Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: tryslora
From: leela_cat

Title: Star Struck
Characters/Pairings: Ron Weasley/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter/Luna Lovegood
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: Semi-public sex, cross-dressing
Other Warnings/Content: None
Word Count: ~4,215
Summary/Description: "She was just as beautiful as the smile she gave me. You should have seen her. Like she was made for me."
Author's Notes: My lovely deviant, when I saw this prompt, I was hit by this bunny. I hope it hits your kinks in all the right way.


Putting his elbow on the kitchen table, Ron propped his head on one hand and reached for the teapot. "She was just as beautiful as the smile she gave me. You should have seen her. Like she was made for me," he said, shaping the singer's outline with his free hand. "Light pink hair all the way down to her arse and legs all the way up to her—"

"Do you mind," Hermione cut in. "Some of us haven't had coffee yet."

Ron closed his mouth with a clack of teeth and curled his hand into a fist. It didn't stop him from finishing the image in his head, because she'd been just that gorgeous. And that wasn't the drink talking, because he hadn't had that much last night.

"Have at it," he said. "Because I'm going to need your help finding her again."

"Finding who?" Pansy let the kitchen door close behind her with a bang that echoed through Ron's head.

"Someone he saw last night," Hermione said, raising a hand to brush fingers with Pansy as she passed behind Hermione's chair on her way to the coffee.

"He'll need all the help he can get," Pansy said. "Breakfast first, though. Weasley! Chop chop! It's your turn, I've decided, no matter what the roster says."

"Blaise and Draco are up this morning," Hermione said, without bothering to turn around to check the list that was stuck to the wall behind her.

"No, they're not. I simply cannot deal with rubber eggs this morning." Pansy unsheathed her wand and tossed a spell over her shoulder. It popped and fizzled when it hit the roster, and the wards that Hermione had put on it after Harry ended up on Kitchen Elf duty four evenings in a row.

Hermione just grinned at Pansy's frown and tapped the end of her nose. "You know better than that," she said.

"If you loved me—" Pansy pouted, and Hermione giggled.

Ron groaned and wiped a hand over his face. "Too bloody early," he muttered, but he pushed himself to his feet and headed for the fridge. He wasn't any more interested than Pansy was in eating Draco's yoghurt and fruit or Blaise's bouncy scrambled eggs. And if that meant cooking breakfast himself, so be it.

A Wingardium Leviosa, brought the frying pans down off the wall hooks and clanging down onto the cooker. Then, ignoring Pansy's moan of protest at the noise, he gave his wand a sharp half-twist and started the eggs cracking themselves into the bowl.

The kitchen door banged again and again as people filed in, and the room began filling up with their chatter. Ron turned his attention back to the bacon he was frying in a huge pan.

"You didn't have to," Draco said, using his wand to float tubs of yoghurt out of the fridge.

"Although we're glad you did," Blaise added. "I don't think I could have handled my cooking this morning."

"Toast," Ron said, pointing his wand at the bread bin. "And the table needs setting."

"Slave driver," Draco said with a pout that rivalled Pansy's, but he hip checked Blaise towards the counter and the bread.

Rolling his eyes, Ron averted his eyes from the way Draco and Blaise danced around each other only to find himself looking at Hermione and Pansy cooing at each other and a smiling Luna catching the kisses that Harry was blowing to her. He turned around and focussed his attention on the scrambled eggs, giving them a quick stir. Couldn't have them sticking to the bottom of the pan, after all.

Turning Grimmauld Place into a home for wayward former Hogwarts students, as Hermione called it, hadn't been such a bad plan as he'd claimed to Harry all those months ago. Even if it did sometimes make Ron feel as if he was the only one who wasn't paired up.

One way or another, he decided, he was going to find that singer. If only to prove to himself (and to Hermione, Lavender, and everyone else) that he wasn't a complete tosser when it came to relationships.

o)*(o

She wasn't at the club that night or the next, or any of the clubs or nights that Ron dragged his friends and the others to over the next couple of weeks. He did find an advertisement though, for a show that he'd missed, with a picture of her on the front in a slinky black dress that was slit up to the hip. And a name: Astrea.

Ron laid the thick glossy poster on the bar table and smoothed out the wrinkles.

"Oh hullo." Blaise leaned over Ron's shoulder, breathing firewhisky fumes into his ear. "Look what you found."

"Gerroff," Ron said, shrugging him off and rolling the poster up before Blaise could get his hands on it.

"Ooooh, possessive little beast, aren't you?"

"Ron's never been much cop at sharing." Harry dropped into a chair next to Ron. "What's he holding onto this time? Or should I ask who?"

"Nothing," Ron muttered, even as a spell had the poster sliding out of his hands and over to Blaise.

"Just this pretty little piece of ass," Blaise said, unrolling the poster and displaying it for everyone. "What do you think?"

"Not bad," Harry said. "Black wig's a nice touch."

A spot of red on each pale cheekbone, Draco huffed. "Why are we wasting time over Ron's questionable taste in tawdry women?"

"She's not... Ah Merlin, just leave it, all right?" Ron snatched the poster back from Blaise. He might have made something like friends with the Slytherins, might even have agreed that it wasn't the end of the earth if they were on a first name basis, but he was damned if he was going to get into an argument over someone he didn't have a chance in hell of meeting never mind anything else.

"Oh, I agree with Ron," Pansy slid into the chair on Ron's other side and ran a long, red fingernail down the line of the slit and the leg it exposed. "This woman should never be accused of being merely tawdry."

Blaise laughed, and Ron couldn't help noticing how the red on Draco's cheeks was growing to match the blush that was crawling down Ron's neck and burning the tips of his ears.

"Don't be jealous," Luna said to no one in particular, tilting her head so that her frog earrings gleamed green and gold in the light. "It's not her fault she has two spirits when you only have one."

"Drinks," Harry suggested into the awkward silence that followed. "I'm buying. Who wants one?"

While everyone else was distracted with giving Harry their orders, Ron slipped the poster off the table, shrunk it, and carefully stowed it away in the big pocket of his cloak.

o)*(o

A week later, Ron was heading for the bar to order a round of drinks at Fiendfyre when he was bumped by a pair of over-enthusiastic guys trying to turn a small space into a mini dance floor. He stumbled and tried to right himself, but ended up half-sitting on someone's lap and looking into an all-too familiar face.

Astrea's hair was a purple so pale that it seemed like ice, and her upper lip was curled in a sneer that would have given Lucius Malfoy a run for his money. "Do you mind?"

Far too aware of the press of her small breast against his arm, of the warmth of her breath against his skin, the way his hand was resting on the stool between her legs and the fact that his cock was half-hard, Ron gulped. "Umm... no?"

Her laugh was bright and brittle, and sent a shiver down his spine. "Stand up."

Hearing the or else she didn't say, Ron shot upright so fast that he had to grab onto the bar to keep from toppling over. "Sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Of course, you didn't. I'm sure you never mean to do anything." She held a dark green drink in a tall clear glass that was topped with an umbrella so gaudy Ron was sure Dumbledore would have sold his right nut for it. "I suppose it's too much to hope that a clumsy oaf like you didn't tear the silk."

"I'm sorry," Ron repeated. "I'll pay for..."

"I doubt it."

"Then you'd be wrong. I'd find a way to have it repaired or buy you a new one if it couldn't be fixed in a way that nobody could tell."

One of Astrea's eyebrows winged upwards. "Really?"

"Really," Ron said, and shoved a hand in his pocket so she couldn't see him crossing his fingers. Worst came to worst, he thought, Harry would spot him a loan to cover it. And it would be worth asking this time. "My mother raised me to treat a lady right."

Something changed in Astrea's face, softening it into an odd expression that made Ron's chest ache. She put her glass on the bar and slipped off her stool in a graceful slide of silk and perfume.

"You're a sweet man, Ron Weasley," she said, her voice throaty and hoarse, brushing her lips over his cheek. "And don't you let anyone tell you anything to the contrary."

And with that she was gone, leaving him with his hand on his cheek, covering a spot that still tingled and a feeling that he'd somehow missed something important.

He stood there for a few seconds, trying to work out what had just happened, then he took a deep breath and headed back to the table. When he got there, he blurted out, "She knows my name," and collapsed into his seat.

"Who knows your name?" Hermione asked.

"I thought you were getting drinks?" Blaise complained. "Where's my Flaming Cider?"

"You'll get over it." Pansy patted Ron's arm, looking so sympathetic for a moment that Ron's heart lurched in terror. Then, she said, "Now fix my tie. Hermione's gone and made a right mess of it and no one else here can do a decent job of it."

"Yeah, all right," Ron said, shifting his chair back so she could come over and stand in front of him. He quickly undid the knot that Hermione had bollocksed up and got the tie properly tucked back under Pansy's collar.

As soon as he had the tie done, Pansy bent over and murmured in his ear, "Of course, she knows your name, you gormless idiot. Now man up and do something about it."

Ron gawped at her, feeling like an utter berk, unable to come up with a single thing to say in response. Not even when she mouthed, "Man up," at him as she escorted Hermione to the dance floor.

o)*(o

The invitations to the Ministry Yule Ball arrived in a flurry of impatient owls the next morning, while Ron was still nursing his hangover. One brown spotted monster batted him over the head with a wing when Ron ignored him.

"Bugger off," Ron growled. Although he did shove Harry's plate with its greasy mess of bacon and sausage at the bastard, so it only pecked between his fingers, grazing his skin, instead of drawing blood.

"Don't be so rude," Hermione said. "They're just doing their jobs."

"Well, they could do it somewhere else," Ron muttered darkly, resting his aching forehead on his arms. "And with a shitload less noise."

"Someone forgot to give Ron his potion this morning," Draco said. His voice was too bright and too loud, but Ron forgave him absolutely everything when he pressed a phial into Ron's hand.

The hangover potion was brilliant. Top-notch. Best Ron had ever had. It slid down his throat with only a vaguely nasty aftertaste, rapidly sent heat spreading through him, and then expelled the toxins from his body in a curl of smoke and steam.

"Merlin's beard," Ron said reverentially. "I think I love you."

Draco gave him an oddly soft and lopsided half-smile. "No, you don't."

"Here, Ron." Hermione tossed a piece of parchment embossed with a black Ministry seal at him. She did the same for Harry, Neville, Hannah, Blaise, and a few others.

When Pansy sighed dramatically, Hermione hugged her. "Doesn't mean a thing," she said. "They all know you're my plus one. Just like Luna didn't get an invitation of her own because she's Harry's."

Ron looked around the table, at those who were opening or ignoring their invitations. "What about Draco? Is he on Blaise's?"

"Hardly," muttered Blaise. "I have plans, and they don't include him."

"I'll talk to someone," Harry said. "Get this sorted out."

"Don't bother." Draco flicked his wand at the kettle, which started filling itself at the tap.

"It's not a bother," Harry said.

"What happened to letting bygones be bygones?" Ron didn't understand how Draco could be so blasé about this. "I mean this is shite."

"It's fine," Draco said, finally turning around to face them. He leaned back against the counter as the kettle settled on the cooker. Despite his attempt to look relaxed, Ron could see the tension in every line of his body. His long, lean body.

Ron shook himself, wondering where in Merlin's name that thought had come from. He shoved his thoughts back onto the subject at hand, which was, unfortunately, Draco. "It's not fine. We should all have invites."

"There's no problem, I assure you. And I'd rather you didn't say anything to anyone."

"Then be my plus one." The words were out of Ron's mouth before he'd thought about them. He didn't take them back, he just stared at Draco and silently dared him to accept.

Draco glanced at Pansy, who narrowed her eyes at him, clearly giving him some kind of message that Ron couldn't interpret. Wrapping his arms around his torso, hugging himself, Draco averted his eyes and stared at the tips of his slippers.

"It's all right. You don't have to," Ron said, swallowing down his unexpected disappointment, because he wanted that odd soft expression back on Draco's face, not this tight closed-in look. "No offence taken."

Draco gave him a sharp nod of acknowledgment, and Pansy threw up her arms. "Honestly," she said.

"You're starting to sound like Hermione," Harry said, and awkward laughter ran through the room like a wave of relief.

"Could be worse, I suppose." Pansy gave a exaggerated mock shudder. "I could be picking up Ron's habits."

The laughter grew, and Ron dragged up a smile for her. He couldn't stop watching Draco though, when he thought Draco wasn't paying attention, because it wasn't right. Malfoys didn't just sit back without complaint when the Ministry snubbed them. And Ron was damned if he was going to just let it go. One way or another, Ron was going to make sure the same thing didn't happen next year. It just wasn't right.

o)*(o

Ron was used to being part of one of the arrivals at events thrown by the Ministry after the war. He'd never quite felt as awkward as he did at this one, though. It wasn't that he was the only one there by himself, because Blaise and Hannah were also there without partners.

It certainly wasn't that most of the attention went to Harry and Luna, who looked gorgeous despite the fact that his dark blue suit clashed with her red and green ruffled and feathered outfit, and the rest was on Hermione and Pansy, especially Pansy's tailored Muggle tuxedo.

"Well, I'm off," Blaise said as soon as they were through the doors. "Do try and have fun without me." He took a step sideways and seemed to disappear into the oncoming crowd, all of whom wanted to talk, to see and be seen with Harry and his friends.

Even him, apparently, which wasn't as new, different, or exciting as it used to be.

"You're Ron Weasley!" She was blonde and pretty and dressed in one of the same three styles that almost every other witch seemed to be wearing.

"Yeah," Ron said, taking a step backwards. "And you are?"

"I've read every word of every book about the war, you know."

"That's... erm... nice?"

"I don't know if I should like you or not, that's the thing."

Ron glanced around, but everyone else seemed to have disappeared. "Look, I've got to go."

"Really? Because you just got here." She moved closer and frowned at him in a way that looked alarmingly like his mum right before she yelled at him. "And I would like to understand why they still like you. There has to be something about you."

"No, there's really not." Ron caught a glimpse of Luna's outfit through the shifting people. "And that's Harry looking for me. Gotta go. Bye."

"But I just wanted..."

Ignoring her, Ron wound his way between the groups of people talking, doing his best not to step on any toes. When he got to where he'd thought he'd seen Luna, he found an elderly wizard with a tall, bobbing hat. He rose onto his tiptoes and tried again but had no luck seeing them.

I need a drink, he thought, and headed for the room where the Ministry always set up the bar and the entertainment. A step through the doors took him through the silencing wards, and the air was filled with music — and a familiar voice singing a Celestina Warbeck Christmas song.

There were too many people between Ron and the small stage. Even as tall as he was, he couldn't see much more than something that looked like black lace, moving around, and that really wasn't enough. He slipped around the edge of the room, getting ever closer, until he found a spot on the far side.

Astrea's hair was blonde this time, nearly white, and she wore a black silky sheath that was slit up on both sides to provide occasional glimpses of long legs in spike-heeled leather shoes, fishnet stockings, and a lacy black garter belt. Elbow-length black gloves only drew attention to the sleek paleness of her skin.

"Merlin," Ron breathed, and he leaned back against the pillar for support. He'd almost missed her, hadn't even known that she was the entertainment, and that was nearly criminal.

She sang and she strutted, and even occasionally, seemed to smile in Ron's direction. He was kidding himself about that, he knew, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to believe, and she knew his name, after all, so it wasn't that far-fetched. And if he reached up to catch a kiss that she blew in his direction, well, that was between them really and no one else's business.

Except that the kiss was the end of her set and was followed only by her giving the audience a small bow and walking off the stage to tumultuous applause. There was no encore. Instead Percy came on stage to announce that dinner was being served in the main dining room and would everyone please leave the ballroom.

People started moving, but Ron shifted around the pillar, as if that could somehow hide him from everyone. He felt like he was in a bubble and didn't want to have someone pop it for him with another dumb remark or a reminder of reality.

"I nearly thought you weren't coming."

The voice, coming from behind Ron, startled him. He turned, keeping a hand on the pillar for balance. "I didn't know," he said.

She was almost as tall as he was in those heels. "You didn't ask."

He stared into her eyes, into eyes it suddenly felt as if he'd been seeing for his whole life. "Draco?"

Her eyelashes fluttered, but she didn't look away. "Does it matter?"

Part of Ron wanted to say yes, to toss an insult about slimy, deceitful Slytherins. The rest of him, though, wanted to see that soft expression on Astrea's — Draco's — face again, to see if her lips were as soft as they looked.

"Depends," Ron finally said, because he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing. "On whether this matters or not."

Moving slowly, giving Draco every possible chance to escape, Ron took a step forward. When Draco didn't back away, Ron raised his hand and cupped Draco's face with it.

Her — his — lips were that soft, and Draco's moan, the way he melted into Ron's arms, opened up to his kiss, went right to Ron's cock. He moved them around, behind the meagre protection of the pillar, and pushed Draco against the wall.

Draco slid his arms around Ron's neck, pressed up against him. His small breasts were soft against Ron's chest, his cock felt long and hard against Ron's thigh, and the shock was enough to make Ron's head spin.

"Merlin's beard," Ron murmured against Draco's lips. "What you do to me."

Draco's answer was a roll of his hips that sent a tingling shock of arousal through Ron. "Touch me or tell me to get lost," Draco said, "because I can't play games. Not with you. Not any longer."

Ron pulled away, just enough to look at Draco. At his smeared red lipstick and the intensity of his grey eyes. At the cock that was now visible in the line of his dress and the way he was standing with his legs apart, back straight, as if bracing for a blow.

For rejection, Ron realised, and that thought almost overwhelmed him with need want need. So much that his hand was trembling when he reached out and placed it on Draco's hip, slid it underneath the side slit of his dress, and around his thigh to settle under the curve of Draco's arse.

"No games," Ron said. "Not with you. Never with you."

Then he pushed up against Draco, pressing him into the wall and dragging one of Draco's legs up and around his hip. He bit at Draco's lips, licked into his mouth, held on to him.

"About damn time," Draco said, arching his head back when Ron slid his mouth down Draco's neck.

Draco's fingernails were long, digging into Ron's shoulders, and those points of pain only made Ron want him more. He rubbed against Draco, the rough push-pull of fine wool and cotton over his cock adding to his need, making him want to move faster and faster. And every panting breath, every quiet sound from Draco, every writhing movement, drove Ron higher and higher.

But there was a noise. A laugh pierced the haze, and Ron stuttered to a halt. "Fuck," he muttered. "People."

"You're a wizard, you berk," Draco said. "Use your damned wand."

For a second, all Ron could do was grind against him. The point of Draco's hipbone against his cock, even through the layers of clothing, was everything he needed, wanted.

"Not that wand." Draco nipped at Ron's earlobe when Ron sniggered. "Idiot," Draco said, in a tone of voice that made it feel more like a pet name than an insult.

Ron shifted his grip on Draco, and Draco wrapped his other leg around Ron, holding on, as Ron unsheathed his wand and fumbled his way through the privacy and silencing spells that Hermione had drilled into him.

Then Draco murmured other words into Ron's ear, words that Ron repeated with a flick and a thrust of his wand, and a tap against Draco's thigh, that drew a low-voiced groan out of Draco.

"Now," Draco said, and somehow Ron's trousers and pants were down around his knees, and he was reaching between them to guide his cock past the slip of lace and inside Draco.

He paused for a moment, breathing in Draco's perfume, tasting the lipstick on his mouth, and then someone said, "It's empty," and Draco shifted, pressing down, and Ron was all the way inside him.

He was shaking, thrusting, murmuring words that even he didn't understand into Draco's mouth. Words about "hot" and "need" and even "please" and "yes, yes, yes."

It was hard and fast. Draco was tight around him and his cock was thick in Ron's hand. He shuddered as he came, clenching down on Ron's cock, biting Ron's lower lip. And when Ron came, when he lost himself inside Draco, it was everything that he hadn't even known to dream about.

They stayed there for a moment, not moving. As he pulled out, separating them, Ron kissed Draco again, soft and lazy this time, trying to steady his breathing, slow down his heartbeat. Then he pulled back, letting Draco down to stand on his own feet again, and casting the gentle cleaning spells that Bill had taught him years ago.

Draco tottered for a moment, then looked down at his dress. "If you've damaged it," he said, voice sharp and brittle as glass.

"I'll pay for it," Ron said, because he knew that this meant love, that Draco cared, and he didn't care if that made him an idiot.

A lopsided smile curved Draco's lips, but he looked so unsure that Ron couldn't help but run his thumb over Draco's cheekbone. "Dance with me," he said, meaning stay with me.

"If you insist," Draco muttered, using his wand to fix his hair and makeup.

And this time Ron smiled, because, yeah, that was love.