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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, he just snarled at him instead.

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

“Mutus! Bindus!”

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

No. Fucking. Way.

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

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

Potter smirked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um… the what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Draco was going to kill him. He really was.

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

The Slytherin flipped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forget about it?! Forget about fucking it?!

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

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

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

Did he just fucking say predictable?

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

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

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

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

“But you and Ron are…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Poof,” he said simply.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Draco rolled his eyes.

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

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

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

Weasley finally grinned out of his surprise.

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

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

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

“There’s nothing between us.”

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

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

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

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t push your luck, Weasley.”

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

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

“ ‘Night, Harry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Draco…” he sighed exasperatedly.

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

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

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

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

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