Ron knew it was going to be the worst day ever when he woke up to a significant lack of milk in the freezer.
Accordingly, his first words to Hermione were: "Today's gonna be the worst day ever."
Hermione, in response to this, had replied with an expected: "Oh Ron, don't be silly. It's only a bit of milk." Little did she know, it went far deeper than just milk (which, in itself was quite significant, thank you very much). Well, you can't really blame her; it's not like her great great grandmother twice removed was a Seer.
You know whose was?
Ron's was.
Anyway, nothing much worse than that had really happened afterwards. He and Hermione had stepped into the fireplace and Flooed to the ministry in a flurry of green flames, kissed eachother goodbye at the main floor and gone their separate ways. Like normal.
Ron passed by bleary eyed young Aurors each brandishing a paper cup of second grade coffee as a weapon against the tendrils of sleep-- like normal-- and reached the office area he shared with Auror Watson. He was only a little put out about not having Harry as his partner, but Watson was easy to work with, and not bad company.
The aforementioned greeted him with a nod and said, "'S checkup day." All right, maybe this was a sign of today being a horrible one. Ron hated checking up on "ex" Death Eater bums on parole once a week, granted it was certainly satisfying to see how they had fallen from their glory, if you could even call it that.
"Whossit?" Ron asked through a yawn. He was hoping it was Nott. That fucker was always just kind of quiet when they went to see him, and he even served them biscuits sometimes which were honestly better than Hermione's (not that he'd ever tell her so).
"Funny thing," Watson smirked, tossing their agenda sheet to him, "we finally got Malfoy."
"Malfoy?" Ron asked disbelievingly. Sure enough, the name Malfoy, Draco Lucius was printed clearly on the parchment, "Isn't he, y'know, Harry's? He's kind of weird about it."
It was true, ever since Harry had gotten Malfoy about thrice in the rotation, he'd personally requested to be the only Auror in charge of the Slytherin's weekly checkup, which in turn meant that Malfoy was the only Death Eater ("ex") that he had to check on.
No one quite knew why, but it wasn't bothering anybody: rumor has it that Malfoy was a right nightmare, not that Ron knew. He'd never gotten Malfoy.
"Potter's on leave right?" Watson asked, "Did something stupid again?"
Ron snorted, "Yeah. Jumped off a six storey bridge chasing a dark wizard. Came out all right but Kingsley's let him off for a week for violating rules of safety or something," he scratched his head, "didn't think about the fact that someone else'd be assigned to Malfoy though."
"I know, right?" Watson said, shrugging his Auror robe on, "it's like Malfoy's not even on the checkup list anymore now that Potter's all..."
"Weird and obsessed over him?" Ron rolls his eyes and takes a blank parole form from the desk, "He gets like that with Malfoy, yeah. Been a problem since Sixth Year. He says he thinks he's," he makes quotation marks in the air, "up to something. I just think he's a great git."
"I'll take your word for it," Watson laughs, "come on."
Constant vigilance is one if the best things Moody had introduced them to-- aside from Malfoy in ferret form, of course-- and Ron should really remember to live by it more often.
Because remember that little thing about it being the worst day of Ron's life? Well, he'd nearly forgotten about that. And bad things always catch you when you're off guard.
It took a long while for the tiny house elf to open the door of Malfoy Manor.
"We're--" Watson started.
"Please, Aurors," the poor little thing wailed, cutting him off, "Master Draco is being very good! Master Draco isn't deserving Azkaban! Master Draco is following all the rules!"
"We're not here to arrest him," Ron placated, holding out his palms in surrender.
"We're just here for his weekly parole checkup," Watson elaborated calmly, "It's usually Auror Potter's job, but he's off today."
Mippy began to look confused (and Ron really should have started to suspect that the Very Bad Thing was bound to happen any moment now), "Mippy is not understanding, Aurors. Harry Potter is--"
"Enough, Mippy," a new voice cut in, and Mippy was thrust to the side in the wake of a much bulkier house elf, "Aurors, everything is being fine. Master Draco is being good and following rules and Gremly is requesting Aurors to be leaving now."
The two men exchanged a bewildered look at the weirdly brash elf's tone. You'd expect a Malfoy house elf who's that old to be a shell of the elf it once was, but Gremly just seemed a bit fed up of everything around him.
"We're Aurors. We technically don't need anyone's permission to get in," Ron said matter of factly. Gremly deflated him with a single glare.
"Gremly has Master Draco's best interests in mind, and according to those interests, Gremly is suggesting Aurors Weasley and Watson to leave before they see something they very much do not want to."
(Ah, so that was warning number two for Ron. Oh well.)
"See something we don't want to?" Watson inquired and drew himself up to his full height (which, in Ron's perspective, was not quite impressive), "Is your master... doing something we shouldn't be seeing?"
Gremly's bored expression did not change when he replied with, "Exactly."
"But Master Draco is being very good, Aurors!" Mippy nearly sobs.
Ron's anger comes seemingly out of nowhere at the git who was given yet another chance at redeeming himself, which he'd blown.
(Of course he would have noticed more warning signs if it weren't for the blurring effect his anger seemed to have on, well, everything).
"Is he now?" Watson questions grimly.
"He is!" Mippy brightens up, "Master Draco is so good that he is saying it loudly every now and then. He is yelling, 'Oh yes! I've been a very good boy!' and Auror Harry Potter is giving him rewards--"
(He really should have got it by then).
"Mippy," Gremly warned gravely.
"I'm sorry Gremly, but we'll need to come in now. If not for the standard monitoring process then because of the suspicious information you've shared with us--"
Suddenly, there came a muffled shout from somewhere upstairs and a thump. Ron really saw red then, forcing the elves apart, sending them toppling away from the door and onto their arses (sorry, Hermione) and charging up the stairs two at a time.
"Weasley!" cried Watson and followed him up. Gremly was shouting angrily, warning them to stop at once but Ron was far too furious at Malfoy to listen to the creature. How dare he violate his parole conditions?
"You like that don't you?" Malfoy's pleased voice floats down, followed by another thump and a groan.
(Bastard, Ron had thought, but he really should have at least considered the possiblity that Malfoy was... you know... participating in sexual intercourse. Can you blame him? Who'd ever want to shag the ferret face?)
Ron growled, kicking a door open and pointing his wand ferociously ahead of him--
Disappointingly, what lay before his eyes was very far from his mental image of Malfoy standing menacingly over a poor captive, brandishing his wand and dealing out Crucios. Ron was really hoping he'd get a look at the ferret's face turned towards him in shock and anger.
No, in this scenario, Draco Malfoy did have his face towards Ron, but in orgasm rather than anger or even recognition.
(Now listen carefully, because this is the part Ron will never, ever want to relive long enough to tell someone about.)
Ron had no idea how Malfoy's face (Malfoy! That was Malfoy!) retained its... lewd expression while one of his most disliked school rivals was watching him in the midst of getting his arse plowed. And to add to that, the one who was doing the plowing was his absolute MOST disliked school rival, who hadn't even noticed his best friend standing at the door yet.
Ron is thankful that he can't quite remember the precise feeling of Malfoy's silver gaze piercing into his own, lips parted in a moan: "Oh, Harry!" or "Oh, Potter!" or something of the sort.
"Fuckfuckfuck Draco-" groaned the man who was supposed to be 'spending the day out taking a breather' whereas he was doing- oh- something that doesn't really entail a lot of breathing. Ron remembers that part a bit better, much to his dismay.
It was quite ridiculous, how different Malfoy looked with his poncey robes off, ivory skin glowing underneath the more muted paleness of Harry's.
"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me- oh! Please!" Malfoy gasped desperately, voice rising and falling like a frenzied wave in the midst of a stormy sea, almost melodic in the way he moaned his words.
"Oh fuck, oh Merlin, Draco-- yes!" Harry's face was buried in the junction between Malfoy's shoulder and neck, suckling on the skin there between little phrases, "So fucking tight, baby--"
The blond was on all fours, body angled towards the door, and he maintained agonizing eye contact with Ron, steel pupils crossing and rolling in ecstasy, but never failing to cycle back to the shell shocked redhead in the doorway.
"Love- oh yeah- love having my cock inside you- baby- oh yeah, oh, oh, so hot so tight so good!"
Both parties were infuriatingly vocal, choosing to announce every little thing they were feeling for some reason. Ron had half a mind to dash out the doorway and never look back. Hermione was absolutely right when she commented, all those months ago at dinner, that she'd never step foot in Malfoy Manor again for fear of it being traumatic regardless of how much it's been refurbished.
Oh it was traumatic all right.
However amidst all the panic, Ron couldn't take his eyes off the bucking blonde and his best friend going at it like two Crups in heat. Not with the way Malfoy's lust-darkened gaze held him petrified at the doorframe.
Malfoy had tears in his eyes, mouth wide open and hips bucking in wild confusion, backward onto Harry's cock and forwards into the brunet's hand cupping his own. Through the gap between his thighs, Ron could see its pink glistening head disappearing in and out of the hand he'd countlessly shaken and hi-fived and-- oh god, he's baked me cookies with hands that've fondled Malfoy's balls!
"Oh, Harry, Harry, oh, I love you so much don't stop, fuck me, god yeah, fuck me harder baby, love you, love you, faster, fuck me please please please please!"
And on that note, Malfoy came, white shots of his seed spurting onto his fancy bedsheets in thick strings and globules. His whole body shuddered with bliss and twitched with sensitivity as Harry's thrusts only sped up, and soon after, he was coming as well, deep into Malfoy's arse!
Bucking slightly into Malfoy's heat a few final times, Harry let out a contented sigh and flipped him over, kissing him deeply. With tongue.
Malfoy hummed appreciatively, and drew his arms languidly around Harry's neck, pulling him close and sighing into his mouth. This was, objectively no better than before, but at least those horrible eyes of his were closed and stowed away behind pale eyelids.
Once he'd broken away from the kiss, Harry was so busy gazing dopily at a silly, smiling Malfoy that he still hadn't noticed Ron standing so close by.
"I'm so glad I met you," the brunet sighed dreamily, and Ron wanted to gag; Malfoy had his best mate wrapped around his little finger!
Malfoy pecked him sweetly (O Merlin!) on the lips in response, and extracted Harry's hand from where it was carding delicately through his baby-fine blond hair. Their fingers laced together as if it were second nature.
Ron really wanted to draw some attention to himself at this point, but-- oh damn it all!-- it was too sweet! He hadn't seen Harry looking this happy in forever!
"Potter," Malfoy drawled fondly, and somewhat teasingly, and reached for the round glasses tossed haphazardly on the bed somewhere next to his ribs, "can you even see me now, without these on?"
"You know I can see fine up close, baby," Harry countered with a suggestive leer (EW!), and winced as the blond slipped the spectacles onto his face.
"I s'pose that's why you've failed to notice the whole Ronald Weasley that's been in my room all this time."
"Hey, that's not nice," Harry chuckled, assuming this was a play on the elephant in the room (which, rude, by the way! Ron was appalled!). His misconceptions were shot down however, when Malfoy gently tipped his chin up so he could (finally) get a look at-
"Ron!" Harry half-shrieked, blood flooding into his cheeks as his hands scrambled for purchase on the silk sheets, trying his very best to salvage what was left of his dignity.
Ron! Ron agreed, Why'd you have to do this, you bloody nonce! He wanted, very much, to keel over and sob.
"Mate," he said gravely, with the air of someone who had seen and lived through hell. And he really had, come to think of it.
"What are you doing here?!" the brunet practically squeaked, burrowing his flaming face into his palms. He was sitting cross legged now, covers bunched unpleasantly about his entire lower body.
"He was watching," Malfoy said petulantly, looking far too pleased with himself. He was lounging back on the sheets as if nothing was amiss and the three of them got up to shenanigans like this on the daily. His bits were out for the world to see as if he were saying 'carry on! It's nothing you haven't seen already.'
"You planned this?" Harry gasped, turning towards the other man with betrayal spelled out clearly on his face. The blond's face lost all semblance of playfulness as he scrambled to cup his lover(?)'s face in his elegant palms.
"Heavens, no!" he said earnestly, "I just saw the great oaf bust through the door just before we finished. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, baby."
And like magic, Harry's expression went gooey again, "Aw, it's o-kaaay."
"Gross!" Ron yelped, and the pair turned to face him again, "This is news to me, mate."
"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry frowned, "I've been meaning to tell you, but we weren't sure how serious we were about it until recently. You're not... mad are you?"
"No I'm not mad! I'm just... Malfoy? Really?"
"I mean, can you blame him?" the aforementioned git said haughtily, running a hand down his own torso, "I'm stunning."
"Draco!" Harry frowned harder, obstructing the blond's body from view with his arms.
"Yeah, Malfoy what the fuck!" Ron cried in offence.
"You've been ogling me for a while now, Weasel- hey!" the prat interrupts himself when Harry reprimands his teasing with a sharp smack to his bum, "It's true! He wouldn't look away! What's he doing here anyway?"
"We had to come here for a parole checkup on account of Harry's absence from work," cut in a new voice-- Watson, oh Merlin, he was still here! "but your house elves told us Auror Potter gives you rewards for being a 'very good boy', and then came the screaming, and then, well..."
"You were listening?!" Ron yelped, red in the face.
"You were watching," Watson pointed out.
"Who the fuck is this?" Malfoy yawned, and yelped when Harry's palm smacked his arse again.
"Auror... Watson. Hi," Harry flushed deeply, although thoroughly shrouded in heavy silk sheets, "Oh, man."
Watson nodded grimly. This was the strangest situation Ron had ever been in.
"We should go," Ron said matter-of-factly, "nothing to see here. But this isn't over, Harry, mate."
Watson nodded his head in agreement but the two Aurors lingered awkwardly at the door for a moment.
"Oh for God's sakes, stop ogling my boyfriend!" Harry cried.
No, Ron was never speaking of this again. Not when he got home that day and his face flamed with heat when Hermione brought up Harry's name. Not the following week when Harry shocked and surprised everyone with the identity of his new boyfriend. Not two months later when they finally went public and each and every newspaper had the couple's smooching faces plastered on its cover.
And not even years later during his best man's speech at their wedding (although it was very tempting).
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Author of the above work~ syringe