Author: Mosh
Fandom: Harry Potter

Title: In Exchange
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ron makes a deal with Malfoy.
Disclaimer: These boys belong to J.K Rowling. No money being made, no copyright or trademark infringement intended.
A/N: This is a very belated gift fic for Hill, for being such a wonderful person to know and fantastic fan artist. Much thanks to Wymsie for the beta! 3900 words.

Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks!

The look Malfoy gave him was indescribable. "What the hell are you doing here?" His thin mouth curled down at one side in distaste and his cold blue gaze travelled condescendingly down Ron's body. It wouldn't have been so bad, since Malfoy had often given Ron that kind of look. However, Malfoy had also seen Ron naked on more than one occasion, and Ron could barely repress the urge to cover himself with his hands protectively.

"Well?"

Ron opened his mouth, then paused. He had been working up to this all week. "I'm here to make a deal with you," he finally said.

"Don't waste my fucking time," said Malfoy, already closing the door in Ron's face.

Ron quickly stuck his arm out, catching the door before it slammed home. Malfoy let out another curse and pushed, and Ron pushed at the other side. This continued for a moment and Ron suddenly realised how incredibly stupid it must look; the both of them engaged in a backwards tug-of-war with the door to Malfoy's room.

He saw Malfoy's hand reach towards his robes pocket, no doubt to get out his wand. Without any other choice, Ron blurted: "It's about your dad."

Malfoy froze and Ron took his opportunity; he barged his way into Malfoy's room, figuring it was now too late to back out so he might as well get it done properly.

"What did you say?" Malfoy turned, his hand still poised next to his pocket. Slowly, he drew out his wand. "You better not have just said what I think you did."

"About your father," Ron said. "I'm here to make a deal with you."

Malfoy appeared to be caught somewhere between fury and disbelief. He stared. "You're having a laugh, Weasley," he said quietly, in that soft, angry tone of his, the one he usually reserved for Harry.

Harry.

Ron swallowed. "Not this time." Something in the way Malfoy was stood made him seem smaller than usual, and Ron almost - almost - stumbled on his next words. "I know the date."

Malfoy kicked his heel back gently, catching the edge of the door. It clicked shut, giving them absolute privacy. Ron had never felt so much like an animal in a hunter's line of sight; the look on Malfoy's sharp white face was deadly.

"You'd better explain yourself, or I will hurt you. You know I will."

"I know," Ron said, starting to wonder if this was such a good idea. Hell, he knew it wasn't a good idea, but shit - he'd started the ball rolling and now there was no stopping it. "Look Malfoy, I have family at the Ministry who know Aurors, and-" He stopped, mentally warning himself not to let anything slip about the Order members who were currently working under Fudge. "I hear things at home. They don't think I'm listening when they whisper to each other, but I hear them. I know the date."

For a moment Malfoy looked unsteady on his feet but he composed himself quickly, raising his wand. "You utter bastard," he hissed. "This isn't a bloody game! You - what are you saying, Weasley, spit it out!"

"I know your father's execution date," Ron said, his face burning. He felt terrible, wishing he had never heard it in the first place. Jesus fuck, this was really happening. If he hadn't been sitting in the cubby hole under the stairs reading when his dad had told his mum, he wouldn't be here today, his nerves slipping through his grasp like sand. He was running head long into something he perhaps - in hindsight - hadn't thought through enough. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Malfoy's wand arm faltered slightly and he blinked, his mouth a tight pale line slashing across his face. "Say I believe you," he grated out. "What are you after? You can't honestly expect me to pick up with you again."

It was Ron's turn to purse his mouth. That was almost exactly what he was after. Only, not quite. "No, not you."

"Then what do you want?"

This was difficult. God, so fucking stupid. "I'll tell you the date so maybe it'll give you some time to..." Time to what? Prepare? "Sort something out," Ron settled for. "In exchange for one night of your time."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Night of my time doing what, exactly? You think I'd want to start fucking you again after all that Potter stuff?" He snorted. "You're a freak, Weasley, pining away after someone you can't have-"

"I could just walk out of here then," Ron cut in. "Is that what you want?"

Malfoy glanced from Ron, to the wand in his hand, then back at Ron. "I know of ways to make you tell me."

"Do you really think I'd come down here with the information still in my head?" Ron said incredulously.

Malfoy's face fell.

"I'm not stupid - I have a Pensieve."

"How the hell did you manage to afford that?"

"Gift from Hermione for Christmas last year. She got one for both me and Harry-" Ron stopped, feeling his face turning even more red. "Look, that isn't the point."

Harry. That was why Ron was there, standing in Malfoy's room, a wand currently pointed at him.

It was only now sinking in that he was threatening another person by using their father's fucking execution date as a means to get what he wanted. Ron knew he was surely going to burn in hell for this.

"So, talk," Malfoy finally said. "Define 'a night of my time', because I can't think why else you'd want to meet with me."

"No, you're right," Ron said, running his hand through his hair. It was damp with sweat. He puffed out a breath and lowered his eyes to the floor, not thinking he'd be able to look at Malfoy for this.

With that, he began to talk.

* * * * * * * * * *

Hogsmeade weekend was the best time for it, Ron had decided. He had the perfect excuse: it was his mum's birthday soon so he told Harry and Hermione he'd be meeting up with Fred and George to search for a gift for her. They bought his lie immediately. It was February and the weather had been bad all week, chunky snow beating down on the Scottish highlands with a wicked fury. For that very reason he doubted Harry and Hermione would want to stay down at Hogsmeade all day and afternoon, anyway, which just worked perfectly for him.

The dorm room was empty and so, so quiet. It was like the calm before the storm. Ron opened his wardrobe and carefully took out his small Pensieve he had hidden under a pile of dirty robes and socks, its surface glowing faintly with silver-grey swirls. Pointing his wand at it, he brought out the memory he was after, holding its stringy form in mid-air for a second - a hesitation - before drawing it into his head. The exact moment his father had said the date flashed like a clip from a Muggle movie in his mind, and Ron winced.

Then he went to his bedside drawer and took out a small glass bottle, which contained the potion he had got from one of the more notorious seventh years. Hermione could have made it for him, but she would have wanted to know why he needed it. Securing the potion had been the hardest part of this whole plan. Well, apart from approaching Malfoy about it. That had been unbearably awkward. Lastly, he got out a coil of thin wire he had pulled from Hagrid's vegetable garden fence at the end of Care of Magical Creatures that afternoon. He jabbed his wand at it and began to speak a Transfiguration spell.

Once finished, he pulled on his winter robes and gloves, then headed down to the common room where Harry was waiting for him. Guilt made his footsteps seem heavy, made the stairs seem to creak louder than usual as he descended. Creak - best friend? - creak - no - creak - no, that's not what you are - creak.

But there was no turning back. The deal had been struck.

* * * * * * * * * *

Malfoy was to pay for the room in the Hog's Head in advance, since he could afford it without it making a severe dent in his savings. He had rolled his eyes when Ron had told him this, but hadn't refused. Ron was almost surprised to find Malfoy already there, half expecting him to have not shown up, or at the very least to have shown up along with his two goons at his side, intending for them to beat Ron to a pulp.

The room itself was comfortable. Ron sniffed on entry and looked around, the presence of neutral coloured curtains and walls, warm pine furniture and a large bed giving him a little reassurance that it wouldn't be awkward, unlike the horrid green leather of the Slytherin common room sofa.

"Do you have the date?" Malfoy said, as soon as Ron had closed the door.

"Yeah."

"And the potion?"

"Yes."

"Give it here then. I want this over with as soon as possible."

Ron brought the bottle out of his coat pocket as well as the Transfigured wire and handed them over. Malfoy stared down at both with utter loathing, and Ron would have laughed at his expression had the situation been about anything else. Eventually Malfoy popped open the cork and took a quick whiff of the potion. He grimaced.

Inwardly Ron was having a panic attack, no longer sure if he even wanted this. He could stop Malfoy right now. Just stop him, give him the damn date, make him swear not to tell anyone about this, and leave. He could. He so could do it right this second.

Malfoy tipped the contents of the bottle back, swallowing quickly in one gulp like Ron had previously instructed. A second later and the bottle fell to the floorboards with a clunk, Malfoy's face turning even paler than usual, then slightly grey. "Weasley," he breathed. "What have you done?"

Before Ron could explain that the effects were normal (from the little experience he'd had in his second year), Malfoy abruptly turned and fled into the en-suite bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

It would only take a few seconds. Reaching into his pocket again, Ron brought out a thin tube of lubricant and laid it on the bedside table. He heard a strangled-sounding retching noise coming from the bathroom and closed his eyes, his heart pounding.

What have I done? Oh, God.

The door hinges whined, the sound of them grating in Ron's ears. Malfoy was standing there, staring at him - Ron didn't need to see it to know.

"Look at me, Weasley," Malfoy said eventually. "You've forced me to do this, so damn well look at me!"

Ron did, and his stomach turned over.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, only, it wasn't Malfoy's eyebrow - it was black and thicker than normal, half hidden behind the rims of a pair of badly Transfigured glasses. He came forward and it was so weird because if it wasn't for his expression and the fact that he was wearing clothes Harry would never wear, it could have been Harry himself.

"Let's get this over with." Malfoy's voice was the same as always. It was so odd. He cleared his throat and said, "Weasley," but now he sounded more like Harry.

Ron looked closely at Malfoy's face - Harry's face. "Don't..." he began, not sure how to say it. "Don't look like that."

"How do you expect me to look?" Malfoy snapped. "Just because I'm wearing Potter's body, it doesn't make me like you any better than before."

Ron closed his eyes, unable to watch Harry's mouth saying those words, Harry's lips, his eyes sharp and cold behind the charmed glasses. "Just... make it seem real."

He heard Malfoy huff and then... then a hand - Harry's hand - on his shoulder. It moved slowly up to his neck, the touch light. The fingers of the hand brushed his jaw and Ron shivered.

"Christ, Weasley, you have it bad-"

"Shut. The fuck. Up."

Malfoy breathed in sharply and his fingers pressed harder. "You had better not be lying about that date," he whispered, before tracing Ron's jaw with his thumb, turning Ron's face towards him. "Look."

Ron opened his eyes and saw Harry, so close and now with a calm expression, and the force of it hit him so hard he gasped. Harry's mouth pressed against his, seizing the embarrassing sound, smothering it with his tongue.

Kissing, at least to start with, had been part of the deal and Malfoy had reluctantly agreed. This was the first time they had kissed, and it was even more surreal than when they used to fuck each other in secret at night. Ron forced himself not to think about Malfoy. The hand on his neck dropped to his coat, pushing it off his shoulders, then his buttons, undoing them in a quick succession. Yes, he liked the idea of Harry wanting to undress him rather than them doing it themselves. He returned the gesture, tugging Harry's clothes off him while trying to keep contact with Harry's wonderfully warm lips. He could almost believe it was real if he concentrated.

Now he could touch Harry's face and hair freely, run his fingers around to the back of Harry's neck to pull him closer, to deepen the kiss and feed his hunger for it. A sharp noise escaped his throat when Harry touched his bare back, his palms warm, drifting down his spine to the base. Ron pushed his erection against Harry's groin and broke away to breathe, startled once again at the face that looked back at him, the wet mouth and flush to the cheeks he had seen many times before but had never seemed so close.

He couldn't help his gaze falling to Harry's body, his chest that rose and fell and stomach that contracted slightly under the scrutiny. His arms were thin and his skin smooth, the top of his trousers hanging low on his hips, a dark line of hair flowing wickedly down from his navel to disappear beneath the buttons and zip.

"Could you..." Ron began. Harry tilted his head questioningly and Ron started to pull his trousers open, faster and faster he struggled with the buttons, wanting to get them down and off as quickly as possible. All he could hear was his own breathing, harsh and heated, nervous. Harry put his hands on Ron's and pushed his trousers down, stepping out of them, and Ron's cock gave a fierce twitch in his jeans.

Ron let Harry finish undressing him, his eyes following every movement - the flex of a forearm, the blink of an eyelid, the strands of black that fell forward across Harry's forehead, covering the scar. He was led towards the bed and pushed down on to it. The worn brown blanket scratched his damp skin but Ron only fleetingly registered it because Harry, naked and half-hard, was standing over him, looking at him. He wanted to say something but wasn't sure what. In the end he didn't need to because Harry took off his glasses and threw them to the floor, knelt on the bed, knees at either side of Ron's thighs, and leaned down to bite softly on Ron's shoulder.

He moaned as Harry's hair fell around his neck. He decided not to hold back. Why should he? The deed was done and as terrible as it was Ron was determined to make the most of it. When he looked down all he could see was a mass of black hair and the length of a thin, arched back. God.

"Mmm," Ron said, his fingers clawing at Harry's hips to pull him down. He wanted to feel that cock right now; he had been waiting for years for it.

Harry resisted, biting harder on Ron's shoulder.

With a sense of annoyance Ron rolled them over, easily the stronger partner, and settled down on top of Harry with a "Hmph".

"Bloody hell, do you have to do that-" Harry began angrily.

"No talking," Ron cut in. "Unless you're going to say something I want to hear." The illusion faltered for a second and he could almost see Malfoy's blond hair and malicious smirk, but he shoved that image away viciously and concentrated on the body under him. Harry's body.

The town clock chimed in the distance and Ron realised that time was slipping onwards without them. The light was fading fast, shadows creeping into the room. A couple of wall lamps spluttered to life with a faint hissing noise as if on cue, casting light on to the bed.

Harry relaxed beneath him gradually and then lay still, waiting for Ron's prompt for what to do next. Ron stared at him, at the lowered eyelids and vivid streak of colour under them, at the mellow slope of his nose and the relaxed mouth.

"Can I?" he said, running one hand down Harry's side to his hip. He rose up and slid his fingers across towards Harry's cock. Harry swallowed silently, looked away, and nodded. Curling his hand around heat and solid skin, Ron squeezed, lightly at first then more forcefully, until Harry's eyes slid shut and he gasped. Ron thrust his hips against Harry's thigh, moving as steadily as he could, which wasn't steady at all; he was fumbling, more desperately now. Time was running out.

Then he reminded himself that he didn't really need to go slow or be so gentle. He released Harry's erection and slipped his fingers down between his legs, over his tight balls and further back.

Harry pulled his knees up so Ron could prepare him and Ron almost said thanks but stopped himself. It seemed to take forever, reaching from the bed to the small table beside it, picking up the tube of gel, spreading it over his fingers then moving back to Harry. Before long Harry turned to face him in silent affirmation, his expression bordering on impatience. He didn't speak, but brushed Ron's hand away and brought his legs up so Ron could fit between them, eventually lowering his calves on to Ron's shoulders.

After a few quick jerks of his hand, smoothing the lubricant over his cock, Ron pushed into Harry, his entry quick and deep. Harry's face screwed up with sudden discomfort. "Fuck," he groaned, spreading his thighs wider.

Ron braced his hands against the mattress at either side of Harry's shoulders and started jerking his hips in short thrusts. Harry clenched his teeth, his brows knotted.

He truly believed it was real at that moment and he almost lost control in the quick, graceful slide of his cock in Harry's heat, if it wasn't for Harry's hand coming up to tangle in his hair and pull hard, keeping him there, on the bed. He had to watch this; how Harry's face changed as he was fucked, how that frown melted on his forehead after a while and his mouth opened, letting out small, desperate sounds.

"Harder," Harry choked, his neck arching as he pressed his head back against the bed.

Ron was now completely immersed in the tightness of Harry and the almost-pain that gripped his bones, the pleasure that sent him breathless with exertion as he pumped his hips. It had been so long since Ron had done this last. He tried not to think about who and where and why, locking his eyes on Harry's face to banish images of icy blond hair and Malfoy's eyes drugged with need.

This was different, how it should have been - should be; Harry spread out for him, taking him in and in, pushing up to meet Ron's cock because he wanted it too. Unbearable, in a way, how real it seemed when a groan crawled up Harry's throat and burst into the room. With fingers still moist from the lubrication, Ron awkwardly reached for Harry's straining erection. He was being too rough, barely able to think straight, but that didn't matter because, before long, thick stripes of come hit Harry's chest and rolled lazily across his skin as his cock jumped in Ron's fist. The sounds he made, they were exactly what Ron wanted to hear, low and encouraging and satisfied.

Ron knew he would never forget that sight, not as long as he lived. He slowed slightly as Harry clenched and unclenched around him, taking time to breathe before Harry's eyes opened and he looked right at Ron, breaking his fascinated reverie.

"Come on, Ron," Harry whispered. For a brief moment something unrecognisable flashed across Harry's face, a look of amusement that bordered on being nasty. It was gone just as quickly and Ron decided not to think about it further. He shrugged Harry's legs from his shoulders, letting them curl around his back, and he lay down, pressing himself against Harry's slippery chest. He rocked, his face buried against Harry's neck, the force of his own breath hotly beating back onto his face.

His release unravelled in him slower than usual, and when he stilled and came it seemed to go on and on, burning through him. He gasped and panted, his cock jerking deep in Harry's body, and for a moment he was sure he felt Harry's hands stroking his back.

Maybe he had imagined it.

"Weasley."

Maybe not, then. The hands he had mistaken for stroking were in fact trying to push him away.

"Get off."

Dazed, he pulled out and moved onto the bed beside Harry. Ignoring the impatient sigh, he lay there, silent, perfectly still.

The illusion was shattered when Harry turned to him and glared. "The date, Weasley." It was Malfoy's voice.

Ron shut his eyes and said, "March the twenty-second." If throwing up wouldn't be the most mortifying thing in the world he would have done it.

Without hesitation Malfoy rose and started to pull on his clothes in silence. Ron lay on the bed, unable to watch. He pressed his face against the pillow and listened to the sounds of fabric sliding over skin, feet moving across floorboards.

The silence stretched, growing more and more heavy. Ron risked a look and saw that Malfoy was almost entirely back to his usual self now, apart from a shock of black hair mixed in with the blond. Ron turned away.

"If this turns out to be a trick, I'll be after you," said the Slytherin. "And so will Potter." That was his parting threat as he gathered up his cloak, leaving Ron lying on a strange bed with Malfoy's come smeared across his chest and stomach.

It took a long time and a lot of will power to drag himself back to school that evening, and even more to venture up to the dorm room where he knew Harry would be. The very second he opened the door and Harry looked up from his homework, his face breaking out in a smile - a genuine, warm smile - Ron knew he had only made things worse for himself, and the weight of what he had done finally settled in.

~Fin~