"We’re here," Crabbe’s father called from the steering wheel. This wasn’t a Muggle ship, so Crabbe Sr. wasn’t really steering. They pulled into a pebbly shore, and dropped anchor. ‘Land, ho,’ Draco thought to himself. This was ridiculous. The Death Eaters always had to make such a production of everything. Draco was feeling very nervous, and the fact that his father hadn’t spoken to him for the entire ride was not helping. "It’s right through here," Draco’s father said as he led the assembly of Slytherins and ex-Slytherins through a break in the dense forest. The air out here was different from the Hogwarts castle. It wasn’t even as though the air was exactly clear, it felt almost cluttered, or smoggy. Draco thought it felt distinctly like Dark Magic. The entire forest reeked with power. He was longing to run back to the boat and go back to Hogwarts. But he was no coward. And there was no possible way to escape his fate. He should feel blessed. He was lucky. He was being accepted to the Death Eaters. This had been planned for him since birth.

The group was walking higher, and more deeply into the woods, each step bringing Draco closer to the scent of magic. His father’s steps were light, but firm. He was a strong man, although he didn’t look it, and also quite powerful. Lucius had always told Draco that there would always be a place for him in the Death Eaters. But there wouldn’t always be a place for him at home, if he didn’t join. And Lucius was insane with his loyalty. He was always trying to appear more “loyal” to the Dark Lord. They were practically lovers, the way Draco’s father spoke him. Draco wondered whether the Dark Lord ever questioned what happened to his father during that “pesky” thirteen years his father had gone to the “good side.” And whether Lucius was trying to make up for those lost years by offering his first born as their “virgin” sacrifice. Draco’s stomach was beginning to turn the higher they got. He felt like he was going to be sick.

***Ron***

"Ron, Ron, wake up!"

"That wasn’t a foul," Ron bellowed as he wearily opened his eyes to a black haired blur that he reckoned was Harry. "Huh? Wha time’s it?" Ron asked groggily.

"Uhm, I think it’s 3:00," Harry replied, still beaming as he looked down at Ron. "I have to tell you something."

"What?" Ron grumbled, trying to roll over, but found that impossible, as the small wizard was perched on top of his legs. He had finally fallen asleep after hours of waiting for Harry to get back from an “urgent” Quidditch meeting. They hadn’t even gone to Hogsmeade like Harry had promised. "Can’t this wait? I was having this bloody brilliant dream. Malfoy and I were playing Quidditch over a volcano, and I knocked him off his broom with the tail of my broom. Then I went—"

"Ron! I have to tell you, I just got back from being with Cho."

Ron looked up at Harry, realizing he was no longer tired. He didn’t even know Harry was still interested in Cho, let alone spending an entire night with her. "How was it?"

"It was amazing. It was everything I ever thought it would be." Harry was getting a very uncharacteristic misty tone to his voice. The boy was glowing, and Ron wasn’t sure it suited him.

"Oh," Ron replied trying to sound interested. There was something about him being with Cho that made Ron feel very uncomfortable. The fact that Harry was still sitting on Ron’s abdomen wasn’t helping things much. It wasn't like he had a crush on Harry. Or, maybe he’d never given any thought to it.

"I wish I could explain it," Harry said, reddening a bit. Ron wondered what was bringing that odd look into Harry’s eyes. Those green spheres piercing into his own, making Ron feel … bizarre. It was like Harry was searching for something that Ron knew wasn’t even there.

"You, you could show me," Ron looked up seriously at Harry. Five years of feelings were swishing inside him, getting jumbled and confused.

To Ron’s great surprise, Harry didn’t look at him with disgust. He barely even registered the comment. "I can’t show you."

Ron looked back at his best friend, the pale black haired boy with the glasses. If you looked at him just right, sometimes you wouldn’t even notice the scar. Harry just kept focusing on Ron, giving Ron the feeling of his mind being read. Harry placed his hand on Ron’s thigh, and for a split second Ron thought Harry was going to show him. But, Harry was just trying to gain some leverage as he removed himself from Ron.

"I’m not gay, Ron."

At that moment Ron felt as though a bucket of boiling hot water had been thrown all over his face. His skin burned in embarrassment. Ron had never considered himself being gay. In fact, he knew he wasn’t. Did it always have to be about that? Couldn’t he just like someone for the sake of liking him? Why did this rejection and humiliation always have to happen to him?! "I’m not gay either," Ron managed to say as Harry hopped on to the cold wooden floor

"I know, Ron. I know. Goodnight."

"Night," Ron grumbled miserably back.

Ron knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep with so much swimming around in his mind. He waited until he could no longer hear the restless tosses from Harry’s bed, and quietly pushed down the sheets from his bed. He stumbled out of his four-poster and grabbed for his robe. He haphazardly threw the black material over his cold body, slipped on a pair of shoes, and walked as quietly as he could across the creaking boards of the dorm.

As he slipped out the door, Ron took a deep breath and tried to tiptoe down the clunky oak stairs. As he walked into the common room he noticed the fire was still going, and from the glow if it he could just make out a bushy-haired witch.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, She nearly leapt out of her seat at the sound of him.

"Ron! You scared me. What are you doing? Where are you going?"

Somewhere deep inside himself he wanted to tell her everything. Everything about Malfoy, about Harry. But he couldn’t. She wouldn’t understand.

"Just going for a walk," Ron said, shrugging his shoulders. "Why are you still up?"

"Well, actually, I was," Hermione was beginning to turn a bit pink. "I was thinking about you."

‘Oh, god. Why is she thinking about me?’ Ron thought. He couldn’t take one more emotion. Was his life a fucking soap opera? Why couldn’t she have told him this last year, you know, when he wasn’t lusting after Malfoy? Ron felt like either breaking into tears, or throwing something against the wall. His emotions were being put on one of those sickening Muggle amusement rides, and they weren’t happy about it.

Hermione apparently noticed the sudden paling of her friend, and walked over to him. "Ron, what’s wrong? You’ve been so distant lately. Are you okay?"

He couldn’t do it, he didn’t want to have this conversation right now. And before he realized what he was doing he had run out the door and down a long flight of stairs. He didn’t even look back; Hermione would forgive him in the morning because right now his body was telling him to keep running. Ron leapt down a second flight of stairs, sometimes taking two or three at a time. As the loud stomps were echoing through the quiet corridors, Ron felt sure Filch would catch him at the next bend, but amazingly he never came. Even as Ron swung out through the heavy oak doors to the cold October night, there was no Filch.

As Ron stepped onto the green turf of the Hogwarts grounds he began to slow a bit. It was a lot darker than he anticipated and he had forgotten his wand, so the "lumos!" possibility was non-existent. He could barely see the end of his nose, let alone three feet in front of him. Ron began to wonder if he was being overly dramatic when he heard something he was sure was a laugh. And not just a laugh, really, a cackle. A Malfoy cackle.

Ron stopped dead in his tracks, and whipped his head around to find the source. And sure enough there he was, silver hair illuminated in the moonlight, eyes flashing, face… well, pointed. Malfoy looked different, though. His usual sneer looked more deadly tonight that it had in months. Ron definitely wanted no part in whatever Malfoy was doing at this time of the night, and hoped the Slytherin wouldn’t see him as he walked by.

Ron held his breath as Malfoy kept walking closer. Why did the evil git need to walk so slowly? And where were his goons? Ron couldn’t figure out why Malfoy would be out at this hour, especially without Crabbe and Goyle. Ron could feel his heart thumping through his robes.

"Oh, Weasley?" Malfoy drawled. Fuck, Ron was found out. And from the tone of Malfoy’s voice, Ron could tell he was feeling particularly vengeful tonight. He’d probably want to pay him back for the stair incident.

"What is it, Malfoy?" Ron said, trying to make sure his voice didn’t quiver.

"Trying to hide?" Malfoy crooned, his fabulous smirk creeping onto his lips

"Why would I want to hide from you?" Ron asked quickly, narrowing his eyes at his evil arch-nemesis. Forget the fact that Ron had tried to kiss the pointy-faced bastard. Malfoy was still Ron’s sworn enemy, and by sixteen-year-old law this type of confrontation was more than necessary.

"Learn when to keep your mouth shut, Weasel. Especially around me, now." Malfoy suddenly got a tone of seriousness about him, and stood up as tall as he could. However, the top of Malfoy’s head just barely Ron’s eye level (and Ron had notoriously bad posture). Ron just rolled his eyes in response.

"What’s that supposed to mean, Malfoy? Did daddy buy you some new thugs that actually have brains? I mean, God knows there’s no way you could get friends on your own."

It seemed Ron had hit a nerve, because Malfoy turned on like a switch. Immediately the shorter boy leapt on top of Ron, pinning him down with his bony knees, and grabbing Ron by the collar. Ron’s anger swelled at this point. He wasn’t going to get pushed around by a Slytherin, and a Malfoy at that. Before Malfoy could even grasp what was happening, Ron had violently flipped them so he was now pinning Malfoy to the ground by his wrists, sinking whatever nubs he had for nails into Malfoy’s skin. He was really going to enjoy punching this bastard.

"Get off of me, you oaf," Malfoy growled as he tried desperately to throw Ron off of him, pushing the wide sleeves of his robes to his elbows.

"No way, you’ve had this coming." Ron glanced quickly at his hands, trying to decide how best to pin the smaller boy’s wrists while still getting a decent hit, when he noticed it. There on Malfoy’s left arm was… the Dark Mark.

Ron panicked, he gasped and let go of Malfoy’s wrists, giving the Slytherin a perfect opportunity to throw the shocked Gryffindor off of him. Ron flopped onto the damp grass.

"Don’t fuck with me, Weasel." Draco hoisted himself off the ground and began to brush himself off over Ron. Ron lay motionless as bits of grass smacked him in the face. It seemed that either Malfoy hadn’t noticed that Ron had seen his Dark Mark, or simply hadn’t cared.

"I, I saw it," Ron said as the disheveled Slytherin flicked a blade of grass of his impeccable skin. Draco stiffened, eyes growing momentarily wide, and then went back to brushing himself off. Acting as though nothing had happened.

"What are you talking about?" Malfoy asked simply.

"I saw it. On, on your arm," Ron said as he leaned up. Malfoy gave a final, and rather harsh tug at his robes and glared down at Ron.

"You didn’t see anything. God help me, Weasel. You’re standing on thin ice."

Ron finally stood up. He’d had enough of Malfoy. He was going to punch in that perfect pointy nose of his. So what if Ron still had a major thing for the boy? Malfoy had it coming.

Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron had drawn back his fist and launched it forward like some kind of wild sledgehammer, just praying his fist landed somewhere, and that it hurt Ron watched as though it were in slow motion. Malfoy’s eyes widened in horror as Ron’s fist collided with his pointy nose. Malfoy, almost comically, flew backwards into the damp grass, his once-impeccable robes now covered again in bits of grass and dirt.

He stared up at Ron, as a trickle of crimson blood dribbled from his nostril. "You made me bleed," he said blandly as the blood spilled onto his lower lip. Malfoy darted his tongue out, almost teasingly, and licked the substance from his lips. "I don’t like blood." And the now paler than usual Slytherin collapsed back onto the grass.

‘Oh God,’ Ron thought. ‘I’ve killed him.’ Ron looked down at the unconscious boy in front of him. What the hell was he going to do now? He could shave his head, maybe move to Africa, or maybe India. However, thoughts of fleeing the country and joining a Tibetan monastery were momentarily pushed out of his mind as he saw the Slytherin’s blonde eyelashes twitch. "Malfoy?" Ron said quietly. The boy didn’t move. "Malfoy?" Ron asked a bit louder as he kicked him lightly. This seemed to make all the difference. Malfoy’s hand shot up to grab Ron’s ankle, and Ron tumbled on top of the Slytherin.

Immediately Ron began to blush, and prayed profusely that he wouldn’t get a hard-on. Unfortunately his body didn’t seem to agree with his mind. Ron tried to lift himself off of the smaller boy, but quickly came to realize he was stuck. Malfoy was holding fiercely onto Ron’s cloak, starring into his face as though he had never even seen him before. "Wait, don’t leave."

***Draco***

Before he could even wrap his mind around the thought, he had spoken. "Don’t leave?" What did he mean, don’t leave? Weasley was of no importance to him; and yet, he still said it.

Weasley glared down at him. He quizzically quirked an eyebrow. And Draco had the distinct impression the Gryffindor was wondering if this was some sort of set-up. It wasn’t meant to be, although now it certainly could be disguised as one.

Draco was still gripping hard onto the Gryffindor’s tattered robes. He carelessly began to fidget with a thread that had come loose in the hem. Draco tried in vain to act as though it was a perfectly normal thing to have your arch nemesis perched on top of you, his definite hard-on poking into your abdomen.

The moment hadn’t lasted more than a few seconds, but to Draco it had been an awakening. He felt the pain still searing in his left arm as he looked again into the dull blue eyes of the boy before him. He couldn’t resist any longer. Every part of his brain was screaming not to do it, but he couldn’t hold back. He pulled harshly at the redhead’s thick tangles, and dragged him to meet his lips. No resistance, only passion as their lips met in a ghostly whisper.

But Draco wasn’t a fucking faerie. He was going to do this the right way, like a Malfoy (if Malfoys did this type of thing…). He pressed deeply into the kiss; hardly even registering the passion had been there for so long. He explored the hot inner workings of Weasley’s mouth. His tongue played over the boy's teeth, smooth. And the Gryffindor began to relax on top of him, but never in control. Draco was always in control.

Draco’s arms wrapped around the thin red head, clutching onto his robes. He separated momentarily from the redhead’s penetrating kiss, and with a sudden burst of passion rolled over on top of him. Weasley looked blank faced, shocked as though he was only just realizing what was happening. Draco could still feel the boy’s bulge poking into him. He smirked down as he slowly shifted the lower half of his body over the other boy’s stiffness, making Weasley close his eyes and swallow hard.

"Like that Weasley?" Draco said smugly. The Gryffindor didn’t need to respond. He looked up into Draco’s eyes and blushed. It was possibly the most wonderful thing Draco had seen. And the boy underneath him was driving him insane. Draco smirked again, and came down on the other boy’s throat. Between the two of them he was trying to undo the Gryffindor’s robes, his fingers clumsily fumbling with the fastenings. But before Draco had made any progress in undressing the entirely-too-sexy redhead, a hand had gripped hard on his wrist. It startled Draco as Weasley pulled his arm to his swollen pink lips.

Weasley, still red but looking more focused, began to quickly roll back the sleeve of Draco’s robes. Before Draco could pull his arm away, Weasley had pressed his scorchingly hot mouth to the newly acquired, and still rather inflamed, Dark Mark. It was an amazing feeling, some light-headed sensation between anguish and passion. Weasley’s magnetic blue eyes peered into his own gray ones as he kissed, sucked, and licked at the scar. Draco lightly shut his eyes, the intensity of this moment too consuming.

And before he could truly enjoy it, he had whipped his arm from Weasley’s grip. What the fuck was he doing? Weasley couldn’t know about the Death Eaters. He’d been a member no longer than two hours, and already his enemy knew. Why not just go tell fucking Dumbledore? His father was going to be furious.

"Don’t fucking do that," Draco spat maliciously. "Don’t you fucking do that, faggot. I’M NOT LIKE YOU!" Draco leapt off the boy’s warm body and ran.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear Weasley fall onto his back and grumble, "I hate my life."

~~~~~