Feelings and Trust

Donno about you guys, but I'm so sick and tired of what I'm mentaly calling "the Ron arc". I want to get back to soem harry and draco action and this part was not meant to be this drawn out anyway. So, I out did myself writing this long chapter and let's now get on with this story.

I've gotten a reviewer commenting that I should get a beta. Am I that bad? If you feel that your willing to wait that extra day for an update, tell me when your reviewing and I'll see what I can do.
As I said before, I'm spell checking with gmail... so there will be spelling mistakes. :-(


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Under normal circumstances, Draco have loved the feeling of hitting Ron’s face with his hand. Even if it was with an open hand. He would have smiled for hours afterwards, thinking back at how Ron’s face lashed to one side and then to the next, as his hand struck the other cheek. How his eyes would have opened, just a fraction more then normal, as he saw the hand coming. How the eyes would have automatically closed, just before impact and of coarse the look in his eyes, as he chocked, realized he’d been hit, just to instantly flare up into anger and frustration as he realized there was nothing, really he could do about it.

Ah! Draco loved that. He really did. Especially if the person was Ron. He had never liked the insufferable man and time had really not helped.

Under normal circumstances that is.

As it where, the red head happened to be his best chance to get “The-Boy-Wonder” out of his coma like state.

That and it was really not as much fun hitting him, when he barley registered it. That really was a disappointment and worrying at the same time.

He needed Ron sane enough to answer his questions. Scratch that, he needed the Weasel sane enough to understand his questions and remember the answers to them.

He had seen how some slaves ended up like, just before their masters got bored toying with them. Death was usually a blessing for those slaves, but few where bestowed with that blessing. Most of them ended up in the sex industry. It had become somewhat of a new “in” thing to have insane prostitutes who, for an extra fee, you could kill if you where so inclined.

It had even branched out into the muggle sex industy, with a large production of “snuff” films, t-shirts and online “pay per view” live, web cam sites.

That the muggle police had’nt reacted yet, was just a sign of how well the wizarding world controlled the muggle one, from the shadows.

The man hanging in front of Draco had started spinning again. He grabbed the red heads shoulder as he came back around for the forth time. Holding Ron’s chin up so he could establish eye contact, the blond tried to get some kind of conversation going, to see how far the other man had gone, in his quest for insanity.

“Hello Weasel. How are you today then?” It was said in a casual tone, like he didn’t really care about the answer. He didn’t really, what he was hoping for, was a somewhat understandable answer. He waited a few seconds, but got no answer.

“Well, if it dosn’t work the first time, try, try and try again.” He told himself, trying not to lose his temper. He had already spent a lot of patience on the other idiot in the room and he usually didn’t have that much of it to begin with.

But this was to get Potter out of his coma, so he could shag him into next week. It would be worth it.

“Weasel, didn’t you hear me? How are you today?” This time the freckled face moved a bit, as if the man was remembering where his eyebrows and mouth where. His mouth had just opened, as if to answer, when Pucey decided to be “helpful”.

Weasel was ruffly grabbed out of Draco's hands and hoisted up to eye level with his master, in what looked to be in a painful way. “You useless sack of shit! Don’t embarrass you master, you worthless Griffindor. You answer a question when you get it, or should I give you a reminder of who is the master here?” By now he was shaking his slave in a violent manner, spit flying everywhere.

Putting a hand on Puceys shoulder calmed him down. The blond aristocrat decided he would probably get further without the easily emotional “master” present.

“Mr Pucey, if I may have, a minute or two alone with your slave?” He noted with amusement, how the little brown haired man jumped, as if he had momentarily forgotten that Draco was present.

“Of course Mr Malfoy! You can have how ever many minutes you feel you require. Please feel free to use any of the toys in the room. Don’t hold back on my account.” Pucey babbled as he backed out of the room and gently closed the door.

Not even wanting to think of what the idiot thought he was going to do to the slave, the Slitherin moved Ron back to where he had had him, before he was rudely snatched from his hands.

“Weasel? You still in there?” The red head was limp and slightly shaking. This was no good. He had to some how get “Ron, friend of Harry Potter” to emerge and kick back “Slave, the drooling idiot”. He would probably have to play nice. He could do “nice”. It would annoy him to no end, but he could do it. Sighing loudly, he tried again.

“Weasel?” He coaxed softly. No, that would never do, he had to be more personal.

“Ronald?” His Friends usually called him... “Ron?” That gave results instantly, in form of a head jerking up and eyes sliding between focused and unfocused.

“Ron it will be then.” The blond said in his friendliest tone. “Ron, Potter... I mean Harry needs your help.” A small bit of sanity seamed to flood back to the hanging man, as he mentioned Harry. Trying to use his name as much as possible, as it seemed to help the other man find his mental footing, Draco tried again.

“Ron, Harry is badly hurt and to help him, he needs to feel safe. Ron, what dose Harry like. When dose Harry feel safe?” He was slowly getting there, he could see it. “Ron, where dose Harry feel safe? Come on, only you can help Harry, Ron.”

Weasel was looking lost, his eyes shooting erratically, from one point in the room around him, to another. His breathing coming in gulps. Every now and again his eyes would return to Draco’s grey, as if verifing that he was real, that the question was real.

“Ron... Ron, there is not much time. Where dose Harry feel safe?” Tears slowly made their way from Ron’s eyes, as his mouth started working, trying to form words.

“H hhhh Haaarrry?” He managed. “Haaar, Haaaryy *gulp* ssssaaaafe.....” Draco frowned, was that him aping what he had just heard, or was he trying to say something?

“Ce, ce, closet.” Huh? Did the Weasel just say closet? That made little to no sense.

“Hhhhaaaary, ... *gulp* hid.” Damn, this was making no sense at all. Draco was beginning to think this was a lost case, but asked the crying man, just for the heck of it. “Hid where Ron?”

“Iiiin de... closet....*gulp*” Wait a second! The blonds brain scrambled together the chunks of words into a working sentence.

“Ron, did Harry hide in the closet to feel safe?” That was a peculiar place to feel safe. Oh well, might have been a childhood hiding thing or something. There where weirder things in this world. He could feel his excitement growing as the other mans tear drenched head, boobed up and down in a wordless “yes”.

Draco just about managed to stop a big smile from lighting up his face. That was what he needed to know.

Deciding that the slave hanging from the roof, would not give him anything else that he could use, the Slitherin moved towards the door. Finally! He had a way to wake “The-Boy-Wonder” up.

He was starting a mental list of all the things he would do to Harry, when he was healed enough, when it dawned on him. Harry would ask about the rest of the Golden Trio. He could practically hear him already.

The Mudblood was a lost case how ever you looked at it. Being a Mudblood AND what had happened to her.... Totally lost. He didn’t even have to have bad feelings about it, because it had really bin out of his hands.

But the red head? Harry would try to get him to search for him. To, God forbid, rescue him and make it all better. Actually, he like the idea of Harry coming to him, begging, pleading and believing he could make anything better. He liked it quite a lot.

But the git was annoying as hell. No, was not worth it.

If Harry asked him, he’d just fake searching the lands high and low and then regretfully tell him that he was nowhere to be found. That he probably was already dead. Then he could sit there, with the raven haired dream boy and comfort him as he morned his friend. Draco could just imagine how beautiful his emerald eyes must be, stained with tears. It was a perfect plan.

Pleased with himself, he once again headed towards the door. He would be so glad to get out of this damp hell hole and back to his sleeping lover. Composed was such a strong word. No, he was sleeping very deeply. It felt much better calling it sleeping and all he needed to do, to wake him up, was a closet.

Then doubt started nestling into his little dream scenario. What if Harry didn’t wake up with the help of the closet?

Damn it all! He would have to get Mr. Freckle Face anyway.

He slammed open the door and Pucey, sitting on the tasteless sofa, jumped with a start.

“Mr Pucey, I would like to buy this slave of you. What is his price?” After a very short discussion of what, the half insane slave would cost, they made a deal. Ron would be sent to Draco's slave pen with in the hour.

“If nothing else, I can give him to Harry as a present or something for his birthday.” Was the last thing Draco thought before apparating back home.


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