“Ron…”

Damn. The redhead squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

“Harry, please… just go back to your cards…”

“You said first thing in the morning.” He could hear a bite of impatience in the other boy’s voice.

“Yeah, well I know but… uh… it’s nearly lunch now. Say, you think they’ll give us Grindylow Pate again?”

“Ron!”

“Is there a problem with your readings, my dears?” Harry jerked his eyes up with a start to meet the enormous, bug-like ones of Professor Trelawney. They could both feel every pair of eyes in the place staring at them through the foggy, overly fumed and suddenly hushed room. Those bloody blinding fumes, the sweltering heat of the room and the stink of incense so concentrated that it would knock you out if you accidentally sniffed too hard, were intoxicating in the worst possible way as the two Gryffindors looked almost guiltily at each other. Ron could tell from her almost eager expression and the slight edge to her normally misty voice that Sybil Trelawney was hoping intently that there was some giant catastrophe afoot. Or maybe that one of them had suddenly mislaid a limb or something. Damn, the old bird was like a vulture circling around for a sniff of blood. And an ugly looking one at that, Ron mused as people turned around in their pouffes and doll like seats.

He shook his head at her expectant gaze and returned back to shuffling his tarot cards, not trusting himself to say anything in case he muttered a curse that certainly made no appearance in the Glossary at the back of Unfogging the Future. Harry also returned back to his cards, although also muttered bitterly in a voice a bit louder than he intended.

“Yeah, I have a problem. Mine don’t tell me that I’m going to die a painful a gruesome death. There must be a malfunction or something.” Ron, who wasn’t in his usual spirits, actually managed to smile weakly as the rest of the class snickered and Seamus and Dean grinned widely from their front seats. Professor Trelawney did not look appeased with this answer as she pressed her lips tightly together. Yeah, she may have been a dizzy cow but even she could get Harry’s meaning, especially since the dim twins Parvati and Lavender were scowling at him in disapproval. With a jangle of her many bangles, she readjusted her shawl as she practically floated her way towards them. Before either of them knew what she was doing, she squeezed shut those abnormally large eyes of hers and placed her shaking, hovering hand over the facedown deck then said “Accio”, causing the top card to spring into her hand as though it was magnetised to her palm. Turning her hand with exaggerated ceremony so the card face faced her, she slowly smiled an almost smug smile, then laid it down in front of Harry as the rest of the class stood up off their seats and craned their necks to get a look at their round tabletop. The ‘Death’ card lay there in all its glory with an elaborate moving illustration of the Grim Reaper hitting a person, who looked uncannily like Harry, on the head repeatedly with a muggle baseball bat.

“They seem in fine working order to me, Mr Potter. Perhaps this situation is reminiscent of the saying, ‘A Poor Wizard blames his wand’?” Then, with a smile that was far less airy and more self-satisfied, she floated back to her desk, Lavender and Parvati watching her with pure adoration. Ron grumbled after her.

“Yeah, and her situation is reminiscent of ‘A Fake Seer making it all up’. Stupid old bat.” Harry rolled his eyes then turned to Ron.

“And just when I thought my day couldn’t get any better,” he said sarcastically. He nodded towards his card with the Grim Reaper still bludgeoning his counterpart. “I bet you she planted that there. I bet she carries it around with her in her tasselled purse as a good luck charm.” Ron couldn’t help but grin wryly at Harry’s sour expression.

“Yeah, probably gets them custom made to have your face on em,” he said, picking out one of his own cards. Harry joined in as he smiled lightly back at him.

“Or gets them from a Death Eater Souvenir Shop.” With a snort as Ron thought about the types of merchandise you get in such a place (You-Know-Who World Domination Tour T-shirts and Dartboards with Harry’s picture on them) the redhead eventually turned his card over. A redheaded youth, with a snake coiled almost sensuously around him, looked cockily back at him. ‘The Deceiver’. He grimaced. Harry peered over his shoulder at the card then pursed his lips and shrugged, surprisingly looking as though he was trying not to laugh.

“Hey, maybe this isn’t as big a load of crap as I thought it was.” Ron scowled across at him.

“Shut up, Harry.” But he suddenly stopped pouting to look wide-eyed at his friend. “Wait… you’re… you’re not angry?”

“Course I am. Don’t be stupid, Ron. Like you’re getting off so light, you ginger git,” Harry said with a soft, almost affectionate smile, which slowly dissolved into a pained grimace, as though he were suddenly recalling the other night. He shuddered slightly, causing Ron to blush awkwardly and fidget with his cards again. The Boy Who Lived sighed morosely as he eyed Ron’s distress then began in a lowered voice. “… I guess, well… I’m not going to pretend that I’m not more than slightly grossed out by all this… I mean, it’s not everyday that you discover that your best friend’s gay by finding him tied up in his bed with a Malfoy sucking his face off…but…you know, I did a lot of thinking last night and… well, you’re my best friend and if you like him then…” Harry’s reasonable, almost soothing voice suddenly disappeared as he dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “But God, Ron! Honestly… Malfoy…?!” Ron winced at the rush of disgust that progressed in Harry’s voice as his friend emerged from his hands with a repulsed look on his face. “I mean… Jesus, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t…!” Ron protested weakly, his burning face going crimson as he lowered it from Harry’s frustrated gaze. “It just kinda… well… err, it just happened…” Harry shook his head in disbelief, his green eyes wide and confused.

“What, in the middle of him insulting your family?” Ron didn’t gamble to look up at him, especially since he knew his gaze would reveal that the actual situation was very similar to Harry’s description. After a while, Harry sighed again, this time to regain his composure as he shakily raked his hand through his hair, almost as though he was telling himself that he was dealing with the situation all wrong. With a ragged sigh, and his hair even messier than usual, Harry turned to Ron with a defeated look.

“Do you like him?” he asked wearily, their readings completely forgotten. Ron slowly looked up, biting his lip like a wayward child who had just been scolded by his mother for doing something naughty. To his surprise, Harry had an encouraging look on his tired face, waiting patiently for his answer. The redhead shrugged, though his hands were trembling as he dropped his eyes back down to his card and to his shock, the snake winked saucily at him.

“I-I dunno… I mean… haven’t you ever thought of him as… well, mysterious and uh… well, you know… kinda, uh… sexy?” He blushed uncomfortably and whispered the last word so quietly that Harry could barely hear it. Ron hazarded an awkward look up at his friend. Harry sensed his discomfort, sighed almost reassuringly then went back to his cards to spare Ron the embarrassment of being seen with a tomato red face, which the redhead greatly appreciated.

“Not really. I guess I was too busy seeing him as a ferret-faced arse more than anything else.” Harry smirked softly and then suddenly gave Ron the kind of look so similar to Dumbledore’s infamous, intense stares that Ron almost shivered, but that could be due to the strange and suddenly incessant tingling at the back of his neck. But still… Jesus, where did that look come from? Damn, sometimes he thought it was truly mind-boggling how powerful his friend was… “And I was also too busy not trusting him as far as I could throw him… and I still don’t. And you didn’t answer my original question. Do you like him? I mean, really like him?”

Ron turned slowly away from Harry’s expectant gaze as his brow furrowed and a look of puzzlement ensued. Did he like him? He sure did fancy his pants off but did he actually like him as person? To be perfectly honest, he had no sense of control over himself when he was around Malfoy. He either wanted to beat the crap out of him or kiss his perfect little face off and he didn’t even care to check if anyone was around, just as long as he could do it. And it was beginning to worry him exceedingly that he couldn’t help thinking of him continuously then blushing stupidly when he realised what exactly he was imagining Malfoy doing to him and to which parts of his anatomy. Every time he thought of the other night he wanted to both cringe and cross his legs because having a hard on in Divination was fatal. If Professor Trelawney noticed she would bring it to the attention of the class and would assure Ron that it was due to the erotic vibrations of her room, probing him to tell the class what exactly he Saw to make him so aroused… He shuddered as he imagined the snort of laughter Harry would let out. And besides, having a hard on while Harry was staring at him with such hawk-like precision was a dangerous situation.

Bugger it, why did his emotions always have to take over?

He knew that there was only one thing that surpassed the control his temper had over his actions, and that was his libido.

Damn it.

When he looked back on it, he knew he should have punched the git, but when Malfoy got all extra-strength man on him and started brutally biting down and licking at his back... Ron flushed right down to his toes as he grinned slightly goofily.

It felt damn good.

But he should have stopped it. If not when Malfoy first jumped him, but definitely when Harry had caught them. Ron wanted to bury his face in his hands as he remembered in mortification. What was he, some sex crazed freak who couldn’t refuse Malfoy if he tried? Who would shag him in front of the whole school if he suggested it? But… jeez, Malfoy. You know… Malfoy. Who would have thought that he’d fall hard for Draco Malfoy? With his biting comments, his sneering face and his perfect lips…? His silver, ice-flecked eyes that narrowed and gleamed maliciously when he was pissed off and that infuriatingly gorgeous smirk he always wore…

Ron looked up to see a slightly impatient and hopeful looking Harry.

“Yeah, Harry,” he finally said with an embarrassed sort of grin. “I think I really do like him.”

It didn’t look like the answer Harry wanted to hear but the bespectacled wizard just nodded, gave his friend a very pained half smile then returned back to his cards. Ron, with a strange sense of contentment in his chest, turned silently back to his. He liked Malfoy. He honestly, truly liked him… Wow. That was one for the history books.

“You do know I’m going to hex him for the rest of his life if he hurts you.” He said it so casually that Ron nearly spluttered as he turned to Harry, who was smiling passively down at his desk as he turned another ‘Death’ card over, this one depicting the gruesome image of the Grim Reaper walloping Card Harry repeatedly with a shovel. The redhead, after the initial shock, slowly let out a dazed grin.

“Y’know, Harry, you sound kinda like Hermione when she’s going through one of her barking phases.” As soon as his sentence kicked in his head, Ron suddenly groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Ah, shit… Hermione…”

“You going to tell her then?” Harry asked as he pulled out a ‘The Victim’ card, then sighed at his findings. Ron, who was in the middle of debating it within his mind and also just realising how amazingly calmly Harry was taking this, got suddenly distracted as his redheaded counterparts in the cards started pulling stupid faces at him.

“Hey!” he cried out as he realised he’d unconsciously pulled out ‘The Fool’, ‘The Joker’ and ‘The Clown’ cards one after the other. “I think I’m seeing a pattern.” Harry smiled as he eyed Ron’s hat trick then pulled at one of his own cards.

“Yeah, me too… and whoa! This is getting ridiculous! This can’t possibly be real…” Harry brandished around the ‘Decapitation’ card in disbelief then threw it down in exasperation. Ron peered over his shoulder to look at the card as he flickered through his own deck.

“You know, that head looks like yours, too. It’s even got your… Hey! Am not!”

“You’re not what?” Harry asked with a puzzled look at Ron’s sudden mood shift. The redhead tried to subtly move his arm behind his back, shielding the ‘Love-Sick Dolt’ card (illustrating a love-sick looking Ron pulling petals off a flower and giggling ‘Draco Loves me… Draco loves me not’) from Harry’s view.

“Uh… nothing…” he lied as he slipped the card up his robe sleeve, a flush rising to his freckled cheeks. Harry looked at him warily for a while, his green eyes twinkling curiously then shrugged again and returned back to his horrific looking deck. Ron returned back to his own face down, ornately decorated one and was just about to pluck at the top card, praying that it wasn’t the ‘Sex-freak’ card, when he felt that tingle at the back of his neck again. Oh for Christ’s sake! What was it?! He turned around sharply, getting pretty damn annoyed with the strange feeling it gave him and caught sight of a tassel covered blank wall. With a suspicious look at it, as though sure Peeves was going to float out any second, Ron slowly turned his head back to the front of the class and accidentally caught Lavender’s eye in the process, who was… Damn – was she batting her eyelashes coquettishly at him?

“You alright?” Harry asked as he noticed his friend was frozen, mid-plucking his card and also turning very red. Ron shook his head to rid his daze, then almost sheepishly smiled back at his friend.

“Yeah, it’s just… I dunno… I think I’m going nutters. It’s weird, I keep feeling as though someone’s watching me or something…” Harry looked at him pensively and with slight concern as Ron shrugged and concentrated fully on his card.

“Maybe it was Lavender, she has been looking at you a lot lately.” Damn, the redhead hadn’t even noticed that one of the best-looking girls in the year was eying him shamefully up. Bloody Malfoy. Bugger, He couldn’t even say that with conviction anymore because he automatically thought how good a kisser ‘Bloody Malfoy’ was. As Harry continued, his voice contained an unconcealable grin. “Should I tell her she’s not your type then?” Ron turned to see a cheeky grin on his face and he nudged Harry’s elbow off the table.

“Watch it, Potter,” he said and sniggered at how Harry’s glasses slipped to the tip of his nose as he lost balance. Still laughing at Harry’s scowls, he finally turned his card over and immediately stopped his childish guffawing as his smile faltered slightly. The Boy Who Lived adjusted his spectacles as he looked over at Ron’s side of the desk then smirked and clapped him on the back.

“Serves you right, Weasley. But hey, welcome to the club; ‘The Dead Wizard’s Society’. At least I’ll see a friendly face in hell with me.” Ron smiled weakly back at him.

“Yeah,” he said, feeling oddly apprehensive as he turned back to Death Card lying face up on his desk, which had its own little redheaded victim coughing up blood in the illustration…

Draco didn’t know what had affected him most as he walked back to the Shack in the early hours of the morning. Maybe it was his feeling of severe and dangerous hostility towards both Potter and especially Longbottom when Weasley finally panicked and suggested in a squeaky voice that he leave. It might have been the tingly goodbye kiss that halted every vulgarity Draco knew sneering out his mouth. Or perhaps it was the enchantingly warm welcome of a dagger with the Dark Mark crest right through the front door of the Shrieking Shack. If he really stretched his imagination, it could have possibly been the piece of parchment it had pinned to the wood, with the message on it threatening him with disembowelment, decapitation and dismemberment. But Draco Malfoy was pretty damn sure it was the figure of Albus Dumbledore standing regally in the middle of his living room and looking far from pleased with him.

“I hope you left Mr Weasley well,” he spoke evenly and his face was set though his blue eyes behind his spectacles were flashing quite dangerously. Draco caught himself before he gulped like a guilty schoolboy, which, in truth, was exactly what he was as he pulled off his silvery cloak, ruffling his usually sleek hair in the process. Dumbledore didn’t wait for him to answer as he almost serenely clasped his hands in front of him. “I take it you read the note.” It was never good when Dumbledore didn’t use Draco’s name at least once. The Slytherin attempted to subtly wipe his sweaty palms on his robes, then realised that Malfoys didn’t sweat under pressure. So he left his cold hands to drip to their own accord. How the fuck did Dumbledore have this power over people? He was over a hundred, spoke gently and always had that Grandfather-like twinkle in his eye (not that he resembled Draco’s Grandfather by any means) but even someone as spite-thirsty as the Slytherin knew to keep their tongue in check around him. Draco tried to shrug nonchalantly as he somehow bullied himself to defiantly keep eye contact with the headmaster. Damn, that gaze was practically piercing painful holes into his own.

“Well, they’re not exactly original, are they?” He tried not to sound too malevolent; not even he was fool enough to try Dumbledore’s wrath. Fuck, he was surprised that the headmaster hadn’t Avada Kedavra-ed his arse yet. Even the crapping way he blinked was calm and composed.

“It is fortunate indeed that you were not here… is it not, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco didn’t trust himself to speak. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he bloody could. But he wasn’t going to let himself fall into Dumbledore’s trap. There was no fucking way that an ex-Gryffindor was going to get him. Seeing his silence, Dumbledore calmly carried on. “Do you know what I was standing here and deliberating, Draco?”

How a perfect specimen such as yourself took solace in the arms of a Weasley? Well, at least he was using his name. That had to be a good sign. Still, Draco didn’t even trust himself to shrug in polite curiosity as he held his breath. And besides, he wasn’t too sure how to execute the polite aspect of that procedure anyway. He wasn’t fucking Potter, after all. Dumbledore’s eyes flickered as he continued. “I was wondering how on earth a Death Eater could have not only entered the grounds, but known of your specific whereabouts.” Fuck this. He hated when Dumbledore tried to drag things out to make himself sound so bloody important and wise. Draco didn’t need him anyway. He didn’t need his help or this God ugly shack to live in. He crossed his arms over his chest, though knew not to scowl too brutally.

“Aren’t you going to kick me out then?” Then he added, just for ceremony’s sake, “Again?” Dumbledore, eying his disobedient student, slowly broke into a soft, twinkling smile.

“I see no call for that.” There was a short pause where neither party moved. The Slytherin, who was as smooth and cold as they came, blinked stupidly up at the headmaster when realisation sunk in. Despite himself, he stammered like a little girl.

“But… but I left when you told me not to... I was, I was fucking unruly…”

“Language, Draco,” Dumbledore scolded gently, though was still smiling faintly. “And, in fact, I believe it is I who failed you, not the reverse. You see, I was also deliberating how fortunate it is that you have such a penchant to break rules…” Here he paused again, his eyes suddenly glitteringly painfully bright as he sighed deeply and almost mischievously. “…Aaaaaah, the sacrifices one undertakes for love…”

Draco froze as soon as the last word was spoken. He snapped his eyes up at the man, suddenly feeling like an equal adversary and completely forgetting that Dumbledore could snap his neck in half without raising a drop of sweat.

The fucking cheek of the man. How dare he assume that he even liked Weasley let alone… It was the word that could not be said. Draco never had cause to utter it and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. Especially towards a bloody Weasley… it was laughable.

“I don’t bloody…”

“I must go,” the Headmaster said suddenly, cutting him off. He loathed it when people cut him off. Draco couldn’t help it. He snarled.

“What, to go save Pothead’s life?” he asked in a sardonic voice. Dumbledore looked as though he was fighting hard not to smile at Draco’s nickname for Golden Boy; a little twitch going in the headmaster’s trembling cheek.

“No, Mr Malfoy,” he finally answered after coughing rather unconvincingly, still biting the inside of his wrinkled cheek. “Just your own. I have placed a complex protective charm around this Shack; it seems Voldemort has more allies than I foolishly first predicted. Only your teachers, approved house-elves and myself am authorised to enter.”

Great. Just fucking great. Not only was he still on Voldemort’s bloody hitlist but now he had no idea where the fuck he was going to fuck Weasley. Knowing the Headmaster, he wasn’t going to let Draco wander out of Shack anytime soon. If he didn’t break into the boy soon he was going to get unhealthily more violent than he already was. And he knew that was hazardous. Dumbledore smiled a little wider.

“And oh yes, Mr Malfoy, I mustn’t forget to mention… Mr Weasley has also been permitted to enter.” Draco blinked up at him. It was almost as though Dumbledore could read minds… what was he, a bloody Seer? “We wouldn’t want to damage such a promising beginning… now would we, Draco?” Bugger him. He was grinning now. Dumbledore never fucking grinned! Right, he was just getting out of control. There was nothing… nothing tangible between him and Weasel. What the heck did Dumbledore think it was? A bloody Witch’s Weekly cute couple of the week article? He didn’t even like the boy. He just wanted to screw his brains out. That was all. Draco squeezed his eyes shut as a headache started to form. He hated headaches.

“I fucking told you,” he hissed through gritted teeth as he rubbed his fingertips across his sore temples. “I don’t bloody…”

He snapped his eyes open to look the old man insolently in the eye. Shit. He had vanished. Actually, the Slytherin reasoned that he probably just used the front door but vanished sounded much more mysterious. Draco grumbled at the empty space where Dumbledore should have been standing. Stupid fucking Dumbledore. Just who did he crapping think he was? Even hinting that he… that him and Weasley were… Draco shook his head, growling as he raked his hand through his mussed hair. This was really too much for him to deal with without breaking something. Shaking his head angrily again, he stuck his nose up in the air with feigned nonchalance and walked arrogantly up the stairs. Fuck them. Just fuck them all. He was going to bed.

***

When the Slytherin finally awoke, it was due to the annoying little magic alarm clock that McGonagall had programmed to scream piercingly to wake him up for all his lessons. Dumbledore thought it was an incredibly helpful idea but Draco knew better. She didn’t do it aid him, she did it to fucking piss him off. Just because he saw Potter as the complete non-entity he was. Stupid Tartan-Covered Gryffindor bitch. Pulling his covers from over his head and looking a bleary eye at it, he saw the hand pointing at ‘Transfiguration’. He snarled at its audacity and smashed it angrily with his fist, though for some sordid reason was quite relieved to see the broken cogs and the almost dejected expression on its clock face slowly straighten and heal back to their original state instantaneously. McGonagall had used an Unbreakable Charm on it. The clever old bat knew him better than he thought. He smirked dryly as he stretched and found himself pleased with McGonagall’s adopting the charm. He’d spent too long conjuring the clock orange and adorning it with brown polka dots with his wand anyway. In some perverse way, he was quite fond of it.

Picking up his wand from beside the recovered clock, the Slytherin swished, flicked, muttered a familiar incantation and in less than a second was dressed impressively in his dark green robes, silver cuffs dazzling at his sleeve sides and his silver Venomous Snake Fang hanging off a simple black shoelace string tight around his neck. He didn’t care what anyone said. He was still a bloody Slytherin and he would always dress like one. And so what if no one could see him? He wasn’t going to waste his remarkable looks by dressing like Weasley… though he had to admit that those loose threads on the redhead’s robes were enticing. Just one little pull and he’d unravel the prize underneath… Just like pass the parcel. Draco smirked again when he recalled that as a child not only did he never pass it on to anyone else but he also ripped every shred off viciously, using his teeth if he had to. He grimaced slightly when he recalled the scolding from his father he’d received for betraying such ineloquence. He’d been given etiquette lessons after all… Shit, no wonder he was revealing fucking homo tendencies…

Ignoring that annoying pricking at the back of his mind, the Slytherin turned his attention back to his amazing appearance again. For some screwed up reason, when he’d first arrived to the shack, all the mirrors were broken, though the Slytherin had rectified this situation by repairing them all with his wand. In his opinion it was a true crime to harm a mirror. Maybe the last occupant was hideously ugly. He hoped the shit got all the bad luck accompanied with ruining such a truly great invention. He tried not to pose in front of the full-length mirror but couldn’t help but throw it a heart-breaking smirk.

“You really are a sexy bastard,” his mirror self answered back, wearing the very same smirk. Like he didn’t already know that. With saucy lick of his lips, he turned away and made his way down the stairs. Doing his morning routine then picking up his full plate and goblet from the kitchen, Draco placed them down on the coffee table and slipped down onto the sofa, which was placed perfectly for one to watch the Observer screen. He’d have to eat and work at the same time. Like a muggle TV dinner. How amazingly common. Pulling out his wand, he pointed it straight at the screen and sighed, “Advanced Transfiguration Class B.” The blank screen immediately switched on with a click and Draco was faced with the familiar feeling of being a fly on the back wall of the class. He looked at the black board behind McGonagall for the topic for the day. Great, turning a weasel into a ferret. Instantaneously a weasel jumped out of the screen and onto his lap. He dryly thought of how fucking considerate of McGonagall it was to send him one. He gave the orange thing a look of dislike as it looked up at him with its strange blue eyes with an almost cheeky expression. Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust as it. He had enough of ferret transfiguration for a lifetime. The Slytherin growled as he thought of how very lucky Barty Crouch Jnr was that he was already dead. And why the fuck was he being given this easy shite? Pointing his wand dispassionately at the creature, a small pop ensued and it immediately emerged from the smoke as a pure white ferret. It was still looking at him happily. He snarled again. Slapping it off his lap, it produced a weird squeak and scurried away. He bloody hated ferrets. And he hated being underestimated. He could do this with his eyes closed… what a bloody waste of his time. And they called it Advanced Transfiguration… Yeah, for fucking Longbottom. He narrowed his eyes… Longbottom… And just thinking about Longbottom automatically reminded him of the much pleasanter form of…

He wondered what Weasley was doing. Well, actually, he knew. You didn’t become an efficient stalker of a boy to not know his timetable by heart. Weasley had Divination right now. Without even consulting his rational side, Draco lifted up his wand and determinably said, “Divination Class A.” The screen flickered from the Transfiguration classroom (where Pansy was sickeningly hugging and kissing her struggling Ferret and continuously calling it Draco) to a misty looking and unfamiliar place that looked like a teashop. Of course he didn’t recognise the room. Like he’d be fool enough to take Divination. Stupid Fucking Weasley. Despite himself, his stomach did a strange sort of back flip when he caught a shock of red in front of him. The redhead and bloody Potter were the closest students to him… he thanked heck that they sat at the back to avoid that bug-eyed, misty cow. Well, he couldn’t give a shit about Potter but… Wait a shitting second… why was Potter smiling at Weasley like that? And why the heck was Weasley blushing and smiling softly back? The Slytherin’s fists clenched by his sides. No way was Weasley getting away with this. There was no fucking way he, God’s gift Malfoy, was going to come second to Potter. And there was no fucking way Potter was going to touch Slytherin property. He’d make damn sure of that. Not that he could blame Scarface, or anything. Even from his fly on the back wall view, Draco could see how utterly perfect the redhead was from behind… damn, he had a perfect behind. And his neck… Draco nearly shuddered as he studied the bare flesh in front of him, but quickly caught himself. The Slytherin always had had a throat fetish but Weasley’s… Unconsciously, he leant forwards and brushed his fingertips against the back of Weasley’s neck on the cold screen. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn that he’d seen the boy shiver with his touch…

Shit.

The Slytherin withdrew his hand as though the screen had suddenly gone up several thousand degrees.

What the fuck was he doing? Acting like some love-sick dolt? Mother-fucking, scrotum-sucking Weasel! And why the heck was he now stroking the screen with his other hand…!?

Jesus.

Weasley suddenly turned and was now looking right at him. Could he feel him? Their eyes locked. Draco wasn’t even sure if he should exhale as he sat rigid. Could the Weasel see him? Wait, of course he bloody couldn’t…! The Slytherin was getting obsessed and stupid with his paranoia. Weasley looked nice when he was pissed off though…

Right, that was enough observing for today…

“ELIMINICIA!” he shrieked, pointing his wand almost threateningly at the screen even when it switched off, just daring it to start up again. He dropped his wand, allowing it to fall to the floor as he looked down at his plate. Yes. He needed to eat. His brain was going weird due to his lack of food. That’s what it was. And so he picked up his fork and kept on eating, stopping only when the plate refilled for the fifth time.

Fuck it. A half-hour of eating and now he felt bloated as well as horny. And also very worried that the roast chicken was going to blight his faultless body.

God, he was going to throttle whoever it was that made him feel like this for the Gryffindor. Trying to make him forget about his strict diet and his very unhomo self. Probably some sick bitch. You could never trust women… All they ever fucking wanted was romance and lo-… you know, that arsing word. And he wasn’t letting it happen. And Weasley of all people. You’d think he’d have better taste… This was supposed to be a sexual arrangement, not a bloody relationship with vile feelings and sappy notes that made the Slytherin want to throw up. However, instead of the kissing trying to wean him out of it, all he wanted was more of Weasley’s body to conquer and in every way imaginable. Damn his greedy nature.

The Slytherin had just decided that he needed another pitcher if pumpkin juice to drown the fag inside his head when something shot through his window, causing him to duck before it took his head off.

What the fuck?! Was Voldemort losing it and resorting to stupid tactics like throwing tennis balls at his victims instead of Cruciating them?

Whatever it was, the furry round object slammed into the nearest wall… but this didn’t hinder it. Draco lifted his head boldly up to see two tiny crossed eyes and a little head shaking the fatigue off as it flapped eagerly towards him, the letter in its talons weighing it down as it fluttered with all its might to keep afloat in the air.

Weasley’s owl dropped the rectangular scrap of parchment into his lap, hooting in incessant delight.

If he wasn’t so curious about what his redhead could possibly want to say to him, he would have swiped angrily at the air and batted the stupid thing back out of his window again. But this was the first note the object of his obsessions had ever sent him and evil plans really couldn’t be thought up when he was so distracted. Folding open the old and practically withering paper, the Slytherin curiously scanned the messy scrawl with his sharp grey eyes. Now, what the heck did the Weasel have to say for himself?

Draco tried not to smile contentedly. He loved it when people told him how gorgeous he knew he was.

Lowering the note, the Slytherin let out a smug smirk. So, the Weasel couldn’t resist the Malfoy charms either? And he was also a horny little bastard too… The ideal partner to have…

And Pig? What fucking Pig?

The little owl suddenly hooted at him from above his head, almost to assure him that he was indeed a ‘Pig’.

“Your name’s Pig is it?” Draco smirked, looking up at the tiny thing. The owl hooted again gleefully, flying about annoyingly over Draco’s head like an irritatingly fly the Slytherin wanted to swot. “Trust Weasley to give you such a stupid fucking name.” The flying Pig seemed to hoot in animated agreement. Then, without warning, the fluffy thing whooshed straight towards the Slytherin’s palm, landing deftly onto Draco’s hand and folding up his wings to gaze silently up at him. The Slytherin, slightly uncomfortable with Weasley’s little owl uncharacteristically still in his hand, glared silently down through narrowed eyes until he snapped cagily.

“What the hell do you want, owl?” Pig’s large, excited eyes looked widely up at him, the bird almost crooning lovingly at him. What the heck was up with the stupid bird? Then Draco figured that, like Weasley, it probably wanted feeding or something. “I haven’t got any bloody food for you.” Stupid thing probably didn’t understand a word he was saying. Why was he surprised? This was Weasley’s bird. Probably found him in a fucking dumpster or something. It wasn’t like he was trained like Hades had been. Draco, however, was pulled from his thoughts when the owl started to nip at his thumb in a would-be affectionate sort of way. “Hell, quit it, bird!”

But the stupid bird didn’t quit it. In fact he did it even more, pecking softly at every available bit of skin on the Slytherin’s thumb. Draco let out an angry and exasperated puff of air. “Do you know that I could crush you into a fist right now?” he asked threateningly. Pig hooted happily again as though there were nothing he knew better, when, almost out of nowhere, he started to blink his lamp-like eyes tiredly and began to snuggle up against the Slytherin’s abused thumb. “Stupid Bird…” he muttered, though found himself stroking the minute owl with that very thumb and the index finger on his other hand. Damn the fur ball for being so cute. Like owner, like owl… Wait. Where the hell was his bad boy image. Was he really thinking the stupid git’s bird was cute? The Slytherin snapped. He was not full of compassion… what was he turning into?! “Wake the fuck up, owl… Jesus, get off!” Draco jerked the bird from his hand, causing an unsuspecting Pig to plummet towards the ground though he managed to catch himself just before he smashed into the floor and soared upwards. You’d think that would put the stupid thing off the idea of Draco as a potential parent but it only made him hoot more excitedly, like dropping him was some kind of ride for him. What the heck was he, a masochist? Draco growled through his teeth at it… why the fuck wasn’t it cowering with the Slytherin’s oh-so-scary wrath? He looked up at it as it started to circle around him devotedly.

“Shit, how the heck does Weasley put up with you?”

“With great bloody difficulty.”

He tried not to jump out of his skin as he turned and found the sexiest being alive casually leaning against his doorframe and smiling almost smugly.

“Nice to see you too, Malfoy. And also good to see you didn’t kill my bird.”

That Stupid prick; nearly scaring him like that. Like a Weasley ever could anyway. However, it seemed that Draco wasn’t the only one Weasley’s presence had a great, stirring affect on. The Pig of an owl went absolutely berserk at the sound of the voice and rocketed towards his owner, hooting relentlessly and tangling himself affectionately through Weasley’s bright red hair.

“Gah! Pig! Get out of it, you stupid feathery git!” Weasley flailed his long arms, looking completely comical and not at all as cool as he was when he first made his unexpected appearance. Draco sneered cruelly at the sight, crossing his arms over his chest and observing as Weasley finally managed to extract the bird five minutes later from his now messy hair, the redhead’s face bright red from both exertion and embarrassment. The Gryffindor raised his eyes to the blond boy as he held the owl tightly in his fist, Pig’s little feathery head just about visible from the top of the fist as he cheeped cheerfully on. Weasley shrugged, smiling sheepishly at Draco at first before eventually looking awkward under the Slytherin’s silent though acute and icy gaze. Draco twisted his lips and raised a perfect silver brow, trying to force a completely stone cold expression.

“You were quick,” he said frostily, trying to look as composed as a person who wasn’t about to pin down and shag the boy in front of him. Weasley raked his other hand through his hair as though self-consciously trying to calm it slightly, but it only went static and stuck up oddly from his head. The Slytherin noted that it made him look neurotically cute, as did the glowing freckled features and the nervous pawing of his toe on the carpet.

“Well, err… yeah, I was actually waiting just outside when I sent Pig.” Weasley was still grinning embarrassingly, his cheeks flushed with his confession. Man, Draco wanted him. More than a Firebolt, more than Potter’s fame… damn, more than fucking power. And he knew this wasn’t the way it should have been. Weasley had no bloody right to place himself so high on the Slytherin’s priority list. Stupid arse. As if lust wasn’t bad enough… now he had to go and feel something other than arousal for the prick. He hated fucking feelings.

The blond boy thought of many witty rejoinders to the Gryffindor’s lame sentence.

And he obviously thought of many perverse things to say as well.

But, ultimately he decided on a cold, snappy:

“Go away, Weasley.”

The redhead’s smile faltered slightly. It took a while but he soon grinned broadly again, shaking the remark off as he went back to leaning comfortably against the frame. Did he have to look so adorable when he did that…? And why was Draco thinking he was adorable? He was just allowed to be sexy, nothing else.

“I’d rather stay here and harass you.”

The redhead grinned again quite cheekily, that dimple in his flushed cheek appearing. Fuck this. This was obsession. Weasley had said that to him before and he remembered it clearly too. It was very hard, but Draco didn’t take the bait. He looked the Gryffindor ferociously in the eye as he snarled. The cold and calculating approach was doing nothing to make the git go away.

“Just piss off, Weasel. I’m not in the mood for you, your bloody sickening Gryffindor cheer or your fucking charity. Besides…” Draco sneered contemptuously, eying Weasley's robes. “…You can barely afford to dish it out. Still stealing your outfits from children, I see."

The good-natured and almost goofy grin disappeared from Weasley’s face instantly. Draco could see the gradual rush of blood underneath his skin, shocked hurt soon turning to anger as Weasley self-consciously tugged down at the sleeves of his short robes. Actually, the last thing Draco wanted was less of Weasley’s body to see. The Slytherin’s shrewd eyes easily caught the quick flash of hurt in his redhead’s eye.

Good.

Draco wanted him to hurt. He wanted him to crawl up into a little ball and cry until his sobs lacerated the insides of his throat and made his head pound battery acid. He wanted to make Ron Weasley miserable. He wanted to feel the power he had over him. And he wanted to feel anything but the disgusting things that he was feeling for him at that very moment. Draco smirked brilliantly. “Going to cry, Weasley? Going to run off to Potter and tell him what Big Bad Draco did?” The redhead didn’t respond but Draco noticed how faint his freckles were when he went that fetching shade of red that clashed with his gorgeous head of hair. He could also hear a gradual and unmistakably sexy growl coming from the other boy’s throat. This only tempted the Slytherin to continue. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you did. What would Scarface be without his little sidekick running behind him all the time? Probably wouldn’t even notice. I suppose his arse would go through withdrawal symptoms of not being kissed every waking moment, but he’ll probably be relieved to be spared of his little red-haired shadow.” Draco silently reminded himself that he would actually kill Potter very slowly if Weasley’s lips went anywhere near his rear.

Ah. The trembling fists by Weasley’s sides. The lava red face. The bent legs looking ready for a good pounce. He really was so predictable. Well, Draco supposed he should just get the boy to breaking point. After all, it was the least he could do… With a toss of his silver head, he smiled malevolently. “Not going to answer back, Weasel? Not going to throw a punch? It looks like you actually agree with me,” Draco smirked even more infuriatingly. “Measly fucking Weasley… who the fuck would miss you if you died right this second?”

Shut up. No one’s talking to you.

Now he was shaking with fury, his teeth practically chattering. Oooooh, he was really pissed off. Fucking sexy git. Draco had known that he’d hit a weak spot as soon as he said it. And although he very much enjoyed stabbing repeatedly at that spot once he found it on someone, the Slytherin just didn’t get it. Weasley… jealous of Potter? He wanted to snort with laughter. Please, his redhead was so much better that it was ridiculous. But why did the Weasel fucking insist on believing that Draco was some sweet, misunderstood little boy? Why did he stupidly lead himself into a false sense of security with a guy who just didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything? It was pathetic. And Draco hated that he’d very nearly apologised for the remark. Instead of displaying the moment of weakness, he fashioned his most perfected smirk. Weasley shook his head in stiff disbelief as his strained, angry voice trembled in slight… was it apprehension?

“You’re just saying that. You don’t mean it.” He did love it when the Weasel talked through clenched teeth. He stepped forwards, noticing that Weasley made no move to step back. Hell, the boy looked almost eager.

“Come on, Weasley,” Draco purred, advancing like a confident predator. “You know it’s true. You’re the Weasley who’s nothing special. You know it as well as I do.” The Slytherin stopped when their faces were a foot apart, close enough to either reach out and kiss or punch brutally.

But it didn’t go the way he planned.

Instead of fuming with angry lust, Weasley broke into a small, dry smile. The Slytherin blinked. Shit, why the fuck was he smiling? He wasn’t supposed to be bloody smiling. He was supposed to succumb to his plan. Weasley’s bright blue eyes were twinkling like one who just figured out an amazing discovery inside their head and Draco was not pleased, despite the cute look it gave him.

“Malfoy, you are so full of shit,” he said with a light shake of his head and a sudden mischievous curve of his biteable lips. When did Weasley get so rational? “You want me as much as I want you. Why do you always have to play this fucked up game?”

“I don’t have a fucking idea what you mean, Poor Boy,” Draco hissed. He wasn’t going to panic just because Weasley had finally got passed his typically illogical mode. He was still in control. “I’d tell you to buy a clue but you couldn’t afford one.”

Weasley pursed his lips, sighing, shaking his head and seeming quite resigned when he suddenly attacked. The redhead grabbed Draco’s arms, pulled him viciously against him then spun them collectively around, pressing the Slytherin against the wall and his forehead against Draco’s.

Shit. That definitely wasn’t supposed to happen. And he really didn’t want to pull away anytime soon…

Neither knew how long they stood like that for, just sharing breath and glaring silently at one another. The slightly shorter boy finally spoke, eyes half closed in odd pleasure. “I’m waiting for you to punch me, Weasel.” Damn, why did Weasley always do this breathless thing to him? And why wasn’t he more angry and pushing him off him? He shifted slightly in Weasley’s talented hands, the redhead’s grip intensifying. The Gryffindor wasn’t going to let him go anytime soon. And the Nancy Boy side of him didn’t want him to either. Shit, he really was in fucking trouble.

“I’d… I’d rather kiss you first,” Weasley said hoarsely against his lips, his voice almost shaking with nerves. The Slytherin opened his eyes properly, his cloudy orbs gleaming at his redhead with open hunger.

“Too late.” Before Weasley could register Draco’s whisper, then his smirk, the Slytherin switched their positions around and slammed the redhead against the wall instead, crushing his lips against Weasley’s before the boy could protest. Did the Weasel honestly think he’d be the fucking passive one? He smiled against the Gryffindor’s lips when he realised that the eager boy wasn’t about to protest any time in this century as Weasley kissed back with pure fervour. But the Slytherin wanted a lot more than this.

A lot more.

He slipped his hand between their bodies and skilfully inside the Gryffindor’s jeans and his boxers, cupping his hands very tightly around the certain hot something that he’d wanted to grab since Gryffindor first entered the shack. Weasley squeezed his eyes tightly and whimpered, leaning all his weight against the wall as Draco kissed across his jaw.

“You, me and sex right now, Weasley,” he whispered, finally stating his favourite demand out loud as he moved his lips to nibble and lick at the shell of the redhead’s ear seductively, causing him to gasp. Damn, he loved doing that. “What do you say?”

“I say you unhand him, Mr Malfoy and come with us.”

Fuck.

Draco froze completely, his hand rigid and still in Weasley’s boxers. Oh Fuckety fuck. He recognised that cold, curt voice better than his own. And he knew very well whom it belonged to. But it couldn’t be. It just fucking couldn’t be…

He felt a sick feeling in his stomach, completely forgetting about scowling about another ruined ‘Shag Weasley’ moment. He didn’t even think about cursing the bitch who had placed yet another interference in his screwing plans. Catching the redhead’s eye, both boys slowly turned their heads in wary trepidation to the doorway, where one figure stood in shock, clutching her heart and the other looked sardonically amused. If Draco didn’t feel so absolutely mortified he would have groaned. Of all the people in the Wizarding World to catch them, Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape were very close to what the Slytherin would mark as the worst.