Ron – A New Room Mate

For the first time in his life, Ron hadn’t been looking forward to the Christmas Holidays. Usually, he would have been groaning loudly about the monotonous classes leading up to break and pronouncing every teacher that had set him with holiday homework as ‘an evil sadist’. But instead of eagerly ticking off the days from his calendar, the redhead had been trying to cling desperately to his school days as much as Hermione. She mistook this sudden uncharacteristic nature as him finally applying himself and caring about his education, which she smugly put down to her own influence. In reality though, Ron had just wanted to keep the heck away from Malfoy. It had been five whole days since he’d last talked to the blond, and their very last encounter had ended awkwardly. And the redhead knew that the end of the holidays meant the beginning of a fortnight of having to live with the arrogant little git. Which also meant that any minute now, Draco Malfoy would be swaggering into the Gryffindor common room with his irritating smirk plastered to his face. Ron felt his stomach dissolve at the thought of it, sinking in dread into the armchair he was in as his eyes warily eyed the portrait hole. He didn’t know if he could face him… especially without punching him in his stupid, pointed face. He was just such a complete wanker sometimes and the Gryffindor was seriously starting to get pretty sodding fed up with his sarky temper.

Malfoy was completely barking. There was nothing else to it. Well, besides him being an evil little shit as well. And Ron didn’t know why he put up with it. Why did he let Malfoy do this to him? Make him all nervous and sweaty and stuff with just a thought? How did he manage to get to him every single time? Maybe if he borrowed Harry’s invisibility cloak Ron could just hide from him for two weeks…

And anyway, it wasn't like Malfoy even cared about him or anything. All he wanted him for was a quick grope. Wasn’t like he ever thought about his feelings… so why did Ron even try to be nice to him? The stupid arse never appreciated it when he stuck up for him or tried to spend time with him. And why did he want to anyway? Malfoy was just a spoilt little brat who hated everyone and refused help from anyone. So why the heck was he so worried that the heartless bastard was in danger?

And why the hell couldn't he bloody well stop eying him up whenever he saw him anyway?! Why did his wandering eyes always betray him by immediately focusing on how well his robes fit him or how good his hair looked? Ron'd never done it before... well, ok, the redhead had always grudgingly admitted to himself that the little prick was attractive... but everyone noticed things like that, didn't they? You couldn't not notice the Slytherin was, you know... all right looking. It just made Ron observant. That's all. Right?

Oh, bugger this all for a lark. He really didn't know why he bothered to think so much.

Ron suddenly cursed himself profusely for not escaping the country beforehand. Or at least going home for the holidays like Ginny and the twins had… but he knew why he stayed. Harry. He’d stayed for Harry, like he had done every year before that. What kind of a friend would he have been if he left him alone with Neville to face the ever-changing mood swings and ever-present violent spells of the Slytherin? Besides, it was all Ron’s fault anyway. If he had just pushed Malfoy off the bed that night before Neville and Harry had found out…

Man, he was just glad that Hermione didn’t share their dorm. He flinched at the thought of what she’d have to say to him, from words of outrage to the use of proper protection during intercourse…

Just yesterday, both he and Harry had gone to Hogsmeade Station to bid Hermione, the other Gryffindors and pretty much the rest of the school, goodbye. It seemed that Hermione had guests at home and had to return to spend Christmas with her family. However, she didn’t leave without giving them their presents and bone crushingly tearful hugs on the platform, making them promise to write to her if anything ‘happened’ and to keep each other out of trouble in her absence. Ron reminded her with a roll of his eyes that she’d only be gone for two weeks but he silently knew he’d probably soon be counting down the days till her return. It felt strange. It was usually only the three of them left in the Gryffindor tower and Ron knew, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, that he would actually miss Hermione. Especially since her place was being replaced by not just Neville but…

Ron shivered. Just thinking about him made him feel sick with nerves and made goosebumps the size of Tokyo automatically sprout from his arms. The stupid ferrety little arse. He hated his guts. He really did.

“Hey.”

Ron looked up at the voice and let out a weak smile. Harry was standing above him with a concerned and slightly nervous look on his face. But the boy also had his chessboard tucked under his arm. He seemed to know Ron too well for his own good. Good old Harry. Thrashing Harry at a good game always cheered him up. And Neville also seemed to be in on ‘Operation: Make Ron smile’ as he watched the interaction from the couch by the fire with wide eyes, stroking Trevor as he looked on hopefully. Ron, by some means, managed a rather cheeky grin at them both, making the podgier boy smile in slight relief and let out the breath he was holding in.

“Hey back,” Ron said, then motioned to the board. “Carrying that for your health, are you?” Harry laughed.

“Yeah, chess is good for the heart, I hear. Wanna check out that theory, Weasley?” Ron smirked as he crossed his arms and leaned into his seat. Why not? After all, Harry was trying so hard to teasingly rile him up…

“Potter, how can it be good for the heart when you’ll obviously be in a coronary when I’m done with you?” Harry snorted good-naturedly.

“Aaah, a modest threat. Care to put your brainpower where your unusually large mouth is, Chess boy?”

“You’re on!”

Harry grinned as he pulled up a chair. He set down his chess box and Ron noticed that his friend had brought Ron’s white chessmen as well as his own black pieces with him. The redhead smiled fondly. The conniving bugger was forcing him to go first. Well, it was the least he could do before beating the boy to oblivion. He grinned cockily to himself as he pulled out the pieces and nimbly placed them on the chequered squares, after all, the redhead probably knew how to set up a chessboard quicker than anything else in existence. Neville, still holding Trevor, vacated his seat by the fire to sit by the boys and watch the proceedings, gazing enraptured and extremely confused as he tried to pick up a thing or two. Ron smirked slightly. Poor Neville. Even that tiny nutter Dennis Creevy had beaten him. The kid had to practically stand on his stool to reach his pieces on the other side of the board. Managed to checkmate poor Neville in only eight moves. Ron leaned back in his chair and focused, wondering with an immodest smirk if he could beat Harry in less than that…

The game had started like it always had, Harry retaliating to Ron’s tame opening by introducing his knight. Later on, the corners of the redhead’s mouth had quivered slightly as he feigned complete indifference, watching Harry place his black Queen right into his opponent’s trap. He obviously hadn’t noticed that Ron’s Bishop (who was quite a letch) was eying her in a most vulgar fashion and darting triumphant looks at the redhead’s Rook, which had aided him in cornering her. However, Harry had noticed this development (and the Rook’s dirty tongue gestures) at the last minute, just before he was about to take the dramatically-acting pawn that Ron had purposely placed tantalisingly to distract him. And now the Boy Who Lived was taking so long making his move that his chess pieces were beginning to doze off. His surviving Rook was resting on his panicky Queen’s shoulder and snoring loudly. Ron’s chessmen, who were acquainted for much longer, seemed to be doing a dance that strangely resembled the Macarena. His Knight and Queen were giggling in the corner and getting closer by the second. He waited impatiently for Harry to stop touching the top of his chessmen tentatively and actually move one. If he didn’t hurry soon and let Ron separate his horny chesspieces as quickly as he could, they would probably start doing obscene things to one another. And putting his finger between them only made them poke at him with their weapons. Nursing his hand, Ron huffily realised how bloody painful their little swords (and teeth) actually were. Stupid little gits. Thankfully, the live adult show was interrupted when Harry’s face soon split into a triumphant look of relief and he lifted his arm and picked up his Queen to move her…

And that was when it happened.

The portrait swung creakily open and a person, who clashed with everything in sight, strolled lazily and almost ceremoniously in. Green robes stuck out ugly against the red and gold décor and the pale hair looked almost washed out and faded. Like a black and white character on a Technicolor canvas. Yet he still managed to look good, didn’t he? Red faced, Ron snapped his head sharply back to the board before he caught his eye and crossed his long arms childishly.

The familiar figure flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his impeccable robes before lifting his head and making a face. The Malfoy was looking carefully around, his grey eyes surveying his new territory. Ron could feel those eyes boring into the side of his face more than a few times and he began to bitterly wonder when he officially became property of Draco Malfoy. He clenched his teeth and stared almost painfully hard at his Queen (who was now making out heavily on the board floor with his Knight), refusing to comply by the Malfoy’s silent wish for him to look at him. If the stupid git wanted a reaction, he would have to bloody well make the first move. So there.

And he actually did.

“Could this place get any more gaudy?” the pale blond asked haughtily, his sharp eyes scanning about a Gryffindor flag as he pulled a face in distaste. “Trust you Gryffindors to show off…”

Harry snorted again, turning to look at the Slytherin and temporarily forgetting that it was his move as he slammed his piece down anywhere. Ron noted dryly that the blond’s presence had one plus point; Harry had just put himself in check. But Harry hadn’t seemed to have noticed.

“And trust a Slytherin to complain as soon as he gets here.” Malfoy rounded on Harry, his eyes narrowed slits when he’d perceived who had spoken. He snarled.

“Well, trust a Gryffindor to be arrogant enough to try and teach manners…”

“Yeah, and trust a Slytherin to think it’s arrogant when they’re the most conceited of all the houses!” Malfoy didn’t seem to like that. His face had turned more red than pink as he hissed menacingly.

“And trust a fucking Gryffindor to be such a complete and total cu-”

“Could you both just quit it with the trust talk?!” Ron suddenly cried out, throwing his arms up in the air in defeat as he lost his battle to be silent. Neville jumped and yelped somewhat with the sudden outburst.

Before the redhead could look away, the Malfoy snapped into his gaze. He smiled a soft, perverse little smile as his eyes unashamedly took in every inch of the redhead’s body. In front of Harry and Neville and everything! Ron was glad he was sitting down, suddenly feeling all jelly legged. He could feel his face growing hot and lobster red under the scrutiny and wondered uncomfortably if this is what girls felt like…

“Weasley,” Malfoy hissed with a sensuous, taunting smile, his eyes running extensively down the redhead. Teasing little arse. Ron tried not to lick his dry lips as he harassed himself to look at the boy staunchly. Whatever twisted little game the stupid git was playing, he could match him. Easy.

After what felt like an hour, Malfoy finally raised his eyes until their gazes locked solidly again. “And here I was thinking that you’d lost the ability to speak.”

“Only to you, Malfoy.” He would have whooped for being able to actually speak, let alone without shaking. There was silence for a while. Harry was still glowering at the blond for calling him a ‘complete and total cu-’ and Neville was darting his eyes back and forth, watching the interaction while biting his bottom lip. Malfoy soon tilted his head, his hair falling over his eyes as the smile grew cruel. The tips of Ron’s fingers itched.

“Why?” the pale boy asked with mock naivety. “Throat clogged up? Swallowed too much Malfoy juice into your bloodstream to form a coherent sentence…?

“There was no swallowing of juices!” Ron cried out, his face tomato red in mortification at the implications as he turned to Harry and Neville imploringly. “He’s lying! We didn’t ever… um, well, you know…” Neville’s mouth dropped open, then he blushed and averted his eyes to stroke Trevor while Harry did the opening and shutting of his mouth thing again.

The youngest Weasley boy wanted to disappear. He wanted to evaporate into nothing right now. But not before ripping that pleased smirk off Malfoy’s features. Why did the little rodent get such pleasure out of making Ron feel clumsy and stupid? And why in the name of Dobby’s tea cosy did he still want this conceited, cruel-hearted little shit?

Malfoy’s face actually broke into a grin at his red expression as he sidled passed the three speechless boys and then dropped down into the couch Neville had been in. He raised his legs up onto the armrest, crossed them at the ankle and rested one arm on the back of the couch, lounging comfortably as though he were at home.*

The three Gryffindors stared at each other, then at the intruder in absolute awe and, in Neville’s case, fear.

Malfoy was now studying the walls, his eyes focused in concentration. A slow smile spread on his lips as he looked at the name under the Gryffindor notice board.

“In charge of the notice board, Longbottom?” He smirked a little too attractively for Ron’s liking as he turned to Neville, who had blushed crimson in self-consciousness. “Nice to see they set you something taxing. Then again, with your track record…”

“Shut the hell up, Malfoy,” Ron warned dangerously, his fists quaking under the table and shooting the boy with a look that told him that it didn’t matter how much he wanted to snog him or shag him from every angle, Ron would still wipe the floor with him.

“Yeah, good on you, Neville,” Harry said, smiling reassuringly at his hurt looking friend then darting a look of severe dislike at Draco. The Slytherin looked even more entertained and he lounged deeper into the chair.

“Oh yes, good on you, Longbottom.” He sneered nastily with a cold smile. Ron’s face was scowling in deepest loathing as he willed his rage away. He squeezed his eyes shut. He could do this, he could be calm… “At this rate, you could be appointed in the kitchens as a House Elf. Or how about helping out Filch? He’s a squib too, you know. You’d get along famously. In fact, take Granger with you while you’re at it. We don’t need anymore of you dirtying up the school…”

His eyes snapped open as fast as lightning.

That was it… that was the last sodding straw!

First he’d bloody waltzed in like he owned the place, Ron’s place, then he insulted poor Neville, and then the little shit picked on Hermione as well! And to top it all off, the stupid git had the cheek to look all sexy and alluring while he did it!

The redhead wasn’t just going to hurt him, he was going to rip him apart, limb from limb, with his bare hands!

Both Harry and Ron leapt from their seats but Ron was the quicker, pouncing on top of the relaxed Slytherin savagely, using his flailing arms to pound into him furiously. However, his fists had only connected three times before he heard an almost amused drawl underneath him.

“Imobialatus…”

Immediately, the fist he had been aiming at the boy’s face froze in mid-air. In fact, Ron’s whole body had frozen rigid.

What the…?

His eyes widened in panic as he attempted to move the leg digging into the Malfoy’s hip. It refused to budge. The leg, like the rest of him, was tingling numbly like he had pins and needles.

He looked down at Malfoy, who was smirking up at him and looking generally very pleased with himself, waving his wand right under Ron’s nose.

Dirty Slytherin trick!

“What the hell did you do to him, Malfoy?!” Harry stormed forward and whipped out his own wand, a look of anger and hysterical worry on his face. “Take… take it off!” Neville was also fumbling for his wand, initially dropping it to the floor before clumsily picking it up again and finally holding it out with a shaking hand and a pale, anxious-looking face.

Ron was absolutely fuming.

“You bastard, Malfoy!” He did a double take straight after he said this. Hey, would you look at that. His mouth still worked.

“Weasley, don’t force me to Petrificus Totalus your arse,” the blond purred wickedly, looking thoroughly proud of his actions. He lifted a pale finger to trace the outline of Ron’s upper lip with a teasing smile. The redhead bullied himself with all his willpower not to flick his tongue out and lick at it. “Wouldn’t want to miss any dirty talk from your pretty little lips. Now, tell them that you’re fine and to take their wands off me…”

“Malfoy…” Ron growled, his rigid back muscles beginning to hurt with the strain of staying still. It even hurt to move his facial muscles. How the hell had the pint-sized son of a bitch managed to get the upper hand against the three of them? Noting his pause, Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and he suddenly lunged up and grabbed a fistful of Ron’s hair, causing the boy to hiss slightly as their foreheads knocked together. The redhead cursed himself for enjoying this treatment so much. Bloody loony he was becoming…

“Say it, Weasley…!” Malfoy warned with a soft malevolence, his eyes piercing from this close up. His cold scent strangely intoxicating as his hand pressed bruisingly against the redhead’s thigh. Ron tried to nod, his eyes and forehead still glued to Malfoy’s, the blond’s warm breath upon his face. Ron grinded his teeth, managing to repress a shaky gulp as he breathed heavily through his nose. He talked almost robotically.

“Guys, I’m fine. Just spiffing. Corking. Really. You can lower ‘em.”

The Slytherin let out a breathy, shuddering exhale before he leant back down to lie on the sofa again, the pressure on the thigh lessening as his fingers traced idly in comforting spherical patterns. The Malfoy, however, soon tore his almost soothing gaze away and turned his head to Harry, lifting his hand to point his wand right between Ron’s eyes. How he managed to have placed the wand so precisely without even looking at him was a complete mystery to the redhead. He was bloody impressed, although he was still thinking up painful ways to make the Slytherin pay for this. Meanwhile, Harry’s grip on his wand tightened and he looked determined. Malfoy just smiled nastily again.

“Do it, Potter, and you’ll regret it. You know how many Dark Arts spells I know. And Longbottom, do you even know how to use that thing?” Ron could practically hear Neville’s teeth chattering.  He knew he should have been worried about his face, especially because this was Draco Malfoy of all people… but the death threat seemed… well, kinda hollow. Or maybe he reckoned that because he knew the short git so well…

He guessed that they’d lowered their wands because the Slytherin’s face lit up in a beatifically evil grin. He looked back at Ron again as he licked his lips, his suddenly dark eyes shining.

“Now tell them to leave the room.”

“Ron, we’re not leaving you alone with him!” Harry suddenly burst out. Ron could just about make out his frantic best friend from the corner of his eye. Damn, he really wished he could turn his head… “He’s a masochist! He’s only been here two seconds and he’s already put you in a binding curse!”

Malfoy was shooting a very warning look up at Ron that clearly told him to get rid of them. The look also hinted what the Slytherin wanted to do to him once they were gone… And Ron realised that he actually wanted to comply. He would have damned the boy for the power he had over him but he was too far-gone to. He let out an extremely strained smile.

“Harry mate, seriously… I’m fine. I’d turn to you and prove it and all but the bastard won’t let me move.”

“Such a sweet talker you are, Weasley,” the Slytherin said with a twinkle in his eyes, lifting his hand up and pushing Ron’s scarlet fringe out of his blue eyes. The Gryffindor held his breath, cursing the curse for not allowing him to arch to the touch and also cursing himself yet again for wanting to. The Malfoy continued to move his hand softly against the redhead’s skin until he could trail his thumb down the boy’s cheek. Ron found the angry retort on his tongue disappearing to God knows where. Not for the first time since he’d had the curse placed on him had Ron wanted to stay exactly where he was.

Stupid Malfoy. Stupid ferrety, slimily irresistible Malfoy.

The Gryffindor slowly rolled his eyes shut just as the Slytherin leant up to capture his lips in a searing kiss, wrapping his arms around his neck and losing his pale hands in his ruffled red hair. Ron, finding himself trying to return the favour to the best of his frozen ability, vaguely caught the sounds of hurried footsteps and the door to his dormitory slam. They seemed to have scared Harry and Neville off, who had made an early and fast escape up the stairs and probably wouldn’t come down for while. For some crazy reason, Ron wanted to burst out laughing as he imagined the looks on his friends’ faces but was strangely contented enough as he was, feeling Malfoy sigh deeply into his mouth before the blond pulled away for a second.

“Finite Incantum…” he croaked against the redhead’s lips. Ron felt himself regain control of his now aching body as it fell and slumped on top of the Slytherin’s, squashing him further into the couch. Malfoy didn’t seem to mind though as he fiercely ravished his mouth again, pulling him even closer against him. As soon as the Gryffindor began to feel blood rushing through his muscles again he weakly wrapped one shaky arm around the boy’s waist, his other hand stroking softly at his face.

“Gods, I hate you…” Ron mumbled between dropping kisses at every available spot on the Slytherin’s face, causing the pallid skin to colour. “Why do you have to be such a git all the time?” Again, he knew should have been angry at the creep. Whacking the back of his head for cursing him and being mean to his friends and being a complete arsehole all the bloody time. But that made Malfoy… well, Malfoy, didn’t it? Made him the same Malfoy he was beginning to fall for…

Shit.

And he reckoned that Hermione had rotten taste in men.

“Just shut up and kiss me, you long-limbed freak,” the Slytherin smirked weakly back, hands sliding from Ron’s head to cup his face. He stroked his thumbs against the redhead’s speckled cheekbones as the Gryffindor obeyed by leaning down, but not before mumbling,

“Stupid ruddy ferret…”

Before the Slytherin could complain, the redhead pressed his lips fiercely to the other boy’s and drowned out his usual words of censure. It was weird. Malfoy wasn’t all bad when you were making out with him. Shit, all bad was an understatement. He was bloody brilliant. But that was mainly due to the fact that he couldn’t talk with his tongue under such strenuous work. And what a talented tongue he had…

“We should go upstairs,” Ron managed to say breathlessly when they finally pulled apart. Resting his forehead on Malfoy’s shoulder, he closed his eyes and tried to get his breath back. He could tell the stupid git was smiling in that egocentric way he did. He lifted his face and placed his chin on the boy’s shoulder so he could see him properly. That aggravating smirk was tugging at his kiss-swollen lips again. Why was it that Ron was beginning to adore the look that used to irritate him so much?

“Go upstairs? And here I was thinking you were a prude, Weasley…”

“Actually, I meant ‘Go and sort your stuff out’,” Ron smiled sheepishly with a slight blush. “The house-elves brought them up this morning.”

“I think I’d rather stay down here and sort you out,” the Slytherin whispered seductively, slipping a hand underneath the redhead’s robe and running his cold fingers lightly down his warm spine. Ron shivered.

“Not here, Malfoy,” he said with a nervous shake of his head to punctuate his sentence, putting his palms flat down on either side of the boy to lever himself up and off the blond. However, he felt Malfoy’s once soft fingertips press down hard against his back to try and stop him moving. He didn’t look happy.

“You better not be serious, Weasley,” he warned, looking annoyed but mostly incredulous that Ron could even think about leaving at a time like this. His fingers were digging into the redhead like mini hooks as his eyebrows arched threateningly. Was it even natural for a boy to have such sharp nails? Ron squirmed. “Right now, I’m planning on screwing you into this sofa.” Ron tried to shrug the blond off him, although it did take quite a struggle for him to be rid of the Slytherin leech, causing him to hit his red head against the mahogany of the couch.

“God dammit! Owwwwwwwww! Malfoy! Geroff…!” He pulled himself out of the boy’s grasp, nearly stumbling as he jumped to his feet. He glared furiously at Draco as he moved his arm around awkwardly to rub at his scratched back. “What are you, a complete raving psycho?! Completely lost it, you have...! Don’t you get it? Harry and Neville are just up the stairs…!” Draco rose to a sitting position the sofa, his usually neat hair utterly mussed up and his face pink from the struggle. He looked like a spoilt child who was just denied candy.

“Exactly! They won’t fucking see anything, you idiot Gryffindor!” he spat back. Well, he certainly didn’t talk like a child…

“Yeah but they’ll hear it, won’t they? And well… you know, I heard that it… well, that it hurts,” Ron finished lamely, feeling his flush travel through to the tips of his hair as he quickly avoiding the Slytherin’s gaze. Jeez, why did talking about sex always make him turn a stupid beetroot colour? He was 15, nearly 16, for Christ’s sakes and he still laughed over his neighbour being called Mr Cox.

Malfoy eyed him curiously, seeming to find his uneasiness amusing. Stupid undergrown prat.

“Oh come on, Weasley,” he drawled, still managing to sufficiently unnerve a person from his seated position. “Do you really think I’d hurt you?”

Ron snorted. What kind of dumb question was that?

“Hell, yes!” the redhead said truthfully. “Hate to break this to you, Malfoy, but this is all pretty new to me, you know. I mean, I want you. Shit, I really want you but just… just don’t push me, ok.”  The Slytherin just looked up at him silently with a blank look on his face. With a sigh, Ron offered his hand to help the boy up. He thought that maybe the blond now understood. That, although he may have been an instinctive person who went with whatever emotion was most dominant, the Gryffindor was still lacking in experience. However, Malfoy proved just how supportive he would be as he slapped the presented hand away. He slid to his feet on his own and glared up at the redhead.

“If I wanted to go out with a frigid little girl, I’d have gone after your sister, Weasel.”

“Talk about my sister like that again and you’ll be in acute pain, Malfoy,” Ron immediately snapped back. There was just something about Ginny that made him want to fiercely protect her from everything, including guys like Malfoy. Damn, especially from guys like Malfoy. Instead of cowering under his wrath, however, the Slytherin only leered suggestively.

“I’d rather put you in acute pain…” Was this boy just permanently horny or what? It was like a disease or something. The redhead rolled his eyes.

“Quit doing that, Malfoy. And are you coming or what?!”

“Well you’re the one who refuses to let me… oh, you mean that form of coming.” He smirked sardonically at his own joke. Ron didn’t look impressed.

Bugger him, why was he always so bloody irritating? And why wouldn’t he ever make the effort for him? It wouldn’t kill him to go upstairs and try and be nice to his friends… Hell, it wouldn’t kill him to be nice to Ron himself! So why did he insist on being so crapping… Malfoyish?! Ron crossed his arms angrily and pouted at him. Seeing his expression, Malfoy stepped closer to him and suddenly looked very serious.

“Don’t pull the cute look on me, Weasel. I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t bloody work. I’m not about to be all fucking chummy with your friends. You want us all to get along? Well too shitting bad. If you want me to stay here with that little fruit Longbottom and that nut you call your best friend and not hurt them in the process, you’ve got another fucking thing coming…!”

Fruits? Nuts? What the heck was he on about? And why was his voice growing louder by the second?

“Malfoy, what are you…?” But the blond seemed to finally lose it, actually throwing his usually calm Malfoy arms up in the air in pure frustration at the redhead’s lack of understanding.

“You can’t have your bloody cake and eat me, you stupid, stupid… Weasley!**”

Ron was far from in the mood for this. Not only was Malfoy being his irrational self and giving him an ultimatum but he was also making the Gryffindor really hungry. The redhead grabbed his own head in exasperation.

“Gah! D’you know how annoying you are? Wait… you know what? I haven’t got time for this. Come if you want. Either way, I don’t care.” As Ron spun around on his heal to march up towards the dormitories, he felt a sharp tug at his sleeve. Turning around, he saw Draco glaring heatedly at him. Why couldn’t he ever leave things alone? Why wouldn’t he just let Ron storm up the stairs and break everything in his dorm room in an attempt to cool off?

“You know what, Boy Weasel?” he snarled, always needing to have the last say in everything. “I don’t need you. I’ll just go off and I’ll get so desperate that I’ll date a girl and we’ll have loads of Death Eater babies together and feed them to the Dark Lord with spoon! Would that make you fucking happy?”

Ron pulled forcefully out of his grip with a scowl.

Talk about being a melodramatic, overemotional little… Whoa! Wait a minute! Did he just say what Ron thought he’d said? The redhead gaped before a dazed and slightly superior smirk crossed his lips.

“Blimey,” he said breathlessly through a shocked smile. “Did I just hear Mr ‘I’m not gay’ admit that dating a girl was his last resort?” Draco opened his mouth to say something malicious back before soon looking remarkably ill. It was almost as though he was thinking about what he had just said. He looked back at Ron again, his face drained of the little colour produced during their sparring. Damn, the little shit looked like he was actually trembling on the spot…

Ron took a wary step back.

“Err… Malfoy…? Are you alri-?”

Without another word, the shaking Slytherin slammed passed Ron’s left shoulder so hard that the redhead lost his balance and fell back on the sofa. Without even checking he was all right, Draco made his way up the stairs and Ron heard the door slam closed. Soon afterwards he heard Harry yelling at him. The redhead squeezed his eyes shut. This was seriously getting old. And bloody tiring as well.

He may have called Ron a frigid little girl but Draco Malfoy was definitely the gayest guy in the biggest form of denial on the planet. And he suffered from PMS worse than Ginny and Hermione combined. And was it too much to ask for them to spend at least one day not arguing with each other? Sighing in exasperation, Ron trundled up after him, trying to think of a way to fix yet another fight between them …

This was going to be a long day.

Draco - I’m Not in Denial

He wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to where he was going to go as he left Weasley lying on the couch. And he honestly couldn’t give a shit. All Draco Malfoy really knew, as he ascended angrily up the unfamiliar stairs, was that he was fighting a losing battle. But that didn’t mean he would suddenly break down and admit it. No bloody way. They couldn’t make him say it, those stupid arse-ramming fags. They could assume all they fucking wanted to about him but he wasn’t like that. He would never be like them. They pranced around like camp cross-dressing idiots, not giving a shit about how disgusting they were or how they wrecked the normal person’s day with their nauseating existence. Freaks of nature, that’s what they were. And there was no mother-fucking way a Malfoy could ever be like that. How dare Weasley even think about suggesting it? Having the nerve to judge him as impure! Abnormal? Shitting tainted? His blood was bluer than the sky, for Christ’s sake! It was Weasel who was the pervert. Not just a poorer than dirt Gryffindor but a queer as well!

Oh, fuck Weasley, just fuck him! And bugger his own stupid mouth for betraying him like that. Repeatedly declaring your innocence was pretty bloody tiresome when you kept on incriminating yourself over and over again. And why is it that his mind knew he was straight while every other part of his anatomy refused to believe it?

Stupid Weasley. Stupid celibate and literally tight-arsed bastard.

He honestly didn’t know why he tried. He’d be eighty before he finally got into the boy’s pants… and Draco Malfoy was currently relatively young. Was it so wrong that he wanted to get some Weasley action? At his age, he ought to get as much arse as humanly possible, double that statistic, really, considering he was gorgeous to boot. And besides, he had hormones. Malfoys had more than the average person, too. And why should he have to fucking justify how horny he was anyway? He was a teenage wizard for crying out loud! That was a reason in itself!

Still in an extremely foul mood, the Slytherin continued to stomp up the stairs. When he finally reached the Gryffindor Boys’ Dorm, he kicked the door in his irritation, hoping the red mahogany would crumble under his foot. However, the door only bounced open. And now his big toe hurt like fucking hell. Stupid Gryffindor doors. Everything in this stupid place was against him.

Potter and Longbottom were sitting on Weasley’s bed and seemed to be having an in-depth discussion about something before the blond stormed in, causing both boys to jump in surprise and turn to him. Aww, little Gryffindors scared by the big bad door? Stupid wimps. Jesus, he couldn’t believe he would have to live with these little prats until Christmas. Why the fuck did he leave the Manor? Getting the mark would have been bliss compared to the torture of having to sleep in the same room as these idiots. And at least he’d have been rich if he’d become a Death Eater… He would never forgive Dumbledore for this. Never.

Potter snapped his head up at him angrily, his entire face screwing up in dislike as he jumped to his feet in confrontation. Longbottom just looked terrified being in the Malfoy’s company as the green-eyed wizard stepped forward in an impression of hostility. What a fucking geek. Was Draco actually supposed to frightened of the twat?

“God dammit, Malfoy! Don’t you know how to knock? Didn’t your evil bastard of a father teach you manners? We could have been naked for all you knew.” Draco snorted at him, not exactly enjoying the graphic mental image Potter had just painted for him.

“Yeah, well thank fuck for my eyes and sanity that you’re not,” he sneered nastily. “Now, get the heck out of my way, Potter.” Draco slammed passed the bespectacled wizard to the bed in the corner then collapsed onto it, raising his shoe-clad feet on top of the bedspread. The Boy Who Lived just gaped at the audacity of it all.

“Malfoy, get… get the heck off my bed!” Draco turned to look at him, rage beginning to gurgle beneath his cold surface. Gods he hated the boy. He really, really hated him. If it wasn’t for Weasley never speaking to him again or Dumbledore refusing to protect him, he would beat the living crap out of stuck-up little shit.

“Potter,” he drawled in a voice much calmer than he was. “I think I can find more use in having my bed beside Weasley’s than you.” The great Harry Potter had the grace to blush.

“You’re… you’re not having my bed, Malfoy.” He managed to sound defiant although he was a lot redder in the face than could be considered healthy and Draco silently pleaded that the nest-haired prick would literally die of the embarrassment. But was Potter actually threatening him? Him? Draco Malfoy? The boy who took whatever the heck he wanted? And he usually got it, too. And he wanted this bed. He also wanted to piss the boy off and to make a scene. Draco’s eyes sparked dangerously.

When he would look back on this, the Malfoy would conclude that it was his own fault really. If he hadn’t been so wound up by the stupid git, he would have noticed the way the black-haired boy’s hand was slowly inching into his robes...

However, he just snarled at him instead.

“And what are you going to do about it, Fly boy? Run off and cry to Dumbledore? Tell him that you’re getting bullied by that nasty ole Slytherin? You’re pathetic, Potter. Fight your own battles. And get used to it. I’m here to stay and you’d better either deal with the changes or stick that ugly head of yours up your own-”

“Mutus! Bindus!”

It happened even before he could register the words or heed the cords shoot like whips out of Potter’s wand. All the pale boy really knew was that he was suddenly bound tightly to the bed he had been fighting over and that his screams and shouts and curses for Potter to ‘die die die’ refused to sound out of his mouth no matter how much he moved his lips. He looked up at his opponent in pure disbelief.

No. Fucking. Way.

Oh no, he hadn’t. He better not have… Potter better not have even dreamt of it… He better not have even imagined hexing him because if he had…

Snitch Boy marched over, leaning over the laying form of the still Slytherin and looking down at him with a more than self-righteous look on his face. He cocked an eyebrow passed his round frames as a grin began to shape on his mouth. The blond was in such shock that all he could do was gaze up at him with huge eyes. Did someone really just hex him? Was Draco Malfoy really in a vulnerable position?

Potter smirked.

And it was at that very moment that the door slammed open again and an agitated Ron Weasley decided to barge into the room, throwing his long arms in the air in frustration.

“Dammit, Malfoy! If you’re gonna keep being all petty and sulky and stuff and pick on my friends then you can just…” The redhead, however, stopped as soon as he looked at the scene. He blinked repeatedly, staring dumbly at Harry’s uncharacteristic expression, Harry’s bed, and lastly at the person strapped to it, with a confused expression. He swallowed slowly. “Err, Harry. Why’s Malfoy all bound and tied to your bed?”

The-Boy-Who-Would-Soon-Die-a-Slow-and-Agonising-Death-at-the-Hands-of-a-Malfoy turned casually to his friend, as though this sort of behaviour, and having Draco in his bed, was perfectly normal and acceptable. The Slytherin wanted to yell out that Potter would be fucking lucky to have him in his bed and that being cursed was the only way the Slytherin would be in it, too, but no words escaped him. His voice box felt hollow and empty and dead... had he really once had the ability to speak?

And then he suddenly felt ready to kill. Potter had actually hexed him! Fucking hexed him!! He was going to murder the little shit!

The dark-haired wizard smiled cheerfully at the redhead, not noticing the death glare, the aggressive struggles or the mute, though violent, threats of mutilation he was receiving from his belligerent captive.

“Because we’re teaching him the rules,” Potter said calmly as the bed began to creak non-stop with the blond’s spasms.

Rules, his fucking arse!!! Draco struggled even more, the binds cutting into him with his every thrashing movement but he didn’t give a toss. That Scar headed bastard was never going to get the best of him! And once the Slytherin was out of these constraints, the wanker wouldn’t be alive to!

The redhead looked at the shocked Neville for clarification, but Neville looked even more confused as he shrugged, still darting warily nervous looks at the Slytherin’s uncanny and convulsing ‘Exorcist’ impression on the bed. Weasley then turned to his best friend as though he’d lost, not just misplaced, his mind.

“Um… the what?”

What the fuck was Weasley waiting for!? Why wasn’t the scrotum sucker*** helping him?!

“The rules, Ron,” Potter said patiently, as though he was talking to a small and particularly dense child. “The Gryffindor boys’ rules.”

Weasley’s brow furrowed, opening his mouth hesitantly as he threw Draco an unnerved glance.

“But Harry, we don’t have any ‘cept ‘don’t pee in the shower’. And Seamus, the little git, never listens to that one anyway…”

The Slytherin mentally groaned amid his thrashing about. He was living with fucking Neanderthals! What else? Did they share only one pair of underpants between them and bathe in swamp water as well? What the heck was Dumbledore thinking when he put him in here with these feckless heathens?! He refused to live under such bloody conditions!

“I actually meant the ‘One shalt not maim or torture thy neighbour’ and the ‘keep your wand in your pocket’ rules, Ron,” the dark haired wizard explained in exasperation, a smile of slight fondness directed at his friend. Draco’s angry growl was restrained by the spell as he struggled even more.

My wand’s my own fucking business and I’ll shoot and maim whoever I bloody like with it!

Potter seemed to somehow heed the Malfoy’s furious reaction to his last sentence and almost swaggered forward, crossing his arms and tapping the tip of his wand on his own left shoulder. He shrugged with feigned pleasantness at the laying boy although he had warning in his green eyes.

“Sorry, Malfoy. Rules are rules. This is a curse free, civilised zone. We don’t hex each other or try and commit murder here. Try any of that threatening crap again and I’ll give you to Voldemort myself.” He stopped to pause as Weasley winced noticeably with the mention of You-Know-Who. “Any questions?”

Draco was going to kill him. He really was.

When the heck did boring as fuck Potter get so bloody cocky?! And how the fuck was he expected to ask anything with this stupid bastard curse on him?! Damn and curse and screw the dick for doing this to him! No one was allowed to do this to him! He was never going to get away with this!

The Slytherin flipped.

You bastard! I’m going to rip your eyes out, Potter! Do you hear me?! You’ll be more fucking blind than you already are, you skinny little shit! You’ll be begging for death to save you when I’m through! You deaf fuck! I’m going to skin you fucking alive and pull each of your teeth out with pliers and make a fucking necklace out of them! Are you fucking listening…?!

Potter raised an eyebrow as he looked at his two companions. The redhead still looked wary though faintly amused at both the situation and his best friend’s suddenly unexpected character while Longbottom stepped quite courageously and shakily forward to observe the dangerously unhinged boy on the bed.

“What d’you think he’s trying to say?” the dark haired boy asked with a satisfied smile. Neville Longbottom tilted his head to one side and genuinely looked closely. The chubby boy frowned slightly.

“Looks like he’s saying the F word a awful lot, Harry.”

“Harry, I reckon we ought to let him go now,” Weasley said, smothering a smile. Stupid little shit. This wasn’t funny! Why did he always laugh at the least funny things? Did he have any fucking sense of humour?! Well, he was never getting any nookie from the Malfoy ever again!

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” the bespectacled wizard said, sighing almost forlornly before lifting his wand and pointing it directly at the blond’s head. “Finite Incantum.”

The binds finally snapped from the Slytherin’s body like painful elastic bands, striking his flesh as he was released. His throat felt dry and sore and Draco immediately clutched at his neck with his newfound freedom, gasping mouthfuls of air. He swallowed a ragged intake of breath and grimaced with the pain he felt, the inside walls of his throat feeling shredded and tasting almost like salty blood. He didn’t notice the three boys suddenly looking worriedly at his reaction as he began to cough uncontrollably, his eyes beginning to sting with water. He felt a warm hand on his knee and someone sliding beside him, and managed to look up at the blurred but clearly pale and very anxious face of Ron Weasley.

“Malfoy?” he asked, his voice sounding shaky and oddly high pitched. He raised his hand to cup the side of the blond’s face, wiping clumsily at an escaping tear with his thumb and looking at him with wide-eyed incredulousness and jumpy concern.

The Slytherin heard a shuffling of feet to his left (mid-choking) and heard the door slam open. It seemed just a second later that Potter came wheezing back into the room and sloshing about a now half empty and dripping glass of water, giving it hurriedly to Weasley. The redhead just bit his lip nervously as he continued to cup the pale boy’s now red cheek.

“Uh, drink this…” he said, trying to sound vaguely comforting. He pressed the rim of the glass between the Slytherin’s gasping lips and Draco gulped the liquid down gratefully like it was the nectar of the Gods. The Weasel shakily stroked the side of his face reassuringly as he drank, darting the odd panicked look at his best friend. Potter looked like he was going to pass out while Longbottom nearly did.

It took a while for the blond to finally calm his breathing and spluttering but when he eventually did, he snapped his eyes up, glaring at The-Boy-Who’d-Nearly-Killed-Him. Harry Potter had a shocked look on his face as he collapsed with a thump on Ron’s bed, mouth slightly open.

“Are… are you ok, Malfoy?” he managed to gasp out.

The Slytherin slowly narrowed his eyes, looking at the Gryffindor Seeker menacingly as he breathed heavily. His hands shaking fists of fury. His mind running curiously.

Potter had attacked him. Potter could have caused lasting damage. Potter had nearly fucking killed him. Potter had taken his role as the bloody oppressor. He, Draco Malfoy, could have been dead. Potter had hurt him, making him choke like a wimp and embarrassed him in front of Weasley. Draco snarled. The little arse was as good as dead.

He pulled back his fist and, with all his might, attempted to punch the boy square in the face when a strong hand closed over his clenched fist and held it in a very tight grip. Weasley. Draco eyed him defiantly, trying his hardest not to whimper from the other boy’s remarkable strength as he tightened his fingers over the Slytherin’s knuckles. Malfoys didn’t fucking whimper.

“Don’t even, Malfoy,” the redhead warned, his eyes, however, softening somewhat. “You’re alright and Harry’s sorry. Just forget about it.”

Forget about it?! Forget about fucking it?!

He opened his mouth to say something, preferably with a swear word in it, when a bell suddenly rang clearly from down the stairs and in the common room. What the heck? The boys all looked curiously at each other. Then all three Gryffindors ran, hurrying their way downstairs with Longbottom trailing behind the faster two boys, huffing his way down. Was it an alarm for something lame like, oh, a fire? Draco pursed his lips, snorted and strolled almost lazily behind them. There was no bloody way he was going to sweat up his favourite robes. Not for a fire. Not for anything. So, when he finally descended down the stairs, Draco Malfoy was relatively composed and slowly losing his homicidal lust for Potter’s blood. However the boy, being born of noble stature and owing a constitution that only the rich could boast, was very easily disgusted and again made an appalled face as he eyed the three boys hunched over a full table of every type of food, stuffing their faces. He should have guessed that he would have to eat here and that that bell signified ‘dinner time’. Although most people usually went home for the holidays, the Slytherin had reasoned that Dumbledore hardly wanted him parading about the castle. His expulsion and cause for it had travelled around the entire school and practically everyone knew who he was. So, now he’d have to lock himself away and live like a fucking hermit. And were those Gryffindors eating all his food? He stepped forward, for once eying Weasley distastefully. The boy may have been completely gorgeous but did he have to eat like a bloody animal? You couldn’t take him anywhere.

“God damn it, Weasley, I know your parents can’t afford food but you don’t have to eat everybody else’s share as well.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” the Weasel said without any malice and with a mouth full of roast potato. Draco frowned. It was getting bloody perturbing when he couldn’t even piss the redhead off anymore. Had they really become (Draco cringed)… comfortable? The Slytherin was not pleased. Meanwhile, the freckled Gryffindor gulped loudly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and Draco’s fingers itched to give him a tissue. And also a good hard grope. “And why don’t you just try being nice, eh?” Weasley continued, shooting the blond a look from over his shoulder. “Even your insults are getting kinda predictable now, Malfoy, I’ve gotto say.”

Did he just fucking say predictable?

“Nice?!” the pale boy practically barked out. He even hated the sound of the word! Did he look like the type of person who had even the slightest inclination for niceties?! “You expect me to be civilised with illiterate, stupid and arrogant Gryffindors?!” Weasley insolently belched in reply through a smirk as Potter threw the bone of a devoured chicken leg aside carelessly. Draco fought the snobbish urge inside of him to take them both by the ear and teach Ron a thing or two while throwing Potter out the nearest window. Gods, he fucking hated all this light heartedness and bad breeding. What the heck made them so bloody chirpy all the time?

“Civilised?” the scarred wizard suddenly asked, raising an eyebrow at the Slytherin and smiling. Apparently back to his cocky new self. Stupid little shit. Draco detested the boy more now than he ever believed achievable and slowly felt his dangerous anger returning. He stared at him evilly, clever and particularly gruesome murder schemes running through his head. And considering the sardonic look Potter was delivering back at him, the feeling was entirely mutual. The dark-haired boy smirked. “I can do civilised, you know… For example; ‘Hey, Malfoy… How did you know you were gay?’ ”

That smug little bastard. The blond screwed up his face, growling at the Gryffindor seeker. He despised him. And it was more than obvious that he was straighter than something blatantly straight. Was everyone blind or something? And why were they all so fucking slow on the uptake?

“I’m not gay, Potter,” he snarled, almost growling furiously and wanting desperately to squeeze that scraggy neck of his. The Boy Who Lived, who started out being sarcastic, now just looked confused as he blinked.

“But you and Ron are…”

“Don’t bother, Harry,” the redhead said good-naturedly as he chewed ravenously on his bacon rashers and smiled broadly. “He’s in denial.”

“I’m not in denial, Weasley,” Draco spat, still staring venomously at Lightning Head. “I’m just a straight man who wants to bugger the occasional man.”

“Right, now I feel special,” Weasley said with a smile and a roll of his eyes at his best friend. Potter returned the look with a nod and an unconvinced smirk.

“Yeah, sure you aren’t, Malfoy… Wait, do you want to see a magic trick?”

What the heck was the messy-haired git on about? However, before Draco could tell him that he’d love for Potter to stick that wand of his down his throat and choke himself on it, the bespectacled wizard leant forward. He clawed his oily hands and then raised them to Draco’s face, like a magician at a muggle children’s party. Then he released his fingers dramatically like he was casting a spell at the blond.

“Poof,” he said simply.

Weasley automatically burst into childish sniggers, nearly choking on his food, and Potter leaned complacently back into a chair with a grin. Draco looked as confused as Longbottom until he slowly understood what the stupid bastard was implying. And when he finally did, he couldn’t quite mask his outrage. Potter was dead meat! And he’d fucking pay through a bloody nose for that one…!

The Slytherin made for his wand but it seemed as though the fates were against him and he looked up to find that all three wands were already poised in his direction as he groped at his pocket.

“Slow learner, aren’t you, Malfoy?” Potter tutted, shaking his head and holding his wand hand steady. Weasley was just frowning at the Slytherin in annoyance as he also pointed his wand, although he was still licking the food off his other hand quite ravenously. And Longbottom just stared self-consciously at the other two boys for his next instructions.

Draco couldn’t deal with this anymore. He really couldn’t.

He dropped his hands almost dejectedly by his sides and glared up at all three of the boys. It was as Potter stood there, still looking mighty pleased, that the blond uncovered something. Draco Malfoy just didn’t belong here. In Weasel’s little world. And as he gifted them all with the finger, told them eloquently to ‘Fuck themselves royally’ and then marched up to bed again, the pale boy realised that he never would.

***

“Malfoy…” a small voice implored, pulling the Slytherin out of his slumber. Draco snapped an eye open, the darkness of the Gryffindor dorm room almost eerie during the chilly night, even if the white snow outside illuminated the view. How long had he been asleep? The rumbling of his stomach reminded him how he had missed dinner and the rumpled and yawning Malfoy had a sudden urge to sneak downstairs to get some...

The voice hissed his name again and Draco definitely recognised it this time around. He snorted before he pulled the duvet over his head and flatly ignored the distraction.

“Piss off, Weasley,” he growled tiredly. But Weasley didn’t. Instead, the boy sat up in his own bed (which evidently happened to be opposite the Slytherin’s) and looked across at him sulkily. Draco tried not to look as he nuzzled his entire face into his pillow.

“Listen, I’m sorry, ok? But we had to!” Weasley said hastily, finding it difficult to keep his voice down. Draco looked up slightly. Crap, it was too cold for the redhead to sleep topless… “And don’t you ever notice how completely mental you get?! You would’ve killed us if we didn’t turn on you…!” Draco soon sat up in his own bed, staring over at the mussed redhead with his pale Malfoy arms crossed and his silver hair messy. Weasley was missing the shitting point! He bared his perfect teeth.

“Weasley, you let him fucking hex me!” he hissed back angrily. “You bloody encouraged him! Don’t think I’m going to forgive you for this just because you… what the hell are you doing?”

The redhead seemed to be getting out of bed and making his way towards him.

“Keep it down, alright?” the Gryffindor whispered urgently as he climbed onto the Malfoy’s bed on his hands and knees. Draco held his breath, not at all watching the way Weasley flexibly moved to the empty space beside him in that tight t-shirt of his... “With the way you’re yelling the place up, everyone’ll hear you, you great prat. I’m here now so you don’t need to yell. And shift up, will you. It’s bloody freezing.” Weasley wiggled down until he was underneath the warm covers and the blond could feel the redhead’s goosebumps against his arm.

“Your feet are cold,” the Slytherin remarked dryly, not really knowing what else to say as he felt the Gryffindor, for once, snuggle towards his warmth. Icy breath ghosted against Draco’s neck and the redhead shuddered with the cold as he wrapped his long arms around himself. The blond pursed his lips as he looked down at the form shivering against him and Weasley soon looked up after feeling the inspection. His lips were slightly white from the drop in temperature and his wide eyes had suddenly turned Arctic blue. Draco bit his lip, resisting the temptation to take him into his arms. Teasing and frisky little prick. The feigned innocent act wasn’t going to work, no matter how much Draco wanted him.

“You’re not getting around, or in me, that way, Weasel,” he cautioned. The redhead’s adorable face broke into a self-conscious, boyish grin, looking only a little sheepish by his own daring. His eyes were laughing as he began to regain the lost colour in his cheeks.

“Don’t know what you mean, Malfoy,” he joked through a flush, although he did have an incredibly hopeful look in his eyes. Even when he was trying to give him the silent treatment, the boy managed to work his magic on the Slytherin. And Draco, despite all his efforts, couldn’t help it. He smirked down at him.

“Want my hands all over you, do you, Weasley?” he whispered mischievously into the redhead’s ear before giving his lobe a little nip with his teeth. The Gryffindor shut his eyes, sighing heavily. Happy with the boy’s reaction, the Slytherin finally pulled Weasley against him, warming the redhead with every single part of his body. And Draco decided that there were simply only so many times that you could, with a sound mind, refuse the boy.

“Gods, Malfoy, you’re such a tease…” the Gryffindor breathed, eyes fluttering as the blond worked down his throat and slid his hands up and inside his t-shirt. The Slytherin paused to give him a thorough kiss on the mouth, and Draco was sure the Gryffindor could feel his smile against his lips.

“Enjoying yourself, Weasley?” he asked softly, his mouth curving with the sexiest smile he could manage. The blond was surprised that Weasley hasn’t fainted from it. So he continued his ministrations some more, his hands travelling wildly.

“Oh, fuck… Malfoy… please not in here…” the boy moaned throatily, his words contradicting his tone. “Harry… Neville… might catch… uhhhh…”

Draco smirked, licking at a bead of sweat on the boy’s forehead.

“Calm yourself, little Weasel. I’m not trying to get in your arse yet or anything.”

Weasley blinked and pulled away slightly, eying the Slytherin like he had no idea who he was. His hair was chaotic and a smile was slowly appearing on his face. What was the big deal? Draco didn’t get it. It’s not like he made a giant thing of forcing the ginger git or anything…

“Finally figured that I’m still under the age of consent, did you, Malfoy?” he asked, a smug look on his face. What was Weasley all smug about? Being proud of being frigid was such a Gryffindor type of thing to be…

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Weasley, I’m not waiting until March to bugger you.”

“Hey! Who says I’m not doing the buggering…!” the redhead cried out, looking offended. “And… wait a minute. You know when my birthday is?” The Slytherin lifted himself up onto his elbows.

“March the first. Your favourite colour is orange and you support the shittest team in the entire Quidditch league. Your favourite sweets were Fizzing Whizbees until you figured, like any old dolt, that they had foul things inside them. Now you like chocolate frogs and are still stupidly looking for the Agrippa card, which everybody knows doesn’t actually exist.” Weasley’s mouth was open, and the boy was looking at him again as though he’d never seen him before. The blond shifted. He didn’t like all this ‘getting to know each other’ crap. And he didn’t like the way the silly git was suddenly gawping at him.

Weasley finally grinned out of his surprise.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy! If it wasn’t you saying it, that would have been sort of romantic.” Just hearing that word made him jerk. He’d avoided saying it as much in his lifetime as everyone else avoided saying Voldemort. Draco automatically scowled.

“Don’t make me puke Weasley.” The redhead blinked again, noting his violent mood shift. The Gryffindor’s face took on a questioning expression before it became fiercer. Gods, he looked wonderful when he did that…

“Then what do you call what’s between us?” he demanded, sitting up completely and looking challengingly at his former enemy. Draco raised an eyebrow, looking at the Weasel stonily. He hated it when the stupid boy tried to ruin what they had by bringing in feelings. Why couldn’t they just leave it as it was? No commitment, nothing. The Slytherin shrugged nonchalantly.

“There’s nothing between us.”

Oh, Weasley didn’t seem to like that. He was starting to get all red and blotchy and yep, his mouth dropped open again. Could the boy ever keep that thing closed? And why did everything in the fucking world shock him so much?

“Oh, I’m just a casual screw am I?!” he yelled, and Draco winced, looking around. Wasn’t he the one wanting to keep quiet? How would this look to Potter and Longbottom? Weasley under the covers and screaming in his bed? “God, you are such a wanker, Malfoy!”

“I’d like to remind you that we haven’t done any of the actual ‘screwing’ yet, Weasel. And for someone who says he’s not a queen, you sure act like…!”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

What the…?! Both the Slytherin and his Gryffindor immediately spun around to face the sudden yell.

Draco Malfoy always was an expert at explaining away things he didn’t like and rejecting an idea that didn’t please him. He was the master tactician in the game of denial. However, nothing he could think of could reasonably explain how, at that very moment, he managed to fall backwards off the bed, besides clumsiness or fright. Now, when he looked back on the matter and recalled Potter’s screams that night, he chose to disregard how he got that bump on the back of his head. However, he did decide to remember quite clearly how quickly Weasley had rushed to the bastard’s side and the look of relief etched over the scar-headed boy’s face when he saw his best friend. But Draco chose to recall in greatest depth how the Boy Who Lived had thrown his arms around his Weasley and shivered against him. As though he was cold, and Weasley was the fire keeping him warm…

“Ron… I… Ron… Voldemort… killed… Oh, Ron. Hermione… you… dead. Everyone, dead…”

“Harry, calm down,” Weasley soothed, awkwardly patting his panting, stuttering friend with a pale look on his face. “It’s fine! You’re safe now…”

“No! You don’t get it!” Potter pulled away, leaving the redhead looking wounded. “You … everyone... just dead… and I can’t stop him! I’m not safe. I’ll never get away from him!”

“Harry, you’re getting hysterical. I’ll get Dumbledore…”

“No!” the green eyed boy grabbed his friend’s arm and pulled him back. “He can’t see me like this…! He can’t see me losing it...! I’ll be fine. I don’t need to bother him… Please, Ron…” Weasley slowly sat back down again, eyeing his friend like he was a madman ready to blow up any minute. Potter, who was still clutching his Weasley’s arm, shakily let him go. He looked at the redhead with a pained, lost expression, still shivering terribly. Weasley leaned forward and, although he still looked worried, held his best friend’s shoulder comfortingly. “Ron, I… I don’t even know what he’s planning,” Potter’s barely audible voice broke. “How will I be able to fight back?” Weasley tried to grin reassuringly, but Draco could see how panicked he was, being knowledgeable of the fact that the redhead’s voice went high when he was particularly nervous.

“Harry mate, why’re you nervous, huh? You’ve beaten the stupid git every time! You’re the Boy Who Lived! Got the cool scar and everything! You’ve done it four times already. Bet You-Know-Who shivers in his robes when you’re around!”

However, Potter was looking over the redhead’s shoulder with a dead-looking expression and Weasley looked even more uncomfortable and suddenly quite… determined? The redhead bit his lip before he opened his mouth again.

“Har, would you… I mean, do you mind if I gave you something?” Both Potter and Draco turned to the redhead fast in curiosity. The dark-haired wizard slowly nodded in slight wonder as the blond still lay sprawled on the ground, suddenly unable to move. Weasel wanted to give Potter… something? What the fuck was something?!

The redhead jumped to his feet and moved to his bedside table. Instead of opening it, the boy picked up the watch that was lying on it. Then he walked back and dropped onto the bed again, handing the band to his friend. For the first time in hours the boy smiled, albeit weakly.

“Ron, you already got me a Christmas present. And err… isn’t that the watch Hermione bought you for your birthday…? I mean, it’s a nice watch and all but…” Ron laughed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

“Harry, quit being a presumptuous prat and listen, ok?” Potter nodded, returning the smile feebly. “This watch is sort of like a tracking device. Just put it on your wrist and wherever you are, I’ll be there too, quick as a flash. All you've got to do is press this button here to alert my wand and stuff and tell me where you are. And you know, whatever happens, we’ll tackle it together.” He ended his speech with a little shrug, although he was peering at the shorter boy with subtle hope under his lashes.

“Ron,” the bespectacled wizard said in a soft voice when he could finally find his voice, accepting the watch. His eyes were full of gratitude as he looked up at the redhead. “It's... I mean... I don’t, I don't know what to say. It’s amazing… Where on earth did you learn a spell as complex as this?” Ron blushed self-consciously, pleased that the dark-haired boy liked it so much.

“Hermione gave me the idea last summer when we were staying ‘round hers for the holidays. Thought I might accidentally lose myself. Crazy, she is. Then afterwards I kinda got the idea to make one for you and… well, y’know… the rest is history.” The Boy Who Lived smiled a genuinely appreciative smile as he fastened the watch on and examined it on his wrist.

“This is the nicest Christmas present I’ve ever had, Ron. Thanks.” The redhead grinned back.

“Better than the Firebolt or the Invisibility cloak?” Potter yawned through a smile, crawling back under the covers.

“Don’t push your luck, Weasley.”

“Last time I do anything for you…” the taller boy teased. “Now go back to sleep.”

“Already there… ‘Night, Ron,” the Gryffindor seeker mumbled tiredly into his pillow.

“ ‘Night, Harry.”

Weasley was smiling as he turned back around, like one who had accomplished a great deed, but soon cocked his head to one side and wore a bemused look on noting where the blond was sitting.

“Um, Malfoy, why’re you on the floor?” But Draco didn’t answer him. He just looked up at him with a sickly yellow colour about his face. Weasley frowned, bending down so he was crouched on the ground. “You ok?” The redhead lifted his fingers to stroke away the strands of hair falling over the Slytherin’s eyes but Draco jerked out of his range and pushed his fingers away, quickly getting to his feet.

“Sorry to get in your way, Weasley,” he snarled, marching over to his own bed and plopping down on it stroppily. “I’ll just leave you to fuck Potter, shall I?” Weasley, who initially looked upset, now looked like he’d been told an extremely funny joke.

“Malfoy, what the…! Are you serious?” he asked through an incredulous chuckle. “Always knew you were mental, Malfoy, but now you’re blind, too! Harry’s my best friend! That’s all it is.”

“Why the fuck would I care about who you shag?” Draco spat, jumping back onto his feet so he could match the other boy. “I don’t give two shits about you, about Potter, about some fucking muggle watch…! And I’m definitely not jealous or in fucking denial, so don’t even think about saying it…!” Weasley didn’t look angry. He just rolled his eyes. Rolled his shitting eyes! Like he thought this was just something petty? An interference in his day! Like the Slytherin wasn’t as fan-bloody-tastic as Potter?!

“Draco…” he sighed exasperatedly.

“And what have I told you about fucking calling me that, Weasel?!” the Slytherin shrieked almost hysterically. “Now… now get out!”

“Hey, this is my dorm room!” Weasley suddenly yelled back, starting to get angry. “You get out!”

“Fine! Wouldn’t want to witness anymore sickening bonding moments!”

And with that he marched out, making sure to slam the door behind him very hard. And it worked. Maybe Gryffindor doors didn’t hate him after all…

But there was no way. No sodding way was he coming back here again! Not for his stuff or his invisibility cloak. He didn’t care what Dumbledore did. Or the governors. Or Lucius. Or fucking Voldemort. Potter, everything was always about Potter! Why did that skinny little dick need to ruin the one thing in his life he was beginning to… gah! Well, Weasley had better make a choice. Him or the Snitch Bitch. And if Weasley really wanted him back, he’d have to come and fucking get him himself…!

* Draco’s lounging is based on the picture from CoS when Tom Felton is lounging in the common room, which, incidentally, makes an excellent avatar *grins at Jaime*

** I wrote the eat line before I saw Marsha say it in ‘Spaced’… mad isn’t it? *sniffs* And I thought I was the only one who made that up and used it…

 *** ‘Scrotum Sucker’ is from the brilliant South Park movie.