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.