Title: To Love the Unloved
Author: Deliverance ([email protected])
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Spoilers: Pre-HBP
Completed: February, 2005
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: This is the longest piece of fiction I�ve ever completed (having previously only finished an HP/LV drabble set at FFN) as well as the first time I�ve ever entered a writing contest, so please be gentle. Rating for sexual content (which to my sometimes prudish sensibilities is borderline R/NC-17), though the vast majority of the story is extremely tame.

TSS Contest #4 - Other Challenge #5: Set in the summer. Ron is walking downstairs at the Burrow in the middle of the night to get a snack when he observes his father talking to Dumbledore and a beaten and visibly shaken Draco Malfoy.

The air is humming,
And something great is coming!
Who knows?
It's only just out of reach,
Down the block, on a beach,
Maybe tonight�

The moon was high and full in the summer sky as Ron gazed out of his bedroom window, vainly attempting to think about nothing in particular.

He had been home a mere week, and not finding anything productive with which to occupy his time, Ron felt restless. His eldest two brothers were involved in some mission or another for the Order, and Ron tried not to think about the dangerous situations they might be in, though he envied them the action in the ever-escalating War. Percy was no doubt helping the Minister dig himself out of the ostrich hole where the daft fool�s head was stubbornly determined to remain, allowing convicted Death Eaters to continue to slip through the Ministry�s fingers (Lucius Malfoy being one of them, having escaped from Azkaban not long after he was sent there). The twins, Ron was sure, were up to their necks in mischief making, as usual. Ginny, on the other hand, spent inordinate amounts of time with her latest beau, whoever it was this week�and Ron really tried not to think about that.

His best friends were miles away, and there was not much Ron could do to improve that situation. Poor Harry was a depressing correspondent, still grieving over the recent loss of his godfather and his unpleasant living conditions. Hermione pestered him about starting his summer homework in her last letter, and he just knew any subsequent letters would include more of the same. He was most certainly not going to start his homework early. What did she think he was, a Ravenclaw?

Instead, Ron spent the warm summer days lazing about the Burrow, reading and rereading Quidditch magazines, and his nights staring at the sky, wishing for something exciting to happen. Oddly enough, he had a feeling that something unexpected was going to happen, though he wasn�t sure how he came to believe that.

This evening was no exception to his current summer habits as he spent the witching hour watching the moon creep over the gnarled trees in the garden to its present position. Unfortunately, a much-desired empty mind remained elusive while he tried to enjoy the relaxing view. The feeling that something was coming had been steadily increasing over the course of the day, and Ron was beginning to go mad trying to push that sensation out of his mind. His muscles felt tight as a bowstring, and a stubborn knot in his belly kept him from eating that day.

Not surprisingly, his stomach growled�a welcome disruption to such unwelcome thoughts. Ron could just hear Hermione�s voice in his head, speaking with a touch of asperity, Must you always think with your stomach, Ronald?

Why yes, Hermione, I must.

Forgoing a shirt, as the air was sticky and uncomfortable, Ron, intent on raiding the pantry, made his way to the stairs, descending as quietly as possible. No need to wake the household on account of this bottomless pit, Ron thought, deftly sidestepping a spot on the fifth step down that was known to squeak.

As he neared the second landing, the murmur of voices reached his ears. Unable to make out the words and now insanely curious to do so, Ron stealthily continued to the first landing, endeavouring to remain out of sight. In the dimly lit dining room, Ron could see his father speaking to a figure who was--with the garish purple robes and long white beard--unmistakably the Headmaster.

��in any way we can, Albus.�

�I�m glad to hear it, Arthur. You will be safe here, my boy,� Dumbledore said, turning to a robed figure Ron hadn�t noticed sitting at the table, as Arthur murmured an agreeing �yes, yes, quite safe.� �I will send for Madame Pomfrey as soon as I return to Hogwarts. I felt your safety was the most important issue in this most delicate situation, and while Hogwarts is safe during the school year, without most of the professors in residence during the holidays, you are better protected here at the Burrow.�

Ron could see the unidentified wizard nodding dully before shuddering slightly. The cowl of the robe hid the face of whoever it was from his vantage point, and Ron had to restrain himself from leaning over the banister in order to discover their identity. Such an action would most certainly reveal his eavesdropping, and Ron was determined to remain concealed from view and learn all he could before he was no doubt sent back to bed as though he were an errant child.

The Headmaster returned his attention to Arthur, giving him a swift handshake and sharp nod, to which Arthur returned with a tight smile. �Oh, and Arthur, you might ask young Ron there to escort your guest to a room,� he added, tilting his head to where Ron was hiding with a twinkle in his eye before he flooed away.

Ron froze, wincing, and noticed the hooded figure stiffening at Dumbledore�s parting words, as well.

Arthur cleared his throat, squinting up at the shadowed landing. �Ron? You might as well come down; I suppose you would have found out sooner or later.�

Ron descended the remaining stairs to stand before his father, but kept his eyes on their mystery guest, who was now shuddering continually. Arthur�s eyes darted from his son to the slim figure whose robe was torn and darkened with what Ron realised could only be blood. �Perhaps you could take Mr. Malfoy up to Percy�s old room.�

�Malfoy?!� Ron exclaimed.

�Yes, Ron,� Arthur answered wearily.

�Draco,� corrected a quiet, but firm and cultured voice. Malfoy�s face remained turned away, but Ron was kicking himself. Why hadn�t he noticed the wisps of white-blond hair, still obvious even in the flickering candlelight, escaping the robe�s hood? A Malfoy in the Burrow. The wizarding world must be coming to an end.

�All right, Draco,� Arthur said with a reassuring smile. Placing a hand on Ron�s shoulder, he spoke in a low tone, �Now, Ron, I don�t want you antagonising Draco. He�s had a very trying day and needs all the friends he can get.�

Ron grimaced at the idea of being remotely friendly with Malfoy, but eventually sighed, not willing to disappoint his father and curious as to what exactly the Slytherin had been through that would result in him taking refuge at the Burrow of all places. Well, I won�t start hexing if he won�t, Ron mused.

Ron nodded his reluctant acceptance of the situation to his father. �I can show you to your room, Mal-err, Dra-um, yeah,� he stammered.

Malfoy didn�t move, so Arthur motioned for Ron to begin climbing the stairs, anyway. Ron shrugged and complied. When Malfoy heard him ascending, he followed Ron to the second floor and Percy�s room, his head bowed, keeping his face hidden from Ron�s curious eyes.

The room was barren but for a bed, dresser, full-length mirror, writing desk and chair. �Er, do you need anything before I go?� Ron asked.

�No,� was the soft response.

Unnerved by Malfoy�s unusual reserve, Ron tried to give his hands something to do, deciding to air the stuffy room by opening its single window. Moonlight spilled in, illuminating his bare torso, as Ron pulled the curtains and wrenched the latch to push the window panel out. Turning, Ron noticed Malfoy had finally lifted his head and seemed to be watching him very closely. His features remained in shadow, but Ron could have sworn his eyes glowed in the light of the moon.

Uncomfortably aware that he lacked a shirt, Ron mumbled a farewell before quickly exiting the room, feeling those grey eyes burning into his retreating back all the while.

As the moon set, Ron lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his thoughts on the Slytherin residing in the room below his. Why wasn�t Malfoy with those Death Eater friends and family of his? Why was he bleeding? Why didn�t he protest to being left with a family he so despised? Could he be a spy?

Ron sighed, and turned on his side, trying to get comfortable. Too many questions and not enough answers.

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Ron�s head jerked toward the door. That must be Madame Pomfrey. Perhaps she could shed light on Malfoy�s condition.

Ron poked his head out of his doorway. The coast clear, he crept down the one flight of stairs to eavesdrop once more. There was a crack in the door to Percy�s former room, and through it Ron could make out Malfoy sitting on the bed, Madame Pomfrey fussing over him, casting diagnostic spells.

His hood was down, and Ron finally saw what Malfoy made such an effort to hide. Ron stifled a gasp as the dim light of the early dawn revealed the bloody lacerations that littered the once-flawless face of Draco Malfoy. Malfoy�s face was turned toward the window, exposing the right side of his face to Ron�s curious gaze. A long cut ran from mid-temple and along the length of his jaw, another running parallel an inch from it on his cheek. Red marks circled his neck. Ron couldn�t help but grimace. Choke marks.

Madame Pomfrey gently applied salve along the nasty wounds as she spoke softly. �Once the cuts close and I can be ensured of no infection, we will see about ridding you of any possible scars.�

�Are you quite done, Madame?� Malfoy demanded irritably, trying to move away.

�You�re in shock, Mr. Malfoy,� Madame Pomfrey said firmly, her hand on his shoulder preventing him from standing. �And certainly in no condition to be moving about, so just sit still. Now, let�s see to these bruises,� she replied, carefully turning Malfoy�s head the other way, and tapping her wand gently to his discoloured and swollen left cheek. The swelling disappeared and the bruising decreased significantly.

�My apologies, Mr. Malfoy, but I must see to it all,� Madame Pomfrey said, a slight emphasis on the last word.

Malfoy gave a weary sigh and a small shudder before slowly unfastening his torn robe, allowing it to pool around his waist. About halfway through unbuttoning his equally torn shirt, Malfoy stopped abruptly, lifted his head and inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing as he peered at the cracked door.

Ron held his own breath, but was certain the shadows remaining in the hallway concealed him. After all, Malfoy was no Dumbledore, able to see through anything up to and including invisibility cloaks. He couldn�t possibly have known Ron was watching.

�Is anything wrong, Mr. Malfoy?� Madame Pomfrey said, a trifle impatiently.

Malfoy�s gaze slowly returned to the window where the first light began to spill in. �It�s morning. The house will soon be roused and I�d rather no one�� he trailed off.

�Very well,� Madame Pomfrey allowed. Waving her wand negligently to the door, it closed and locked, leaving Ron alone in the hallway with his puzzled thoughts.