaggghhhhhhh! This is *not* the end of the interlude. There's still one more scene to add-let's just say that Harry and Ron are not going back to Hogwarts tonight. But I don't know if this is working! This was incredibly difficult to write. . .especially Ron. Help me, please? (Hands folded, imploring, big-eyed look) I don't know if I'm writing Harry or Ron right in this situation. . . I want them to be as IC as possible. Advice, advice please?