Title: Attractive Nuisance

Author: Ravyn (RavynFayre@aol.com)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley

Rating: PG-13 (okay, it's probably fluffy) for m/m slash and profanity. If this is not your cup of tea, hit the "back" button on your browser and pick a different story.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never have been. Never will be.

Archives: Ask.

I had been working at the Nimbus Corporation for five years, but only promoted to my new position six months ago. Now the company president had left it up to me to decide which model we would introduce next. My secretary, Miranda, was beside herself. She had been amazingly supportive since I took the job, and enjoyed bragging to her friends about how she just knew I was "going places."

She popped her head in my door and announced, "Mr. Weasley, you have a visitor."

"Who?" I checked my calendar and saw no appointments for the rest of the day.

"Guess?" she asked, plastering on her most sincere fake smile and batting her eyelashes impishly. That could only mean one person.

I didn't even make it out of my chair before he strode into the room, rife with confidence and familiarity. He was impeccably dressed, as usual, in tailored pants with creases sharp as a knife and a long-sleeved button-down shirt. I walked around my desk, extending my hand in welcome, warm smile firmly in place. "Draco, so good to see you again."

My friendly greeting was ignored as Draco dropped into one of the plush chairs opposite my desk. "You simply *must* do something about the colours, Weasley."

"Colours?" I asked. He had once again managed to completely baffle me.

"The colours of bloody broomsticks," he spat, seeming surprised I hadn't been able to read his mind. "Brown. Dark brown. Darker brown. Black. Shiny black. Matte black. Fucking boring is what they are."

Colours. This was a new one. Last time it had been chafed fingers. We had released a special limited edition model with an intricate design cut into the handle. Deciding to forego the typical inlaid embossing, we instead went with a raised design. Hence, the allegedly chafed fingers.

Normally, a visit like this would have me rolling on the floor, unable to contain my laughter. A visit from Malfoy, though, could hardly be considered normal, even though he had visited me twice a month every month since I took this job as Vice President of Development.

"I assume you had something specific in mind?" I asked, eyebrow crooked in anticipation.

"Deep, metallic green. Silver would be good, too."

Why doesn't that surprise me? I thought. "Well, Draco," I said, using my most benevolent smile. "I'll be sure to bring up your suggestions at our next staff meeting."

"And when will that be?" Draco asked.

"Friday."

"Good." He nodded, seemingly satisfied that he accomplished his mission. Except that he didn't appear to be leaving.

"Something else I can do for you?" I offered.

"No," Draco said, thumb stroking his lower lip thoughtfully. "No. I believe that will be all. For now." He rose and exited as quickly as he had entered, leaving my office door standing wide open.

Miranda craned her head back in the door, her eyebrows arched in question. "Colours," I told her, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. She smiled in sympathy and pulled the door closed.

~*~*~*~*~*

Friday evening, and Helga's Homestyle Restaurant was packed to the brim, with a 30 minute wait for a table. I ate alone at a table for two, studying broomstick designs from the newest member of the development team.

"Mr. Weasley." The server tapped me on the shoulder, startling me out of my concentration. "I hate to ask you this, but we're so full tonight. Would you mind sharing your table with another party of one?"

"Not at all," I smiled at the girl, collecting the papers I had spread across the table. "As long as he chews with his mouth closed." She flashed me a quick smile and held up a finger, indicating she'd be right back.

Normally, I preferred eating alone, one of the advantages of being single and unattached. But a dinner companion might not be such a bad thing. It could even prove to be interesting.

"Here we are." The server was back, pulling out the chair opposite me for my new tablemate.

"Draco?" I asked, taken aback by the sight of the man before me.

"Is there a problem, Weasley?" Draco challenged.

"Not at all." I couldn't decide which surprised me more – the fact that Draco Malfoy was dining alone, or that he didn't put up more of a fuss upon learning the identity of his tablemate. "So, Draco, what brings you here?"

"Hunger, Weasley. The same thing that brings anyone here. That is, assuming I am able to keep my food down."

All he had to do was open his mouth and I was twelve years old again. I bristled. "No one forced you to sit with me."

"Interesting," Draco said, smirking. "You automatically assumed I was insinuating something about you. Some things never change, do they, Weasley?"

"Apparently not. Excuse me?" I motioned toward the server. "Check, please. And would you wrap this up for me? I'd like to take it with me."

"Leaving so soon?"

"Lost my appetite," I mumbled, sipping from my water glass.

"And taking home what you haven't eaten? Surely that's not necessary. Your girlfriend can cook, can't she?"

"Don't have one of those."

"Mmmm. Well, come now, Weasley. We're grownups, aren't we? No need to go running off. Sit. Finish your meal. I promise I'll behave."

"I'd love to see that."

"Stick around." He grinned at me wickedly. "So, what did your fellow suits think of my idea."

"They loved it," I told him, glad to be changing the subject. "They had kicked around the idea of a new line with different colours some years ago, but it never went anywhere. Looks like they're ready for a change now."

"Good," Draco nodded approvingly. "Now, tell me about your job. Are you enjoying it?"

I shrugged. "For the most part." I looked pointedly at him. "Dealing with the public can be a bit trying."

"Is that so? Well, I must say, you handle yourself quite well. Professional, but not officious or stuffy. Friendly and accommodating. I'm not surprised they hired you."

"Really." I didn't quite know how to handle a compliment from Draco Malfoy. "Well, that's nice of you to say, Draco. Surprising, coming from you, but thank you. What about you? The team is doing well this year, thanks to you."

Draco nodded. "I am having a good time. It's nice to be on a team that wins occasionally."

I paused, unsure if I should proceed, but wanting to know. "And your father?"

Draco stiffened. "He's in Azkaban. You know that."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just wondered if you and he kept in contact."

"No, we don't," Draco answered curtly. "Would you?"

"No, I suppose I wouldn't," I agreed. "I'm sorry about everything that happened. You had to deal with a lot of crap just because of your name. I'm glad to see everything worked out for you."

Draco flashed me a quick smile, and we finished our meals in companionable silence. The din of the restaurant swirled around us, though we didn't seem to notice, each lost in our own thoughts.

"Well," Draco said as we exited the restaurant. "That was nice, Weasley. We should do it again sometime."

"We should," I agreed, surprising both of us.

"I'll be in touch," he said, shaking my hand.

I watched him head off in the night. I wondered what my old Gryffindor friends would be thinking right now.

~*~*~*~*~*

Miranda burst into my office, slamming the door closed behind her. "He's here again," she whispered, her eyes darting nervously about the room.

"Who?"

"Him! Mr. Malfoy."

"What? But he was – "

"Just here last week!" She jumped, startled by a noise in the outer office. She turned back toward the office door as if it might attack her any moment. "What is his problem, anyway?"

I couldn't help but laugh. I had enjoyed listening to her conspiracy theories over the many months that Draco had been visiting. I never told her of our history together at school, though, as I found her conjectures infinitely more entertaining.

"I couldn't even begin to guess what his problem might be. But it's all right, Miranda," I assured her. I guided her to the door, patting her on the back. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

I found Draco closely studying a series of photos that lined the hallway, a history of the Nimbus Corporation. I wondered what three meetings with Draco Malfoy in only a week could possibly mean. "Draco. What can I do for you this afternoon?"

"Lunch, Weasley."

"Lunch?"

"Yes, lunch. The meal that is normally eaten at mid-day? I thought you might like to join me."

"Oh, right. I'd love to, but I have a luncheon meeting with the other department heads this afternoon."

"Oh." He actually sounded disappointed. "That's what I get for not calling ahead, isn't it? What about dinner Friday night?"

"Okay," I agreed, before I could think twice. I found myself enjoying my little exchanges with Draco, and our dinner at Helga's last Friday night had been the most fun I'd had in months. All in all, my social life was quite sad.

"The Manor at 7:00?"

"Looking forward to it." My eyes followed as Draco gave a brief wave and retreated down the hallway.

~*~*~*~*~*

"What is this?"

"A ticket to Saturday's match. Will you come?" Draco asked.

It felt strange. He'd never really *asked* me as such. He was always showing up at my office *telling* me where we would be going and what we would be doing. Not that I had a quarrel with that, it's just that now, here he was asking me.

"I'd love to."

"The team goes to Hogsmeade after to celebrate. You can come along, if you like."

"Celebrate? You haven't won yet." I recognized my mistake immediately when his eyebrows arched sharply in my direction. "But of course you *will* win, and of course, I'll come."

"Good," he replied. "Our celebrations tend to run quite late. I figured I'd stay over, get a room at The Three Broomsticks. What about you? Will you want to head straight home?"

"Sounds like fun. I'll stay."

He seemed both surprised and pleased at my answer. He gave me a quick smile and a promise. "See you Saturday."

I realized after he'd left – too late, of course - that I had agreed to spend the night with him. I had no idea what the arrangements were, and I wasn't quite sure what this meant, and that bothered me. Up to this point, my thoughts about our relationship had been random at best. I tried to determine just how Draco and I had come to this. For months, he was simply an attractive nuisance who came to my office, fussing about this or that. Then, suddenly, he and I have this unspoken agreement. Or maybe it wasn't so sudden after all. It's been almost six months since we had that first dinner together.

We'd fallen into a pattern, having lunch at least twice a week, and dinner every Friday night. Now, he's invited me to watch him play. Perhaps the most unusual part of this strange little relationship we have is that I actually look forward to it. In all my life, I never imagined myself waiting anxiously to spend time with Draco Malfoy. Maybe we've both finally grown up.

They did win, of course. A massacre, really. Embarrassing that they won by such a large margin. Draco, ever the sadist, stretched things out after sighting the snitch, allowing his team to score another 80 points before he put the other team's seeker out of his misery.

Back at The Three Broomsticks, Rosmerta threatened to throw the lot of us out on our arses if we didn't quiet things down. She told me in secret that she did that solely for the benefit of the other patrons. She didn't want *everyone* to think they could get away with that kind of behaviour.

I was surprised at how easily I fit into the scheme of things. My own consuming passion with Quidditch and my inside knowledge about broomsticks made me an instant success, especially with one of his team's chasers. The man seemed intent upon making me spill insider secrets of the broomstick business. His hand started on my knee, and traveled quite a distance up my thigh. He hadn't moved into forbidden territory, though, and I certainly didn't want to embarrass Draco, so I tried my best to ignore it. As it happened, Draco knew exactly what was going on and reached behind me to smack the back of the man's head. The chaser was too drunk to recognize where the offending hand came from, and he quickly withdrew his hand from my thigh and opted for nursing his drink.

I enjoyed watching Draco interact with his teammates. He was obviously in his element, and they genuinely liked him. It was good to see he'd gotten past the stigma of his family to make a name for himself.

Draco had introduced me to his teammates simply by name, with no qualification as to our relationship, and I hated myself that it irritated me. I was hoping he would give me some kind of clue as to just what was going on between us, but he failed miserably.

When Rosemerta finally decided she simply had to close up for the night, we headed upstairs. I had unfortunately put off thinking about this moment all night. Now I wished I'd thought it out at least a little.

"I had to get a double," Draco said as he unlocked the door to the room. "I tried to get you your own room, but with most of the team staying here, and her regular clientele, Rosemerta said she couldn't spare another. I hope that's all right."

"Fine," I assured him, mentally heaving a sigh of relief when I saw the two single beds sitting a respectable distance apart. I also felt vaguely disappointed, but decided I could put off for one more night trying to figure out just what was happening between us.

Unless, by his own actions, Draco had been trying to tell me all along just what kind of relationship we had.

~*~*~*~*~*

"How is your lobster?" Draco asked, dipping his own forkful into a cup of warm butter.

"Incredible," I answered, then let another bite melt on my tongue. "I've never tasted anything like it."

"Leave it to me, Ron. I'll show you the world."

"I just bet you will." It took my brain a moment to process what he had said. "Wait a minute. What did you just call me?"

"Ron. It's your name, right?" He crossed his arms and tilted his chair back. He studied the ceiling as if it were a map. "First, we should go to Paris. Then Italy. Maybe the Bahamas. Though I suppose you have to be careful about getting too much sun."

"Sounds like a plan," I chuckled, polishing off my glass of wine.

"So, how much vacation time do you get?"

"I'm starting my sixth year, so I'll get four weeks. Why?"

"The trip, of course,"

"You're serious?" I asked.

"Of course, I am," he replied. "What would make you think otherwise?"

"It's just a little strange don't you think?" I asked, rising from the table. "I mean, when you think about it. You and I spending so much time together."

"What's so strange? I thought we had gotten past all that."

"I guess not." I shrugged, and walked out onto the balcony.

"What's going on here?" he asked from the doorway. "I didn't think you'd agree to spend time with me unless you really wanted to."

"I did," I insisted. "I do. It's just - what's going on here?"

"I don't follow."

"You and me. First, you're just a nuisance at work, then we start going to lunch, dinner. You invite me here. What's going on?"

He shrugged. "I thought we were friends."

"Friends."

"Right. What did you think we were?"

"I – I- I didn't –," I stuttered, "I just – I wondered what you thought, is all."

He moved toward me, studying me. His intensity made me nervous. "You want more, don't you?"

"No," I insisted, backing away. "I just wanted to . . . clarify things, I suppose. I mean, if we're going to be traveling together, we should be clear about . . . things."

"I don't believe you," he said. He was close now, very close. He didn't crowd me, but he wanted to be sure he had my undivided attention. "And anyway, it's all right. If you want more, that is."

"It is?"

"Of course, it is. I simply didn't want to push. I was happy with your companionship. I wasn't going to ruin that by jumping you."

"Why me?" I asked quietly. "You and I hated each other for so many years. Why would you seek me out?"

"I lost track of a lot of people after the war," he said as he crossed his arms and began pacing. "I frankly didn't think much about you. I just assumed you'd fallen into some sort of limbo reserved especially for Weasleys." He chuckled. "Then I saw your photo in The Prophet, after your promotion. Lo and behold, a Weasley made good. I was honestly impressed." He suddenly stopped moving to face me again. "I enjoyed giving you a hard time at first, but you never buckled under, and you were never cruel to me. You just smiled and shook my hand as if I was a real person. Granted, you probably laughed your arse off after I left the room. I just assumed we had both grown up since Hogwarts and I thought we might have a go at it. Let's be honest, my old Slytherin housemates didn't stick around once Voldemort was defeated."

"I enjoyed your visits, you know," I confided. "I did have a good laugh now and then. You surprised me, though, when you kept coming back. And it surprised me that I looked forward to it. I started wondering what was wrong with me."

He kept watching me, arms crossed, silver gaze never wavering. A brief smile touched his lips just before he said, "So, the question still remains. Do you want more?"

"You're always surprising me. You know that?"

"It's all part of my charm. And you still haven't answered me," he prodded, taking a step closer.

"I know. I –" Why was I hesitating? My brain was screaming at me to say yes, but I was rarely known for following my brain.

His smile faded and he backed away suddenly. "If you want to take some time, feel free." He turned on his heel and headed back into the dining room.

"Wait," I called after him. I found him clearing our dinner dishes from the table. Fifteen years ago, I would have given away one of my brothers to see something like this. "No."

"No? You don't want more?"

"No. I mean, yes. I mean, I do. Want more, that is." God, I was a moron.

The stack of dishes in his hands was gently set on the table, and he crossed over to me. He looked so happy, so content. Smiling so broadly I thought his face might split open.

"What would our old Hogwarts classmates think about this?" he asked, taking my hand in his.

"That we've all grown up."

He agreed, drawing me down into a kiss, his palm sliding along the back of my neck. His lips were soft under mine, gentle yet insistent. I wrapped him in my arms, surprising myself at how much I wanted this.

This grown up wasn't so bad after all.

~*~*~*~*~*

What Miranda caught sight of in my office the next morning may have forever cured her of coming in to work early. Draco, leaning across my desk, his lips attached to mine and his posterior pointed directly at her. She made a rather unusual noise, some strange strangled squeak or gasp. I thought she had swallowed her tongue, which she must have thought Draco was trying to do to me.

"You're . . . he's . . .," Miranda stuttered, jabbing her finger at Draco.

"I'm your boss' boyfriend," Draco clarified.

Her mouth dropped open, eyes ping-ponging between Draco and me. "Really?" she squeaked.

Draco and I shared a knowing glance and he gave me a short nod. "Yes," I told her. She looked like she was about to faint dead away.

"Miranda, isn't it?" Draco glided to her and gallantly kissed the back of her hand. "We'll be seeing quite a lot of each other, my dear." He gave me a flick of his fingers over his shoulder and was gone.

She studied the back of her hand, her brain slowly making the connection that the lips that touched her hand just previously been . . . She let out another squeak and darted from my office, slamming the door closed behind her.

Miranda had been right. I was definitely going places, but I don't think those places would be anything like either of us had ever imagined.

~*~*~* FIN ~*~*~*