In Eleven Easy Steps

[elucreh.livejournal.com]

Note: Written for slian_martreb and hpvalensmut

Title: In Eleven Easy Steps
Recipient: slian_martreb
Author: Elucreh
Pairing: Ron/Draco; past Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: Anyone can be your right one in eleven easy steps.
Warnings: Schmoop. Mainly schmoop.
A/N: Thanks to our lovely Di, who is patient with me when I don't deserve it. Happy Valensmut, slian_martreb!



Step the Eleventh

It was a lovely day for a wedding, clear and crisp. The guests milled about the hall as they waited for the signal to take their seats, hugging and smiling and exchanging news.

"Draco!" Ron waved his hand over the crowd, smiling as his friend came over to him.

"Thought they'd never tie the knot," Draco remarked, slapping Ron on the back and nodding to the rest of their regular pub crowd. "Can't believe little Creevey finally got up his vaunted Gryffindor courage."

"I'm actually pretty sure he didn't," Seamus confided, grinning. "They got engaged at my restaurant, you know, and I'm pretty sure it was Morag popped the question."

They all chuckled. "Going to be a pattern for their married life, d'you think?" Ron asked.

"Probably never stand a round at the pub after a game again, poor chap," Draco said. "The little woman'll keep him home under her little thumb."

Music swelled from the organ at the front of the hall, and the little group broke up as their friends went to find their dates and their seats.

"You didn't bring anybody, did you?" Ron asked.

Draco shook his head.

"Come and sit with me, then."

**********************************************
Step the Tenth

Ron felt himself flushing when his eyes met Draco's; the people crowding them up against the wall weren't his fault or anything, but any moment now there was going to be an extremely pressing reason not to be quite so close to his friend. Draco wasn't moving, though, wasn't trying to push them back out into the crowd—was, in fact, holding unnaturally still.

"Er." Ron cleared his throat. "Warm in here. With all the—people."

"True." Draco sounded almost strangled himself. "And certainly such a game gets the blood pumping…lots of…adrenaline, in the body."

"Draco—"

"Dad, did you see me?" Will had finally battled his way through his fellow students, and Ron jerked himself into the small space his arrival had cleared. "Wasn't it a spectacular catch?"

"Amazing," he agreed, grinning down at his son.

"Although perhaps not quite so spectacular as your ego," Draco remarked.

"Uncle Draco," he protested. "It was a great catch."

"Yes, well—I suppose it's only knowing your own worth."

Will beamed. He had been putting Draco's quidditch praise at a higher value than anyone else's for thirteen years—Ron couldn't coach him, couldn't catch a snitch if you paid him, and Harry had a tendency to praise practically anything. Ron supposed there were worse ways of making up for your horrible childhood than lavishing love and attention on your surrogate child, but what it mostly meant was that Will rarely felt as though he'd earned it. Draco had been the one to shape his training since the day he'd helped Harry wrap his godson's first toy broom—a present for his second birthday.

"Minerva says we're welcome to take tea," Harry said, coming over to them from where the headmistress had summoned him.

"Marvelous. Shall we go in? Let our star seeker go and bask in his glory a little?"

"Send me an owl now and again, will you?" Ron shouted after his son. "Little blighter," he added, shaking his head as they started toward the castle.

"Big blighter, now," Draco said wryly.

"Just like his dad," Harry pointed out, grinning, and ducked as Ron took a friendly swing at him.

"Big, yes," he said with dignity.

Draco stumbled.

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

The ceremony could hardly be said to proceed at a brisk pace, and Ron found his mind wandering as the officiate prosed on about sacrifice and dedication. He was uncomfortably aware of the warmth of Draco's thigh pressed against his, and he began to regret that he had asked his friend to sit with him.

At the front of the room, Colin promised to love, honor, and obey his wife, and Draco slid him a sidelong glance, smirking. Ron bit his lip to keep from sniggering. Well, it was undeniably more entertaining with Draco than it would have been on his own. Whatever else might be said of him—and there was plenty, starting with his loyalty to the Falcons and his tendency to lounge around one's sitting room demanding drinks—it was undeniable that Draco was good company.

**********************************
Step the Ninth

Draco met Ron's eyes, hiding a grin behind his tankard as he took another swig. Ron didn't bother to hide his—he would catch hell from Harry about it later, but it was just too funny.

It was the third time in as many minutes that Harry had managed to put his foot in his mouth with the bloke he'd asked along, and dear God but it looked like the entertainment was far from over. They'd probably have to take pity on him eventually, but he was determined not to give up his evening show that easily.

Draco was taking his own sweet time drinking—getting his face under control, more like—but finally he lowered his hand.

"Thirsty, Draco?" Harry demanded, and yeah, Draco needn't think Harry didn't know exactly what he was doing. They might not be married any longer, but they still knew each other.

"Very," Draco replied, innocently, and ran his tongue over his upper lip to catch the last of his ale.

Heat flared in Ron's gut.

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

Draco stood close behind him as they awaited their turn to escape the benches and escape to the reception. On his other side, one of Colin's aunts bumped him backwards with her ample hips. He stumbled, and Draco caught him around the waist.

Once he was steady on his feet again, he expected Draco to let go.

He hardly noticed when the aisle cleared enough to let them pass.

*******************************
Step the Eighth

Ron met Draco's eyes grimly, and Draco made a slight face at him. He turned back to Harry, but Harry was focusing—or at least pretending to focus on the pitch.

It had been a tradition of theirs, the three of them going to Hogwarts for the quidditch games. Ron and Draco had found that real quidditch matches put a strain on their conversation for days, but they were able to discuss the potential of the young players fairly impartially, and they cheered for Slytherin and Gryffindor against the other two houses and prudently separated themselves for the final matches.

Even that had ended when Will made it onto the Gryffindor team his second year.

But this first game of the season was also the first game since the divorce, and Harry and Draco were mostly quiet, ignoring one another as best they could.

"Weasley's after it—Clarion following, but she's too far off—she won't make it—yes! Weasley's got the snitch!"

The crowd roared, and all three men jumped to their feet, hugging with plenty of manly back-slaps, and as Ron pulled out from between them to wave at his son, he heard Harry and Draco babbling at each other about "his feint" and "did you catch his" and "she certainly".

Thank god. They really would be all right.

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

It took a little time to find their place cards at one of the round, white-draped tables, but Ron saw with relief that Colin had at least held firm on letting the pub crowd and their dates sit together. He'd been terrified of having to spend dinner with one of Morag's frightening brothers, all of whom had a tendency to look at Colin—and, by extension, Colin's friends—as if their baby sister had been kidnapped against her will.

Sitting and spreading his napkin across his lap, he waved to Harry, who was seated at the high table as one of the groomsmen. Harry grinned back and then pointed to his glass, making a face.

Terry shot him a puzzled look. "What--?"

"Morag's making them do a toast," Draco explained, and the men around the table—as well as the better-humored of their wives and girlfriends—sniggered. "Anyone want to lay a bet he falls down on it at least twice before he raises his glass?"

"Hey! I coached him—I think he can make it through with only one complete screw-up."

"Right, then. Anyone else?"

The others around the table shook their heads.

"Stakes?" Draco raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

Ron bit his lip and decided to try for suave. "How about we discuss that later?"

*****************************************
Step the Seventh

Ron glanced up at Draco, who was broadcasting exasperation as well as sympathy. Harry was so bloody useless in a crisis, he reflected dismally. Draco was almost as bad, of course, but at least he was trying. Harry'd only managed to stand awkwardly, his hands in his pockets, for about two minutes before he'd muttered something about helping with the arrangements and fled.

"I know," Draco said, softly. "Basilisk attack? Dark Lord risen from the dead? Potter's your man, but if your wife is—" he broke off.

Ron blew out his breath. "It's all right. You can say it. 'If your wife is killed in an accident—'"

"—he's actually slightly more helpful if he stays at home and doesn't vibrate at you."

"Yeah." Ron gave him a rueful half-smile. "I know he means well, and I know he's lost her too, but—"

"Bloody useless. I know." Draco rested a hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Thanks." Ron closed his eyes and leaned back against the sofa, letting Draco be in charge. Just for a few moments. He could take a few moments while his friend handled everyone else.

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

"Cheers!" Harry raised his glass and sipped, and the rest of the room followed suit.

"How soon do you think he can escape and join us?" Draco murmured, a little closer to Ron's ear than was strictly necessary.

Ron leaned closer and muttered back, "I'm still not betting you Creevey won't ask him for a dance."

"It'd give me a chance to get my own back. I can't believe the only thing he said wrong was that he hoped the best years of their lives were behind them."

"I told you I coached him."

"Still—"

"And Morag wrote the speech."

"Inside information!" But Draco was laughing, and Ron only grinned.

**************************************
Step the Sixth

Draco looked Ron straight in the eye. "It's off." He banged his tankard down for emphasis.

Ron winced. "For sure?"

"For sure. I've had it. I've said it. It's done. He wouldn't say it, he wouldn't admit it, but I sat him down and laid it out as I saw it and when he couldn't deny any of it I told him it was over."

Draco was still being emphatic and exasperated, the way he had been a hundred times before when he talked about a fight with Harry, but the hurt that usually only lingered in the corners of his eyes was putting up a strong fight for control this time.

"It was for the best," Ron said softly. "I know it hurts, but—it's better to have one clean break, yeah?"

"Yeah." Draco fiddled with his ale for a minute. "Are we—?"

Ron didn't bother letting him finish his sentence. "We're fine."

"You sure? I mean, I know he's—"

"Yeah, he is. But I've rather gotten used to you too—" Ron took a moment to tip his drink, smiling wryly—"and…well, I'm not sure it's anyone's fault, but if it is—it's his. I might blow you off if you'd run off with some barmaid or something…if you'd hurt him on purpose…but this? This just sucks. For everyone. Hermione'll say the same, you'll see."

"Yeah." Draco took a moment to sip his drink. "He said—he said he hoped we could be friends. Someday."

"What'd you say?"

The other man looked up with a sudden smile. "I'm sure we will be."

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

Ron was incredibly glad that Colin was Muggle-born, and had arranged for a videotape of the wedding.

The sight of Harry crushing Colin's toes was one that ought to be preserved for posterity, starting with Will, who was getting old enough to tease his uncles back.

A hand on his leg startled him, and he looked up.

"You were actually shaking with glee," Draco told him. "Try to be a little more subtle."

If they were discussing subtle, Draco's hand was still on his thigh.

***********************************
Step the Fifth
Fidgeting with the buttons on his wedding robes, Ron glanced at Malfoy, who was standing still. Malfoy shot him a reassuring smile.

In a million years, I never would have dreamed I'd spend my wedding next to Draco bloody Malfoy, he reflected, and let the irony of it calm him a little.

Harry had insisted on giving the bride away—which nobody would have objected to—and paying for her wedding—which Ron would have objected to, if Harry hadn't cleverly forestalled him by making it his own wedding as well as his friends'.

"So you'll be walking up the aisle? Does this mean I can expect a garter to throw?" Draco had demanded.

"I always knew your girlish dream was to have the world focus on you as a vision in white," Ron had added with a smirk, and Draco had grinned at him.

But Harry had ignored them to go on assuring Hermione and Ron's mum that they could plan whatever they liked, and he would cover expenses. They were saving him the trouble of planning the wedding, he'd insisted. He had no idea what he would want. They would just ride along on Hermione's dream wedding.

The music swelled, and Harry walked out with Hermione on his arm. Hermione, swathed in white, glowing with happiness, took Ron's breath away. He felt his knees go weak.

"Steady on, Ron," Draco muttered, and Ron got a hold of himself. He managed a shaky smile for Hermione and took her hand as they turned to face the official.

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

"Can I cut in?" Ron figured he was safe enough, since the song was nearly over. Even his dancing had to be an improvement over Harry's, in any case.

"Well—" Harry cocked his head to the side. "If you promise not to step on him."

Ron rolled his eyes.

Harry turned to Draco. "And if you promise not to step on him."

"I promise, Potter."

"Well then—you can dance." Harry gave them a completely obvious look and darted away.

Ron stepped in close and wrapped his arms around Draco, pulling the other man's body close to him. He felt the hitch in Draco's breath, and smiled.

"Why do I have the feeling we've just been given his blessing?" he asked softly.

Draco smiled against his skin. "Possibly because he is the most obvious person in the Wizarding World except you?"

"Well. There is that. Have I--?"

"Yes. Yes. Quite obvious enough, thanks."

"Good."

***********************************
Step the Fourth

"Well, you would know," Ron found himself in chorus with Malfoy, and their eyes met before they began to laugh sheepishly.

"Hey!" Harry said, mock-offended, and he punched Ron and then Draco in the shoulder before he burst out laughing too.

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

The music ended, and Ron looked down uncertainly. "Did you want to--?"

"Video camera."

"Right. Walk?"

"Walk."

****************************************
Step the Third

Ron's eyes met Malfoy's over Harry's shoulder. Malfoy looked defiant, and pleading, and embarrassed all at once; Ron backed away, barely keeping enough of a presence of mind to keep the door from slamming.

Harry had been miserable since the battle that had claimed Ginny—moody and sullen and quiet. Ron's feelings of helplessness—far too familiar—had been tangled in his own grief. Hermione, though she was mourning, too, had been pulling him from under the cloud of pain little by little, and he was almost healed. But Harry wouldn't talk about it; couldn't bear to be touched, let alone hugged; refused to find joy or relief in any of the things he loved.

Malfoy—lost in the hurt of his mother's death, in the same battle—had been sticking close to Harry, as though he'd realized that no one would dare to offer anyone any sympathy with Harry in the room. Harry's bleak and raging helplessness had cowed even Ron's mother, who had retreated to her kitchens as the only comfort she could offer. After the first few days of his pale shadow, Harry began to look a little more lost when Malfoy wasn't by his side, though as far as Ron could tell they never spoke or touched.

He'd gone up to Harry's room to tell him that lunch was ready, shoving at the partly-open door, and frozen as the scene registered—Harry, lying on top of Malfoy half-dressed, his hands and body savage and desperate as he bit his way down the other man's neck. He hadn't noticed the door opening, but Malfoy had, and the look he'd given Ron had shaken their observer to the core.

In a daze, Ron went to tell his mother that Harry and Malfoy wouldn't be taking lunch and then sat on the front stairway to wait to be called. His mind flew around in circles—were they--? how long--? what would--?

When Harry came down to supper that evening, he made it all the way through without bursting out in a rage at someone for the first time since Ginny's death, and he let Ron's mum hug him before she went home for the night.

"They've needed release, Ron—they're neither of them communicative," Hermione told him that night as they in bed. "I mean, none of you men talk about your feelings—" she winked at him—"but even their everyday body language is all—closed off. They don't take hugs easily, they certainly don't give them. They've both been horribly hurt and angry and—if Malfoy can help Harry, and we can't—and we can't, we've both tried—then let them have this, will you? I know you still don't like him much, but he is safe, and it will help. He's a good person, even if you can't get along with him. Trust Harry to him."

"All right, then." Ron leaned over and kissed her softly. "I'll give him a chance."

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

Once out in the pretty gardens, they stopped. Draco tugged Ron over behind a tree and pulled Ron's head down to meet his, lips firm and hot and dry against Ron's mouth.

With a small groan of relief, Ron opened his mouth and reached out to Draco with his tongue, tracing the inner edges of his lips and the outside of his tongue, learning new tastes, new textures, new movements. Draco was learning him, too, going slowly and carefully, as though he was determined to memorize Ron right now. His hands, still cupping Ron's head, began to trace through his hair, around his ears and the back of his neck.

Ron made another small sound and raised his own hands to run up Draco's back, tracing the planes and angles of his muscles with his nails, pleased when Draco arched into the touch. He ran his fingers down again, moving to cup the curve of Draco's arse and pull them even closer together, to feel the hard curve of Draco's cock press into the hollow of his hip.

Draco whimpered and freed his mouth, looking up with a wild and ridiculous happiness shining from his face. "I believe we had a wager to settle?"

"Your place? Will might be home—"

"Yes. God, yes."

Reluctantly, they peeled themselves from one another with a last, hard kiss.

"Meet you there," Draco whispered, and apparated.

Ron didn't linger.

****************************************
Step the Second

Ron, panting, gathered Hermione's limp form close to his chest and looked up into Malfoy's eyes. They were still fierce with the same defiance that had fueled his hexes as he stood between an unconscious Hermione and two of the tall, masked figures they had been fighting, but it was a different dare this time.

Ron broke first, looking down at Hermione's vaguely unhappy face, at the familiar bush of her hair and curve of her lip. "Malfoy…"

"What?"

Ron couldn't find the words.

"What? Shocked, still, are you? Convinced this is just another ruse--" and Ron flinched at the reminder of the accusations he'd been flinging only two days ago—"to convince you to trust me?"

Ron bit his lip a moment, still a little sullen at having been proved wrong. "You—you don't even like her."

"What's that got to do with it?" Malfoy demanded. "We're on the same side, Weasley." He gave a snort of impatience and turned. "Where's Potter got to?"

"Malfoy—"

"What?"

Ron raised his eyes to the other man's at last. "Thanks."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Yes. Well."

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

They fell on each other as soon as they were through the door, kisses hungrier and hastier now, hands flying everywhere, tugging at buttons and hooks and hems. Through the heat, Draco went on moving backwards, pulling Ron through the door of his bedroom. By this time they were both out of their robes and down to their pants, and Ron had no reservations about tackling Draco to the bed, glorying in wrapping pale skin in freckled. He pulled Draco's ear into his mouth with his tongue, nibbling at it roughly.

Draco moaned and pushed him back, his hand still around Ron's shoulder. "Bet? What do you want?"

"Turn over," Ron said hoarsely. "On your hands and knees. I want to fuck you, hard and slow—"

Draco made a noise suspiciously like a whimper as he scrambled to obey. Ron had to take a few moments to slide his gaze down the slim, muscled back, to bite marks on Draco's spine as he pulled his boxers to his knees.

"Ron—" There was a desperate undertone to Draco's voice, and Ron swore as he realized that his wand was still in his robe pocket in the other room.

Draco let out a somewhat-hysterical snort.

"Patils—in the drawer."

"Oh, thank god." Ron fumbled the drawer open and pulled out the little square, licking it and pressing it against a pale cheek. Draco groaned as the charm stretched and slicked him, arching his back toward his friend.

Ron shoved his own pants down and walked a little forward, pulling Draco's hips toward his until he was sliding into the tight, hot space. Draco gasped beneath him and flexed against him, short-circuiting what few brain cells Ron had left. He pulled himself back reluctantly, eager to shove back into the slick warmth.

Draco gave another almost-whimper, and Ron reached around clumsily to grasp his friend's cock, hanging heavy and full beneath them. He wasn't going to last, he knew he wasn't, and so he jerked quickly, firmly, pushing Draco into orgasm with hands and cock, and when Draco shouted and exploded, he was all too grateful to tumble after him over the edge.

****************************************
Step the First

Ron met Malfoy's eyes immediately when he walked in, wishing that looks really could kill. Malfoy looked back, not even glancing at the dingy Grimmauld kitchen, exhaustion and animal caution fighting for control of his face. Without a word, he crossed to the doorway of the back stairs and disappeared up them.

The door clicked behind Malfoy, and Ron turned his narrowed eyes to Harry, who had sat down at the table with his hand over his eyes.

Without looking up, Harry raised a limp hand to forestall him. "I know, Ron. Okay? And I'll explain in the morning. For now—can you just be civil? You don't have to like him, you don't have to trust him, you just have to pass him the salt and keep from insulting his mother or punching his lights out. All right?"

Ron opened his mouth, but Harry looked up at him, a pleading exhaustion in every line of his face. "Just—trust me, Ron, okay? I know you don't trust him, I'm not asking you to trust him, but I know he's on our side, okay? I know. And I really, really do not want to get into it tonight."

Reluctantly, Ron nodded. Harry slumped in relief and slowly, achingly pushed himself up from his seat and shuffled toward the door.

"Just…for the record," Ron said slowly, and he could see the tension in Harry's shoulders as he turned.

"I don't like him. I don't trust him. And probably whatever you're going to tell me tomorrow--in detail--isn't going to change that. So I'd like it noted, against everything you talk about when you've had too many shots, that there is at least one person in this world who is willing to put his faith in you—even above his own common sense."

Harry nodded, with a look on his face that was too open, too vulnerable, too tired to hide how much this was meaning to him, and Ron had to say something, now, before he embarrassed them both.

He smirked at his friend. "And even if you are right, he's still one of the most unpleasant people who will ever walk the planet."

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

Later, in a sweaty, pleasant tangle, he brushed a kiss against Draco's collarbone. Draco smiled and murmured in his sleep.

"You know," he whispered, taking advantage of Draco's semiconscious state, "you really are my favorite person in the world."