Warning: Contains m/m rape/incest



Pacing the flat waiting for Draco's return wasn't helping, so Ron decided he
really should finish unpacking. His own clothes put away, and Draco having
still not returned, he put the other boy's things away, too. Probably in the
wrong place, but Draco could fix that when he got home.

Ron's worry increased geometrically with each hour that ticked by. Well past
midnight, one a.m. turned into two. He couldn't bear to embarrass Draco, but
he had to know. He left their flat and walked quickly to Three Broomsticks,
which he found was already closed.

He turned back toward their flat, wandering aimlessly through the streets.
He hoped to catch sight of one or all of them. But, then, he didn't really
believe they would have gone for a stroll, either.

Why couldn't he figure this out? He should know where Draco would want to go
and what he would want to do. After all, they had been together almost a
year now. He thought he knew Draco quite well. Draco had changed so much
from the person he had been before they got together.

"Oh, fuck, no." Ron stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. His vision
blurred and the world spun around him as his heart hammered in his chest,
matched in rhythm by the stabbing pain in his head.

He knew. Should have known all along. They weren't meant to last. It was
all so obvious. Draco hadn't changed one bit. Draco was what Draco had
always been.

Had Draco ever really loved him? Ron had never had prophetic dreams before,
but maybe his dream //nightmare!// of Draco being reunited with his father
was now coming true. Maybe Draco had been playing a game with him all along.

He staggered back to their flat, praying silently as he slipped his key in
the lock that Draco would be waiting on the other side, and the last few
minutes of anxiety had been for naught.

Silence. Deafening, heart-wrenching, endless silence. Everything was as it
had been when he'd left. Their flat was now ready, furnished in a manner
appropriate for two eighteen year olds, the two young men who were to begin
their lives together here.

Except one of those young men was missing.

Ron locked the door behind him. He knew he'd be the only one staying in
their flat tonight.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

But he didn't sleep. He sat in a large, overstuffed armchair, covered in a
fabric that didn't match anything, given to them by his mother. He turned
the chair to face the front door, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. His
bladder was uncomfortably full but he refused to budge; he wouldn't take his
eyes off the doorknob. With the faintest hint of a rattle or turn, he'd be
at the door in a second.

It came around 11:00 a.m. that morning. Ron's voice died in his throat when
he saw the short, dark, balding figure of Mr. Constantine, their landlord.

"Ah, Mr. Ronald, so good to catch you at home," he smiled. He gestured
largely with his hands, the man's chubby fingers steepled in front of him.
"Everything has been taken care of as requested. Mr. Draco's name has been
removed from the lease. I hope he was not dissatisfied?"

How could something like this have happened so quickly? Ron tried to mask
his disappointment and confusion as he told the smaller man, "Uh, no, not
that I know of. When did this happen?"

"Oh, I took care of it all just this morning. Quickly, just as I was asked
to. I always want my tenants to be happy."

"Of course," Ron agreed. Maybe Draco hadn't planned his escape after all.
Maybe he was taken against his will. Even so, this changed everything. "Mr.
Constantine, I'm afraid this flat will be just too big for me, and the rent
too much to handle on my own."

"Oh, no, no, no, no, Mr. Ronald," the man waved his hands grandly. "It's all
handled. Rent paid in full for one year. Deposit was made to my account at
Gringott's just this morning. All handled. No problem, see? Tenant is
happy, landlord is happy!"

"Who? Who paid?"

"Don't know. Money in the account, though. Everything's okay."

"Okay, then. Thank you very much for all of your help." Ron shook the man's
hand and waved as he bustled down the corridor.

"So," Ron said out loud to no one, trying to fill the too-large space with
his own lonely voice. "Draco's gone. Draco's name is off the lease. Rent
is paid in full for one year. This means . . . what?" He paced, turning
over scenarios in his mind, but could only come up with two that made any
sense at all, though both left unanswered questions.

"Number one. Draco is kidnapped. Crabbe and Goyle lure him away from the
flat under the guise of a drink among old friends. Once they get him away
from here, they grab him and take him back to Lucius, who handles the change
to the flat lease."

"Number two. Draco leaves of his own accord. After having a drink with
Crabbe and Goyle, he realizes he really misses his old way of life and he
walks away, going back to Lucius. Either Draco or Lucius handle the change
to the flat lease."

"But, that still doesn't explain the lease being paid in full for the year.
Who would do that? And why?"

Ron's monologue was interrupted by a sharp tapping at the kitchen window. A
sleek, black owl swooped into the flat and landed on the back of the large
armchair. Depositing the envelope in the chair, the creature squawked for a
treat, which Ron fished for in the cabinet. Snatching the food out of Ron's
hand, the owl swooped out again, not bothering to wait for a reply.

Ron approached the chair warily, circling once before picking up the envelope
and turning it over in his hands. The familiar Malfoy insignia was plainly
marked on the front and back. The author wanted no one to mistake the origin
of the missive. Too nervous to sit, Ron slit open the envelope with his
finger and fished out the heavy folded parchment. He recognized the
handwriting immediately.

Ron,
I trust by now you realize what has happened. I do not expect you to
understand, but believe me when I tell you it is for the best. The flat is
paid up for one year. I do hope you will make good use of it. Keep what you
want of my things, and throw away the rest. Do not come looking for me.
There is nothing that can be done now. Yours. Always. Draco Malfoy

Ron snorted. "Like I would confuse you with someone else I know named
Draco?" He threw the letter onto the chair and paced again. "Okay, so now I
know who. This still doesn't answer the question of why. Is this a payoff?"
His voice was getting louder, angrier, as he argued with no one. "Pay for a
place for me to live for a year and I'll just keep quiet, not ask any
questions? Throw a little money at Weasley and watch him dance? Tell
Weasley he's getting something for free and he'll do whatever you want,
right? Turn me into your whore, is that what this is? Hell, he might even
suck your dick!"

Ron didn't know who he was more angry with - himself or Draco. Draco was a
Malfoy. Draco was a Slytherin. He knew what Draco was when he got involved.
Should he really be surprised when the snake turns around and bites him?
The only problem is, he had actually fallen in love with that snake. And he
thought that snake had loved him, too.

He finally decided he was most angry with himself for being so stupid. But
that didn't stop him from crying. Crying over the future he and Draco been
planning together, now just a memory. Over the separation, the loss of the
person he was coming to feel was a part of him. Over the lies he'd been so
willing to believe. Over the man he'd fallen in love with, who had now
turned his back on him.

Ron had never felt more alone in his life.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I am so pleased to see you've made the right decision," Lucius mocked his
son, who stood at attention before him. "Being with the Weasleys hasn't
completed destroyed your mental capacity."

He moved from behind his desk and appraised his son. "You seem a bit more
filled out that I remember. Surprising, considering the Weasleys can barely
afford to feed their own children, much less any strays that tag along."
Lucius smiled as he saw Draco stiffen under the taunting. "Remove your
clothing, boy."

Draco didn't question. He started with his cloak, piece by piece, dropping
them in a pile before him. Lucius resumed his appraisal. "Hmmm, nice.
Really, I am happy to see you've taken care of yourself. I imagine young
Weasley is an energetic boy, so he must give you quite a workout in the
bedroom, doesn't he?" Draco was silent.

Lucius laughed. "You're not sure how to answer that question, are you? Say
yes, and you're afraid you'll be mocked for being gay. Say no, and everyone
would have to wonder why you would stay with someone who couldn't satisfy
you. Quite the dilemma, isn't it?" Moving behind his son, he said
menacingly, "Bend over that desk."

Draco did, resting his head on his crossed arms. His father's hand began
stroking his back. "Muscular. Must be that children's game you play,
Quidditch." Lucius' hands moved down to Draco's ass, kneading the muscles,
opening him. "Son, you should be aware that your mother and I did not have
you declared dead for being gay." The sound of Lucius' zipper. "We couldn't
care less who you choose to fuck." The head of his cock wept against Draco's
entrance. "But you must understand one thing." Draco gasped as the head
broke through, and felt blood trickle down his thigh. "We own you." //Gods,
how big is he?// as Lucius slid home. "We will always own you." Draco was
panting, trying to regain his senses from the invasion. Firmly and fully
seated deep within his son, Lucius began thrusting. Hard. Driving home his
point as he pulled out completely. "But you cannot sully yourself." And
slammed in again. "With the likes of a Weasley." In. "Never." Out.
"Never defy me again." In. "Do you understand?" Again. "DO YOU
UNDERSTAND!?!"

Lucius finally climaxed and collapsed against his son. A few deep breaths
and he stood, withdrawing his cock. Muttering a quick cleaning spell, he
reassembled his clothing, leaving his son heaving, panting, bleeding. Hand
on the doorknob, he addressed Draco one last time. "Clean yourself up and
get to your quarters. Now. I do not wish to hear you or see you until
morning. Understood?" Silence. "UNDERSTOOD!?!"

"Yes, sir," Draco gasped, breathing still not recovered. "Yes, sir." Draco
didn't move until he heard the door slam.

He pushed himself off the desk slowly, painfully. The lower half of his body
was on fire. He hadn't wanted his father to see him cry. Finding his wand
among his clothing, he performed his own cleaning spell, then dressed. He
only wished he knew the healing arts so he could stop the bleeding. He would
wait until he got to his room and ask the house elves from some cold, damp
towels.

He returned to his quarters, seeing everything just as he had left it. When
had he last been home, Christmas of seventh year? He found the deep green
bed clothes somewhat comforting. Summoning a house elf, he asked for the
towels and something to eat. He decided to shower first, and was happy to
see the bleeding had already somewhat subsided. He cleaned himself carefully
and, after slipping on a pair of silk boxers, he slid a towel between his
legs. He'd have to change before going to bed, but for now the cold felt
very soothing.

He snuggled deep under his comforter, squeezing a soft, downy pillow, trying
not to cry again. At Hogwarts, he had all the answers. Here, he was on his
father's turf. It's true he'd always been coddled and over-indulged as a
Malfoy, but when it came down to it, Draco had always been nothing in this
house. Based on his father's performance tonight, he was now less than
nothing. He couldn't imagine what Lucius had in store for him now. No,
actually he could imagine what Lucius had in store, and that's what
frightened him. A meeting with Voldemort couldn't be too far off.

He tried to banish those thoughts by thinking about Ron, but that only made
him sad. He imagined Ron sleeping alone in their new bed, in their new flat.
He didn't know how to fix this. Lucius had allowed him to send the one owl,
but Draco wanted to get word to Ron, let him know what had really happened.
He didn't think he would be allowed much freedom so soon after his return, so
trying to slip another message to Ron was out of the question. For now, at
least. What must he think of me? I don't deserve him, anyway. At least
he's alive, though.

He finally drifted off to sleep, weeping against the pillow clutched tightly
to his chest.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The owl arrived one month later at St. Mungo's. Hermione was progressing
rapidly in her training as a healer, and not simply because she possessed the
talent and intellectual capability. The Ministry was certain war would be
upon them sooner than any of them could imagine. They would need all the
healers they could train.

Hermione was happy to see a message come. She corresponded with Harry and
Ron, and only a few other former Hogwarts classmates. But the crest showing
on this letter disturbed her. She opened the envelope to find another,
addressed to Ron, sealed inside. The outer message only served to disturb
her more:

Hermione,
Please deliver this message to Ron, and only to Ron, as soon as possible.
Please don't open it. You shouldn't be involved. This is very important.
Thank you. Draco Malfoy

She studied the letter and the sealed envelope. Why would Draco be
contacting him after having left so suddenly? This could only mean trouble
for Ron, and she loved Ron too much to see him hurt even more.

Hermione tucked the letter and envelope into her robe. She'd hold onto them
a little while. She needed time to think, and be sure she was doing the
right thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Perhaps the Weasleys did indeed destroy what little brain remains inside
that thick skull of yours." Lucius had, quite literally, dragged Draco out
of bed early that morning and into his office, having discovered the owl sent
to Hermione. Fistfuls of Draco's blond locks were scattered across the
carpeting. "I cannot imagine you are a son of mine. I can't help but wonder
if you're actually the spawn of your mother, the whore, and one of our house
elves. Otherwise, why would you persist in defying me?"

Draco stood naked, shaking, staring at his feet. "It was nothing, Father,
really. Just to let them know I'm all right . . ."

"LIAR!" Lucius' bellow shook the house. In fact, Lucius did not know the
content of the message or who it was sent to, nor did he care. "You will not
persist in this fantasy, do you understand me? Mudbloods and muggle-lovers
are not long in this world. You cannot and will not associate with such low
creatures. Am I making myself clear?"

Draco knew what was coming next. He'd come to expect it over the month since
he returned home. Lucius shoved him forward over the desk again. His robes
were flung back, zipper lowered. "I will make a Malfoy out of you yet, boy."

Once again, without the aid of lubrication or preparation, Lucius tore into
his son. He would like nothing more than for his son to cry out in defeat,
but he would not. Draco buried his face in his arms, biting down hard to
muffle his groans and channel the pain elsewhere. He closed his eyes,
removing himself as far as possible from the violation.

Draco clung to memories of The Burrow. His welcome into the Weasley family.
The safety he felt falling asleep and waking up in Ron's arms. That he had
loved another, who had returned that love. A simpler time, before a father
brutalized his son in a way that would scar him forever.

Draco only hoped his message got through to Ron. He couldn't expect Ron to
forgive him, but he had to tell him the truth. For all Ron had done for him.
He owed him that.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
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