I'm more than halfway! I'll get all through these yet.
Drink Me by Halrloprillalar
Harry Potter, Draco/Ron, R, 600 words.
Eat, drink, and be merry.
"Open your mouth," Draco says and tips the cup. Harsh black liquid runs down Ron's throat. He chokes and it spills over his lips and down his chin. It burns like acid, dripping on his skin, chasing down his gullet.
"What's this for, clearing out the drains?" Ron gasps. This one's going to do him in for sure, burn holes clear through him for his guts to leak out. He swipes his arm across his mouth and looks at Draco to tell him so.
He looks at Draco and something flares red behind his eyes and over they go, Draco beneath and Ron pressing down, tearing at Draco's shirt, trying to get inside, under Draco's skin.
Next thing Ron knows, sweat is cooling on his body, he is full of sloth, full of soft heat, lying on the bed with the sheet around his waist. Draco is next to him and his lip is split, blood smudging his chin. There are bruises on his arms.
"That good?" Ron says.
"Better than the last one." Draco licks blood off his mouth, winces when his tongue touches the raw flesh.
The last one made time swim in front of Ron's eyes, slow as honey, warm as ginger. He stroked Draco's body with his fingertips and counted every fine hair on his skin. Draco got bored and went off to sleep.
"Just a few left," Draco says. There is a litter of bottles beside the bed, three standing unopened in the cabinet on the wall. When they came here, to this room, the cabinet was locked with seven charms, meant to be broken all at once. Ron wrenched it open with a crowbar.
Three left and six days yet to put in. Ron rolls over and looks at the wall, at the mirror hanging there. If Ron says the word, it will show him what they were just doing. He doesn't think he wants to know.
They get up and Ron cooks, because Draco can't. They eat eggs and chips and Draco complains about the grease. The old stone kitchen is built for house elves and Ron gets a crick in his back from standing over the stove.
There's a pounding at the door and Ron goes to see if their delivery is early. It's not. Ron shuts the door, but Harry catches it and holds it.
"Come on, Ron," he says. "Come away from here."
The air outdoors is icy. Hermione's face is pale and thin and there is snow on her hair. "Ron," she says, and her mouth twists. "Why are you here?"
Ron doesn't speak. Harry takes him by the shoulder. "How can you stay with him? You know he killed--"
"Shut up!" Ron shoves Harry away, into Hermione, setting them both off balance. Ron knows, he was there, he knows who killed his father. And he knows what his father was at the end, how he was controlled, how he tried to fight. How his eyes asked for what Ron couldn't give.
Draco appears at Ron's elbow. "Must you let in the draught?" He rests his chin on Ron's shoulder and Ron wonders what face he's showing.
"Ron," Hermione says again and Ron can't meet her eyes. He shuts them out and lets Draco pull him into the room. Six days and they will have what they need. Six days and Ron can pay his debt.
Draco smiles and his cut pulls apart. He dabs his mouth with his fist and stares a moment at the blood. "Come on," he says and takes Ron's arm. "I found something promising in the wine cellar."