The youngest Weasley boy didn’t realise how fast Dumbledore could actually walk as he panted after the swift headmaster down the winding corridors and staircases, fear suddenly assaulting his already aching self. The portraits on either side of them were whispering conspiratorially, following him closely with their eyes and were jumping energetically to each other’s frames while they pursued his path, making him feel suddenly very anxious. He nervously looked around the halls of Hogwarts as he passed them longingly, just in case it was the last time he saw them ever again; the redhead trying to keep the brilliant memories of this place fresh in his mind.

But Dumbledore surely didn’t want to… well, expel him too, did he? But Ron had, just now, initiated the fight with Malfoy…

Ron, unsuccessfully trying to ignore the pictures, was sure he heard two chubby witches in the corner frame whispering the phrase ‘Suspension’s too good for the likes of him’ while Sir Cadogan praised him in loud admiration and practically saluted Ron for having such a good right hook.

But who cared about right hooks when he was being kicked out? However, Dumbledore had a happier aura about him and well, he didn’t dislike Ron so much that he would be that glad to see the back of him… right? Dumbledore was cheerful that Malfoy got punched and was going to gift Ron with a ‘Special Services to the School’ award, right? Ok, now he was thinking hopefully. But he wasn’t going to expelled. No way.

The pictures began to snigger as he started to feel cold sweat trickle down his back; a look of sheer panic crossing the Gryffindor’s face.

Ron gulped loudly, feeling his queasiness and dizziness coming back full force as he wiped the perspiration off his upper lip.

“Err… I’m not in trouble, am I, Professor?” Dumbledore turned, still walking swiftly, and smiled softly as he quirked an eyebrow.

“Not at all, Mr Weasley.” He turned back around. The pictures erupted with more whispers. The redhead knew he was hiding something.

Ron felt suddenly ill, wishing he hadn’t eaten all those Chocolate Frogs in the morning. He was definitely in trouble. Going to Dumbledore’s office was never a good sign… and what had he said to him in the infirmary again? An ‘Important Matter’ to discuss? He supposed expulsion was as important as anything really…

Sheesh, Ron had only ever heard of the office from Harry, who’d been there so often that it was like a second home and even then, his best friend was the Boy Who Lived.

But he was only Ron Weasley. The shadow. The sidekick. The one who never got picked exclusively. The one who was never ever taken alone to the headmaster’s office.

Who on earth would notice him when Harry was around?

Yeah, he felt slightly resentful about it but Harry was too good a friend to blame for his unwanted notoriety.

But now he was getting off the subject.

He hurried after Dumbledore as he turned to the next corridor, nearly missing the way the headmaster had gone. Of course, Ron mused, Dumbledore had told him that he could have talked to Ron right there in the Hospital Wing if the Gryffindor wasn’t feeling up to it, but he refused, assuring the headmaster he was fine. At least this way he could draw the news out longer, stop his best friends from hearing it and getting upset and, to a lesser extent, he could finally check out Dumbledore’s cool living quarters.

But the thought of getting chucked out was still weighing on his mind.

The redhead shuddered to think what his mother would say if he ever got kicked out of Hogwarts. He would happily accept the loudest Howler in the world than anything she’d dish out. But he knew the worst punishment of all would be her and Mr Weasley’s disappointment. He would do anything to make them proud of him.

This was all Malfoy’s fault.

That stupid Slytherin git. Why did he have to be such a complete arse all the time? And did he honestly think Ron wouldn’t react after he’d insulted his mother like that?

The Gryffindor was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly walked straight into Dumbledore’s back when the headmaster stopped abruptly in front of a stone gargoyle, standing halfway along an empty corridor. Ron looked around, suddenly awed by his surroundings. He didn’t even see how they got here but was now looking on all sides of him carefully. This was just the way Harry had described it. Ron tried not to feel too excited but, luckily for him, he automatically felt low when he thought about his lousy circumstances.

“Earwax flavoured beans,” Dumbledore said serenely. Either Dumbledore had gone mad, or that was the password.

The gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside as the stone wall behind him split in two, causing Ron to yelp with the abruptness of its movement. Dumbledore turned and smiled at him affectionately, then walked inside, starting to ascend up the huge spiral staircase behind the wall. Ron jumped quickly after him as the wall threatened to thump shut and lock him out. As he heard it slam behind him, he leapt on the moving stairs just two steps from Dumbledore.

Ron’s mouth dropped open.

The redhead cautiously looked down at how high they were from the ground and at how the ceiling was nearing closer but, besides that, he was utterly enthralled with the surroundings. So far, they were so… well, perfect for Dumbledore. Especially the gleaming oak door with the brass knocker the shape of a griffin that they finally stopped at. The headmaster stood in front of the door grandly, and nonchalantly said,

“Open Saspirilla.” The door opened without any creaks and only a fluid, almost magical noise. Turning to a still befuddled Ron, Dumbledore smiled down at him warmly. “I have a certain partiality for Muggle cartoons, Mr Weasley.”

He spoke as though that explained something or other. Ron didn’t have a clue what he was on about. It was a joke he was sure Harry and Hermione would have understood. He laughed in weak, strained confusion; he could at least start sucking up now. Maybe it would reduce his sentence…

As soon as he stepped through the door, however, Ron Weasley was pounced upon.

Oh God. The headmaster wasn’t just trying to expel him, he was now trying to feed him to a pet Quintaped*. What had he done to deserve this?

But, looking down in fear at the figure tightening against his chest, Ron Weasley discovered not a hairy, dangerous five-legged beast but flaming red hair and a noise that sounded like muffled sobbing.

“Mum…?!” he said incredulously as Mrs Weasley’s tears soaked through her son’s robes and jumper. She looked up at her tall boy with puffy eyes, then pulled his tall frame down by his shoulders and flung her arms around him. Awkwardly and blushingly, Ron complied though soon enough he struggled and just mumbled, “Mum… I’m fine…! Just, you know… you can geroff me now…”

“When Ginny and your brothers sent that owl I thought you were… Oh! And the last thing I ever did was yell at you to get enough O.W.L.s!” Mrs Weasley sobbed as his protests only made her hug him tighter.

“Mum!” Ron cried out, squirming nervously as he went red with embarrassment. Sheepishly, she pulled away, blowing her nose loudly and dabbing her red eyes with a handkerchief. However, her eyes were still brimming with tears.

“Jeez Mum, you never were good with last words, were you?” George said laughing.

George?

Ron figured that Malfoy’s punches must have actually gone to his head, because he didn’t even notice that his family were sitting by Dumbledore’s desk and were now advancing towards the two. George and Fred were grinning broadly as Mr Weasley, Percy and Ginny looked at Ron in pure worry and concern.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Ron?” Ginny asked faintly as she stepped towards her brother. “We were so worried that…”

Ron, suddenly feeling slightly dizzy with the surprise, gingerly touched at his head as he blinked lazily.

“When… when did you all get here?”

“We met mum, dad and Percy when they Apparated to Hogsmeade late last night,” Fred explained, still grinning from ear to ear. George looked up and behind Ron as he hollered between cupped hands.

“Yeah, thanks for letting us spend the whole night shopping there, Professor!” Dumbledore chuckled as he entered the room and shut the door, the Weasley exuberance obviously amusing him. Percy looked clearly appalled by his brother’s behaviour as the headmaster laughingly lowered himself into his chair.

“Think nothing of it! Your parents and brother indeed needed to be welcomed by friendly faces and I am sure that Ron here would greatly improve in health with the medical remedies you purchased and, of course, all the presents from Honeydukes.” Ron’s eyes widened, his head was suddenly clear as he looked at his brothers in excited imploration.

“Honeydukes?” he asked hungrily.

“No fair!” Fred whined with a huff, his voice betraying that he wasn’t serious. “We ought to keep it ourselves…! Little git’s not even ill anymore!”

“Am too!” Ron answered back childishly.

His mother, who was still gazing at her son as though he was the most precious jewel in the world, suddenly sighed softly.

“Oh Ron, dear, you have something on your nose.” Reaching out high with her hand, she rubbed at his nose with the base of her thumb. However, Ron’s yelp of pain caused his mother to withdraw quickly in worry and made the twins snigger. The youngest male Weasley pouted as he stepped away from her, just in case she felt like doing it again.

“I don’t think you should have done that, mum!” Ginny said with a genuine laugh that brightened her previously paled features. A moody Ron was just the way he was supposed to be.

“Mum, I don’t need it broken again…!” Ron groaned, covering his nose protectively with his hands from his mother. The twins were having a field day.

“Mum, poke the other side, too!” George said eagerly. “You don’t want poor little Ronniekins walking around with an uneven nose.”

“Think about the bullying, mum!” Fred cried dramatically. The twins were definitely back to their troublesome selves.

“This really is no laughing matter. Ron could have been seriously hurt.” Ron looked up at his father, noticing it was the first time he heard Mr Weasley speak. Arthur Weasley’s warm, tired smile was all Ron needed as he turned away, blushing with the affection and smiling like a fool. He’d really missed his family.

“I agree, father,” Percy said, with an indignant sniff. Ron had even missed Percy! Even if he was a snooty old fart. “Some matters require quiet and solitude.” Fred rolled his eyes at his brother, triggering a creeping smile on Ron’s face as he still rubbed his tender nose.

“Yeah, Percy said that at the last party we went to…”

“I heard that George,” Mrs Weasley said crossly. George gave her a look of pure innocence. Ron smirked at how wrong it looked on his brother’s usually devilish features.

“But I’m Fred.”

“You’re George, so stop denying it.”

“Ok, so am I Fred from now on, then?” Fred asked his mother in feigned naivety.

“George!”

“But I’m…”

“I’m Ok, just in case anyone wants to know,” Ron added in exasperation, though sneakily knew it would sway his mother to fawn over him again. And he wasn’t wrong. Mrs Weasley soon started to hug him as though his limbs might fall apart if she let go and Percy, to Ron’s utter surprise, had pulled him into a shaky though uncharacteristically affectionate embrace when the twins had finally managed to extract their mother off of her youngest son. As his father tousled his hair and Ginny, in a rush of instinctive happiness, tiptoed and pecked him on the cheek, Ron heard Fred whisper in mock exasperation his ear.

“Damn Ron, you were always the favourite! Even Percy took a day off work to come here. He didn’t even do that when that ministry curse turned him into a giant chicken! He wouldn’t have bothered if it was me…”

Ron doubted that was true but didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he just smiled widely and blushed, probably looking like an incredibly daft tomato but not really caring. Yeah. Fred was right about one thing though. He was the luckiest guy on earth.

When Madam Pomfrey had finally opened the door to her chamber, Dumbledore and Weasley had already left for the headmaster’s office with Weasley looking very white in the face and suddenly incredibly anxious.

Damn. The violent little fuck was sexy when he bit alluringly upon his bottom lip like that. And Draco knew how well it tasted…

Granger had also scarpered off too (to Draco’s great delight), telling Potter that she had a Prefect meeting or probably some sort of sordid Mudblood gathering. Honestly, the Slytherin just didn’t give a shite where she went, as long as she was gone. All he wanted was the little Mudblood out of his sight and he was very content to see her bushy head bobbing out the exit, even if she did make a disgusted face at him before she went. Who the heck did she think she was anyway? How could she judge anyone looking the way she did?

But there was still fucking Potter.

The little Muggle cow had left her friend sitting awkwardly on Ron’s unmade bed, twiddling his thumbs and trying not to catch Draco’s eye. He was so fucking obvious. His shoes surely weren’t so interesting to cause him to stare at them unflinchingly for so long... especially considering how cheap they looked.

The Slytherin made sure to sneer viciously at the bespectacled prat as he raised his own fist and pounded louder and louder on Pomfrey’s chamber door, seeing Potter flinch with every thunderous bang. It was oddly satisfying to see the perfect little Gryffindor and Dumbledore’s favourite little pet (besides that stupid squawking red bird) so discomfited… and this only coerced Draco to bang his fist even harder against the wood. It also hopefully was causing Madam Pomfrey to get a splitting headache.

Fucking Potter.

How could he honestly think that Draco would find him attractive? That conceited, arrogant little… Oh, it was obvious that all his little mini-adventures had bloated that already giant ego. Draco snorted. Not only was Boy Wonder not worth the blond’s time, but Draco would also have liked to remind that little shit that he did not like boys. He was not a fucking queer and he would kill Potter before he even thought about sharing his thoughts with anyone else.

Draco Malfoy was not gay.

The Slytherin did not, he ferociously repeats, not get physically turned on by other men.

Weasley was just an exception to the rule. That was all.

When the chamber door finally slammed loudly open, he turned from the annoying little Gryffindor and his own usually snarling mouth immediately twitched to a derisive grin at his sight. The school nurse appeared in the doorway, scowling something under her breath as she slipped her frilly pink night robes on over her flowery long nightie. Draco didn’t bother hiding his snigger as he caught sight of her magical curlers and the matching hairnet.

How deliciously perfect.

Madam Pomfrey, who looked like she hadn’t slept for days, bitterly and with very strained civility, glared Draco in the eye. She was still an imposing figure, even looking so ridiculous. All she needed were rabbit slippers and she’d be complete. She was swaying slightly with lethargy on the spot, though spoke with pure control.

“What can I do for you this hour of the morning, Mr Malfoy?” How very coldly said. Draco returned to his sneer. Though he recently did note that he was never this disrespectful with the staff, he supposed that he was already expelled. Why not show his true colours to their full extent? What else could they do to him?

“What else would I ask you for, Pomfrey?” His pale grey eyes narrowing, as he practically spat her name out in disdain. She pressed her lips together tightly so her mouth became a mere line – oh, he was really getting to her. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning wickedly within. The Slytherin got such a rise from seeing that look in people’s eyes because of him; he supposed that was the only reason he really did it so much. If they ignored him, he’d probably get bored, tire of them and walk away. Her unabashed anger only compelled him to continue as he pointed a delicate finger at his face, gesturing to his marred features. “See the face? Why don’t you make a wild guess?” Madam Pomfrey, who was about to open her mouth in vexation, had finally woken up; her heavy-lidded eyes were wide at once as they drunk in every wound and cut on his porcelain complexion, almost as though she’d only just noticed them. She couldn’t seem to control her face from lighting up.

“Oh my.” The stupid cow was smiling. “Dear me, Mr Malfoy. How vicious a door did you run into?” He could hear Potter sniggering from across the room. That prick.

He scowled. She wasn’t allowed to be cocky. That was his field.

“It was Weasley,” he hissed venomously. He never despised laugher as much as he did right then. He crossed his arms defiantly as he sneered. “But hey, a door… Weasley… I see why you got them confused. They really are so alike. They’ve both got the same IQ…”

“Shut the hell up, Malfoy.” He turned to the sound of the growl.

Ooooh. Potter didn’t seem to like that. His green eyes looked so very annoyed that the Slytherin noticed that he didn’t actually look as pathetic as he usually did. Draco smirked brilliantly, tossing his hair from his eyes slightly, then berating himself in his mind for such a girl-like flick of the head. Like he wasn’t pissed off enough for thinking he was a queen…

“Oh, don’t like me picking on your boyfriend, Potter?” Draco asked spitefully. Potter spoke in a softly threatening voice, teeth clenched. Nowhere in the same league as Weasley…

“He’s… not… my… boyfriend… Malfoy...” You’d already be dead if he was, Potter…

“Mr Malfoy, are you going to allow me to treat you or will you merely continue to antagonise fellow students?” Madam Pomfrey suddenly snapped in irritation. He failed to see the justice as he returned her angry stare. Potter had been the one to bloody start it. But of course, he was bloody Potter.

Everyone loved Potter. The Saviour of the World. The Boy Who Lived… and all that crap. With his ‘Why don’t we all take turns and kiss his arse?’ fan clubs and Mudblood-loving tendencies. His profound Gryffindor courage and sheer loyalty… it was honestly enough to make anyone physically ill.

The Slytherin had forgotten that he was actually the one who’d woken Pomfrey for treatment and before he could tell her to shove her remedies up somewhere that was far from flattering and could hardly accommodate her shelf full of bottles comfortably, it all turned against him.

Madam Pomfrey had reflexes like a damn cat. She had a bottle of Ready-Mixed Cut Reparo Potion already clutched in her hand and had doused a great amount of it on a cotton swab when Draco finally noticed what she was about to do. He made a face when a ghastly aroma ghosted up his nostrils, almost threatening to eradicate his sense of smell forever. It reeked of pure revulsion, like Muggle bleach, and the Slytherin was reasonably sure it would sting with severe intensity upon his aching sores. Did the bat honestly think that he would willingly walk around smelling like that when he took so long to smell as good as he did? Draco stepped away from her as she advanced towards him.

“Keep away from me, woman…” He warned dangerously, pointing at her threateningly. There was no fucking way he’d put that on himself.

“Oh… stop being such a child!” she scolded with a sigh, suddenly looming toweringly over the Slytherin. Not only trying to taint him but insulting him too. Oh, she was going down… “Let me treat these cuts before you involve yourself in yet another fight, Mr Malfoy.”

“Just hand me some Painless Quick Restore Cream, Pomfrey,” he snarled, still backing away. Shit, his back was facing a wall. Only a few more steps back and she’d have him.

“There’s none left in the cupboard, Mr Malfoy…” she said very calmly as she stepped closer. From the corner of his slightly panicking eye he could observe Potter watching with apt curiosity; smiling slightly. Prick. “…And you can deem its lack of presence your own fault. Mr Weasley required three tubs to cover him.”

Bloody Weasley. And bloody him for losing his temper.

His back hit the wall and Pomfrey was on him in a second, like a particularly infuriating rash. No matter how much he managed to squirm, or how skilfully he would place his knees and elbows, the Slytherin only managed to escape her when she’d finished, walked away and placed the blood stained swab into a nearby bin. He could feel the almost buzzing like tingle under his cool skin and the bruise on his eye was throbbing into an almost warming, pleasurable shiver. Licking his dry lips, he could feel them healing and going magically numb. He could also taste the bitter traces of Reparo liquid on them and tried not to gag embarrassingly in front of Potter. He tried to swish the taste away with a mouthful of spit, shuddering as the vile juice slithered down his throat.

“Trying to poison me, Pomfrey?” he rasped, massaging his aching shoulder with his fingers. The stupid cow had dug her fingernails into them when trying to keep him still.

He felt as though he should have been angrier.

That he should have been making death threats in his head or planning elaborate and genius ways to murder her. Instead, he actually reasoned that she’d salvaged his face from looking awful for yet another second and that a mere scowl should show his (he cringed at the word) gratitude. She smiled, though for once, the usually wise and mature woman looked quite seemingly triumphant.

“Don’t tempt me, Mr Malfoy,” she said good-naturedly as she headed back over to her chamber. Without turning away from her goal destination, the matron continued. “Now, I advise you to keep to your bed and eat some of the chocolate I’ve left by it. And I honestly do not care what Professor Dumbledore affirms, you will be out of my infirmary if you cause any further trouble.” Then she opened the door to her chamber, turned her head to give him a stern though slightly smiling look, then marched inside and shut the door swiftly after her.

Draco scowled.

He knew he shouldn’t have fucking given her the benefit of the doubt.

However much he hated doing anything that he was ordered to, he reluctantly complied as he walked self-assuredly to his bed and dropped upon it. Pulling up his legs so he could lie down on the bed, he reached out for a piece of chocolate from his bedside table then leaned back on the one arm he had folded behind his head. The Slytherin slipped the rough cube within his mouth, swirling it around with his tongue and sucking it contentedly until a sludge of melted chocolate coated the roof of his mouth. He licked it softly away with the tip of his tongue, practically purring with satisfaction as he indulged within it fully. The velvet-like taste was so deliciously alluring and unmistakeably sexual that a pervert like Draco would immediately think of many very pleasurable images. And each and every one the Slytherin thought of included a certain, currently absent, Gryffindor.

Weasley holding a bar of chocolate…

Weasley feeding him a bar of chocolate…

Weasley licking melted chocolate off his hands…

Weasley dipped head to toe in chocolate and lying on a four-poster bed…

Luckily for him, he caught a flash of green before he became too aroused for even the great, cool Draco Malfoy to hide.

Potter was watching him silently from Weasley’s bed.

God, did he know how fucking creepy he was when he did that?

The Slytherin manoeuvred his arm so he could cross them over his chest as he stared at the boy with disdain.

“Can I help you with something, Potter?” Draco sneered. “Or do you like gawping like the idiot you are at people for no reason?”

The stupid Gryffindor just stared at him coolly, crossing his own arms and suddenly looking very in-control. Bastard.

“Only as much as you like snogging redheaded boys, Malfoy.”

The Slytherin froze.

That fucking shit.

He’d always known that Potter knew, but hearing it just sounded… well… sick and perverted. And wrong. He narrowed his eyes at the Gryffindor, who still looked as calm as ever. How dare he say boys? Draco only liked one redheaded boy, and that would be the only one… the only one… that the Slytherin would ever kiss. Which he already had.

He wanted to scowl at Potter. He wanted to jump off the bed and stuff his beloved chocolate down the git’s throat and make him choke down on it.

But he needed to be in control. He’d already shown far too much emotion. He needed to be fucking untouchable. He needed to be stone cold.

He stared at Potter intensely with his icy silver eyes, effortlessly matching his stare.

“You going to tell on me, Potter?” he drawled, sounding brilliantly nonchalant. Potter simply shook his head, staring at the Slytherin incredulously as though Draco had just declared that he was secretly engaged to Madam Pomfrey.

“You are seriously fucked up, Malfoy.” Why was he so surprised? Even Draco, who adored himself, admitted that. The Slytherin just leaned back against his headboard.

“You should be quieter, Potter,” he hissed, his eyes narrowing in soft spite. “You don’t want your fan club hearing such language from their God. You might physically scar them for life.” He suddenly realised what he said. He actually winced at it. Oh, what a terrible choice of words. Potter seemed to notice too because he suddenly had a mischievous glint in his eye and a smirk on his face replacing his earlier shock.

“I didn’t think I’d ever catch you talking in cheap puns, Malfoy, You’re losing your touch.”

Draco wasn’t losing his touch, but his patience was slowly withering.

“Are you going to fucking tell him or not?”

Whoops. Not as subtle as he wanted to go. Potter was suddenly serious again.

“I’d never do something like that to him.” Draco sneered at the whole ‘I’d never hurt my best friend’ allegiance. What a pile of crap. If he had Weasley, he’d make the boy go through pain all the time just to see his eyes screw up in that oddly gratifying way they had.

“Always the faithful Gryffindor,” Draco smirked. “So, you’re not going to tell him and I’m not going to tell him. What’s the catch?” Potter had a stern, almost intimidating look on his face. Almost.

“To leave us alone,” he said plainly. “To leave Ron alone.”

Leave Weasley alone? Was Potter fucking insane? How the hell was he going to get his kicks?

But Weasley couldn’t know. Nobody could know. Draco would rip Potter limb from limb if he opened that trap… but he knew he wouldn’t. He was just as ashamed about the whole matter.

With a scowl, the Slytherin reluctantly nodded his head.

“Fine,” he said. “Done. But if you breathe a word of this to anyone, Potter, I’ll throw you off the Astronomy Tower, sell your body to a museum, then have my wicked way with Weasley. Deal?”

Potter looked at him in dislike, but managed to nod.

“Deal.”

* Quintaped – A highly dangerous carnivorous beast with a low-slung body covered in reddish-brown fur and has five legs, each with a clubfoot; found in ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’