
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1176918.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Ron_Weasley
  Character:
      Draco_Malfoy, Ron_Weasley, Harry_Potter, Vincent_Crabbe
  Additional Tags:
      Obsession, wanking, Angry_Draco_Malfoy, Teasing_Ron, Pre-Slash, Part_of
      Series
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-02-10 Words: 6066
****** Decompression ******
by my_thestral
Summary
     The young Malfoy is not quite so dignified as he'd like the world to
     believe. Until one day his private, khm, endeavours make him stumble
     upon a dirty little secret his "favourite" redhead (not!) is most
     anxious to hide...
Notes
     I got the idea while driving - yeah, I do drive a lot and it does get
     exceedingly boring - I had a lot of fun putting it on paper. As the
     rest of my work, it's hardly perfect or complete, but I chose to post
     it anyway. If I'd waited until my stories were perfect I'd never
     publish anything anyway.;) I hope you can enjoy, I know I did.
     And for this one I've actually got myself a beta - what can I say
     about most wonderful wwmrsweasleydo
     that you don't already know? Hardly anything, but just as a reminder:
     she's super-kind for doing this and I am profoundly grateful.
     Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to the
     wonderful mind of JK Rowling, I play for fun, not profit...
Draco Malfoy was rubbing one out. And – a sad truth be spoken - not the first
one that day either. Technically speaking - should one bother to count the
morning glory - it might not even have been his second one… and the way this
day was going, it most shockingly appeared as if this one was not going to
be the last one either. It was, after all, only noon. Shocking,
indeed. Quite mortifying.

Well, yes – yes, of course he was properly ashamed of his apparent…  weakness
for self-pleasuring – but what else was a teenage boy - a powerless hostage to
all those crazed hormones - supposed to do!? Private meetings with his fist
were, after all, one of the rare true pleasures he was left with in
this murder of a year! Outside the door of this empty Hogwarts bathroom there
were expectations, suspicions, alliances to make, enemies to defy, delicate
rules to follow… and in here, in this empty stall, it was just him, his
wonderful obedient hand, dutifully following the curves and pits of his
imagination, and his swollen prick, dripping in pursuit of pleasure, providing
so desired release at his bidding. It was beautifully, exquisitely simple. And
he was becoming addicted.

A brief unwelcome thought entered his mind, a thought of what would Father have
to say if he ever saw him like that, his expensive robes recklessly open down
the middle, panting and making those shameful helpless sounds, his fist tightly
wrapped around his engorged needy shaft, pumping with abandon, making him
unable to resist his own body… but he banished the sacrilegious thought
quickly, because it was… oh, for Merlin’s sake, it was unsettlingly
arousing, alright?! – God, he really was a pervert! A sick, corrupted pervert
he might be, but he was not so far gone as to wank to a thought of his own
Father, to hell with him!

He was just… he'd just come from spying on a Quidditch practice of the
Gryffindors and what he saw there infuriated him… They weren’t honestly
considering giving carrot-head a chance, were they?! Yes, it would surely
exponentially improve the Slytherin’s chances of winning a cup this year – but
even with that in mind, another Weasley on a team was just a disgrace! And the
most pathetic one of the Weasley mob at that! No dirt-poor Weasley and their
shabby attire should ever be allowed near such a noble sport as Quidditch
and that particular Weasley… it was just preposterous and for some reason it
pissed him off beyond belief to watch a redhead mount a broom and head for the
loops. Of course, in the end Granger had to cheat to get him on the team, but
clearly she was so desperate to please her lover-boy that she didn’t even think
twice about cheating, the goody-two-shoes! Draco did manage a few well-pointed
insults that made the Gryffindor’s ears burn as bright as lava, before Hooch
threw him out, the old biased over-protective cow – but it was nowhere near
enough to vent his anger!

Grrr, just thinking of the Gryffindors got him all frustrated and bothered and
he desperately needed to take the tension off for once. Well, once more. Oh,
screw it, who’s counting anyway?! It was just… he was under a lot of pressure
and somehow it was making him perpetually, desperately horny these days… God,
was he ever so horny! His hormone-befuddled mind found innuendos in everything
around him – casually thrown words, every innocent look, spontaneous little
actions no one thought through or twice about – everything, all of it, his
fucked up mind revamped it all into food for his private sessions with himself.

Perhaps it was time to get himself a girlfriend. There was no shortage of
willing candidates around – Pansy, for one, expressed her interest multiple
times in no uncertain terms. And then there were others. Millicent tried to
smother him with her motherly bosom on every encounter. Daphne was all out to
impress him with her vicious tongue. And not only the Slytherins either. They
were all around him and all over him – but none, that would spike his interest.
They were all so…bland, weren’t they? So ready to impress him, so easy to
please with a compliment or merely an absence of a harsh word…  And bland and
compliant just didn’t do it for him.

He was part Black, they were all about the fire and defiance. No matter how
hard Father tried to emphasise the importance of presenting the world with an
impeccable, frosty appearance, Draco knew that deep down inside he was as
passionate as they came. There was no point lying to himself about it, he had
to work too hard to keep the little explosions of temper under the surface in
his daily encounters. He thought perhaps he wouldn’t have found himself in the
empty bathroom stalls so often, if he wasn’t required to keep his temper in
check at all times. If he could just let go every once in a while… scream at
those he was desperate to scream at, hex the ones that pushed his buttons on
purpose, just to see him lose it and make a fool out of himself…

Like Potter and his cronies. God, he was desperate to teach them a lesson! His
dick got hard at the very thought of humiliating the bespectacled bastard that
was making his life a living hell just by existing. And then the skinny wanker
had the audacity to stalk him! As if he wouldn’t be able to notice! Son of a
Death Eater here, hello?! Most of their childhood games were made up of stealth
and reconnaissance; they could spot being tracked blindfolded! And this was
supposed to be a Saviour of the wizarding world?! Puh-lease…  Some
Saviour! Lucky, that’s what the half-blind git was, and that was the whole
story! When the time comes the Dark lord will have him for breakfast in five
different plates and won’t even burp once he’s done with him! If four-eyes and
the ridiculous members of his circus were the only hope of the wizarding kind
against Vol… oh, You-know-who! – then the wizarding world was already doomed as
far as Draco was concerned.

He might have stood a chance if he chose his alliances better – but honestly,
what was he going to do in the face of the Dark Lord with a Mudblood and a
blood-traitor as a back-up?! The Mudblood – well, perhaps one could understand
Potter taking her on board – he couldn’t afford to be too particular about the
blood-matters, being a half-blood himself and well, she was rather smart…
Oh, alright, she was bloody brilliant and not halfway bad-looking since she
grew into herself, so Potter was probably banging her… or hoping to, since one
could spot from another planet she only had eyes for one guy - and it was not
Potty. The fucking blood-traitor. What on Merlin’s bloody Earth could
Potter ever expect to gain from keeping company with Weasley?!

Just thinking about the lanky red-head made Draco’s blood boil and his fist
gripped tighter around his swollen shaft. That bloke was a right menace! What
a joke of nature was it to make someone like Weasley a pure-blood!? He was the
last of the last, the most miserable, pathetic, god-awful person on this
planet! What Potter saw in him, was beyond Draco….

First of all, he was dumb. Everybody knew he was no brain-trust, even his
closest friends pointed out time and time again how oblivious he was. Alright,
perhaps he was borderline-mad chess-genius, having beaten McGonnagall’s
bewitched chess-set as a first-grader, but that was nothing but a glitch in his
otherwise widely-recognised stupidity. Yeah, Weasleywas stupid… if nothing
else, he was stupid for following a half-blood with a death-sentence looming
over his head, rather than hanging out with someone from a nice respectable
pureblood family, such as… God forbid that he should ever hope to keep company
with the likes of Weasley, stupid crazy fucked-up brain, where did that thought
come from?!

And he was ugly! God, was he ever so ugly! Those terrible freckles… like a
giant rash over that massive hard body; specks of gold peaking out of those
worn-out sleeves and over the stretch of a creamy stomach his too short robes
could no longer cover… creeping up that endless neck, all the way up to those
electric blue eyes, clashing with that horrible messy brilliant red hair… That
boy’s never seen a comb up close in his life, Draco was willing to bet his
fortune on it, and sometimes his fingers would just itch to sink into that
silken sea of fire and thread through it, trying to make sense and order out of
its warmth…. Oh, God, dear God, he was going crazy… he was just so incredibly
hard and horny he could no longer think straight…

And even the name… his name was awful. Who names their child like that?! Ronald
Billius… what a wreck of a name…. now, how on Merlin’s bloody earth did he even
know his full name!? Oh, screw it, he must have picked it up in one of those
10-inches-thick books on pure-blood family lines Father was making him learn by
heart. Nevermind. The name was stupid, that’s what mattered. There were plenty
of good distinguished names around that a pure-blood family could name their
offspring – and that brainless twat ended up as Ron… Ron… RonRonRon…. Oh, yes,
just like that… no, wait, what?!

What kind of a god-awful name was that… Ron… oh, that felt good…
Godfuckingdammit, what the hell was that!? Why was his body responding like
that… just saying that terrible… awful… god, help him… stupid name… Ron…
ohgodohfuckingod, why was this happening… Ron…. ronronron, oh fuck… he wasn’t…
he couldn’t be…. Ronronronronron…. fuckingRon, fucking redheaded hot-tempered
motherfucker that just had to look at him with those fierce blue eyes and made
his blood boil, made him want to pounce on him and get him underneath…. Ron,
Ron, Ron… writhing beneath him, those hot muscles moving against his, those
impossible blue eyes staring at him in heat of mutual hatred… oh, god
motherfuck, Ron, yesssss… those silken strands of fiery hair tangled in his
fingers, pulling them back, revealing that long neck, begging to be licked…
Ronronronronron… bringing him closer, closer to that soft red mouth, those lips
that just had to taste sweet and fresh and they would open and welcome him and…

“Ron!!!” he yelped out loud, unable to stop himself, unable to stop the strands
of pearly come spurting out of his cock while he was pumping out his
frustrations, his fantasies, his defeat. His knees no longer held him and he
sunk down on the floor, still staring blankly at the empty wall in front of
him. His mind was empty. He was mortified. What.The hell. Just happened?! He
didn’t just… did he!? He couldn’t have… He wouldn’t! What fucked up cog in his
mind went awry to make him think of Weasley – of Weasley, of all people!! -
while he was wanking?! He came - and God, did he ever come! - shouting his
name, his god-awful horrible name he despised with all his heart! Ron…. oh, you
stupid motherfucking body,please!!! Please, stop flushing and jerking every
time this terrible mess of the hormone-enslaved brain brings up his name!

No. That was just… no. Not acceptable. He will forget about it this minute and
never let go of himself so spectacularly again. Clearly, his brain needed some
fresh breeze of common sense. He needed to go out of this abomination of a
school if only for a day, to clear his mind and get away from it all. And he’d
be restored to his normal self promptly.

With shaky knees Draco Malfoy got up and tried to make himself presentable,
without daring a thought in the direction of what made him an unprecedented
mess to begin with. He turned a corner behind the stalls and chanced a look at
himself in the bathroom mirror. He could barely recognise himself. His eyes
were alight with a silver glow, his cheeks, usually marble-white, were tinted
pink and one could almost see the crazy heart beating against his chest. He
looked almost feral. And, oh, so alive. He couldn’t stop staring at himself;
the man in the mirror was a stranger to his usual impeccable self. If only
thinking about Weasley made him look like this…

No. He wasn’t going there. He simply wasn’t ready to allow his confounded brain
think those thoughts. He would forget about this… glitch in his clearly out-of-
control imagination and he would do it now. He was a Malfoy after all. They
could do anything. They could do without anything. They could…

The door opened swiftly and a tattered bag came flying through: “… catch up
with you right away. You go ahead I just need to piss like a drunk hippogriff.”

Draco closed his eyes and cursed his not-so-lucky stars for throwing Weasley –
and yes, that very one Weasley, in all abundance of the lot! – his way along
with his impressively appalling vocabulary. But perhaps it was a good thing.
Maybe seeing the… inappropriate object of his god-awful wanking session in
person was just the thing he needed to cure himself from what could become a
very bad habit.

The redhead was obviously in a hurry and didn’t seem to notice him at all and
Draco intended to keep it that way, so he pressed his body closer to the wall
as if trying to melt with it. He succeeded in going unnoticed as Ron headed
straight for one of the stalls and a moment later Draco could hear a sound of a
zipper and a small sigh of relief – but none of the sounds that usually
accompanied the man eager to relieve himself. It took Draco a moment to realize
what it meant. And then he heard them. He heard another kind of sounds, those
he was all too familiar with, the sounds of flesh sliding against flesh and the
soft undoing moans of need and pleasure. Weasley was wanking. He - was wanking.
No more than five feet from him.

Draco’s first impulse was to run. This… was disgusting. This… it couldn’t be
healthy if he stayed. He couldn’t stay. But he couldn’t move either. Somehow he
felt rooted to the floor. He tried to unglue his eyes from the forbidden stall
that currently held his imagination and all his senses captive only to find
himself staring at his own reflection in the mirror. And that man was still
there. The stranger. With gleaming silver eyes, so alike his, but not cool and
composed … just every bit predatory. With hitched breath. And another raging
hard-on robes could no longer conceal. And the man in the mirror lifted his
hand and touched his own flushed cheek with shaky fingers as if to check if he
was real.

The sounds from the stall were becoming more desperate. “Bastard… you fucking
bastard… oh…” Weasley was moaning. So - a boy. No girl was ever going to be
called “a bastard”. A boy, possibly a man. But Draco already knew that.
Everybody knew about his obsession with Krum. Everyone but that half-blind
bespectacled git could see Weasley had the hots for him, following him around
like that. Any second now, he would say his name. He would ruin Draco. Cause
more than anything Draco wanted to be in that stall now, kneeling in front of
that gorgeous swollen prick and have himself showered in his come. He… needed
it. He needed to taste him. He needed…

“Malfoy… you fucker… god, Draco… fuck… “. Desperate yelp and a thud as if
someone just collapsed against the wall. And the world came to a halt. This
was… he was dreaming. Any time now he would wake up in his bed sweaty and
panting and fucking soaked in his come… just another wet dream… about a
faceless redheaded man. His favourite. Who just got a face. A very freckled –
oh, fuck it! – most incredible face with the most astonishing blue eyes in this
world and the full red mouth that could have him reduced to begging if it had
only ever opened for him and taken him in. Which just happened. Weasley had
said his name. No, not said. Yelped. As if he couldn’t help it. Weasley was
hard for him.

With this one word Draco’s world has changed. And it gave him wings. His hand
automatically slid down to cup his hard-on and he knew what he wanted to
do. This… he couldn’t let go of this. He was beyond thinking straight. He
needed Weasley… Ron, he needed him to know. Every last bit a Slytherin, even
when he was acting on his impulses, he moved towards the door like a shadow and
opened it with ceremony as if he had just come in.

“Just get the fuck away, Vince, I can’t possibly care for your idiocies at the
moment.  Give the man some private time, for Merlin’s sake, …” he blurted the
first thing that came to his mind and slammed the door behind him. He whispered
a Colloportus, just loud enough for the redhead to hear - and then held his
breath. This was Weasley’s chance to leave the game. He just needed to make his
presence known and this would all be over before it even began. Not a sound. He
knew it. Weasley just didn’t have it in him to walk out with his head held
high, right past the boy he’d just wanked over.

So Draco moved forward before he lost the nerve to do what needed to be done.
He slipped in a stall right next door to the one that harboured the redhead and
closed the door. Showtime. He closed his eyes to focus, but really, he
shouldn’t have bothered. Just the thought of the beautiful shagged out boy that
kept on invading his dreams, being so close to him, about to listen to his most
private confession  - that very thought was enough to get him going… god, he
really was a pervert, wasn’t he? Whatever. Whatever got him there. He was a
Slytherin. He doubted there ever was one that wasn’t a bit of a pervert.

He slid his hand inside his robes and felt his engorged shaft pulsating with
life. Rubbing it lightly produced just the right amount of those undoing sounds
that he knew were going to haunt the redhead in his dreams. He let out a small
sigh and made a point of opening his robes without discretion. He wanted Ron to
be able to visualize just about everything he was about to do to himself.

“Oh… fuck… yes… like that…” Behind the closed eye-lids he imagined Weasley
boring holes into the panel that stood between them, desperately willing it to
go away so he could watch… and see Draco’s hand slide slowly down the length of
his cock, collecting small pearly drops at the end with each stroke, spreading
the moisture down the silken hot surface, coming back to the swollen purple
head begging for attention, picking up speed and erratic rhythm as it moved…

“Yes… god, yes… need you… fuck, why the fuck I can’t have you…  want you… so
bad… want your touch… here… your fingers making my skin crawl… your mouth on my
neck… feeding off my pulse… those beautiful big hands cupping my arse… bringing
us closer… sliding against each other… rubbing our cocks together… god, I need
you… I want to fuck you so bad it’s making my balls burst…  I’d let you have
me, I’d spread myself open for you… for your gorgeous big cock…. ready to fuck
me in my tight puckered hole… oh, I’d feel so good around you… so tight and
hot… I’d let you stretch me… have you buried up to your balls inside me…. Then
I’d let you ride me… fuck me into the wall if you like… anything… anything for
you…  if only I could stare…  down those fucking incredible blue eyes of yours…
while your hard arse drives into me… Sometimes you just look at me… across the
hall… and I’m ready to come for you…  I want to watch your face… when you spill
inside me… want to wrap my fingers in your fucking gorgeous fiery hair… when I
come… just dig in while I’m screaming … your name…  Ron, motherfuckingshit,
Ron!!!”

For a moment there he saw black as his cock exploded, but even through his
ecstasy he could hear a muffled gasp. He was looking out for it. And it
definitely came. Mission complete: one redhead floored stupid. The blond had no
way of knowing what the Gryffindor was thinking, but whatever it was, he must
have been shocked out of his wits. Good. He needed him right there, shell-
shocked, unable to make a move.

And now he needed to do this right. This… he couldn’t be responsible for this,
the thought of this ever becoming something scared him almost as much as the
thought of nothing ever coming out of it put him on edge. He was doing it
already, over-thinking it, weighing all the options and he was inevitably on
his way to fuck it up. No, this time it was down to Weasley, Draco would make
sure of that.

Drained and with shaky legs he somehow managed to get up on his feet and
whispered, albeit none too quietly: “Weasley… you bastard… you’ll be the end of
me…”

He got out of the stall with enough ceremony to make a point he was leaving and
then stopped abruptly by the tattered bag.

“Weasel, you twat, you’re unbelievable… “ he murmured as if to himself. “You
can’t even keep your bag on you, you brainless fuckwit… Why the fuck am I
losing sleep over you, I’ll never understand… I should hide it, really, throw
it in the lake, but as it is…”

He kneeled down by the bag, poked around it for a while – “honestly, Weasley,
what a mess!” – until he brought out a piece of parchment and he scribbled some
words on it hastily. He didn’t sign it. That would so not be him. Ron would
know who it was from anyway and Draco could pretend he wanted to have his
identity hidden. If Weasley didn’t want to do anything about it… then his
reputation was safe, though the thought made him inexplicably sad and
frustrated.

Perhaps nothing should ever come out of this… mess that seemed to have a common
denominator in some sort of mad inexplicable mutual attraction. But for reasons
he didn’t want to contemplate over, Draco desperately wanted to give it a try.
And he was hoping the redhead was up to it as well. He now knew who to go to –
and if he was willing to make the first move…

Draco knew he would never miss a chance like that. And he was done wondering
why because it was irrelevant and frankly, quite irritating. For some obscure,
obscene reason his mind thought that obsessing over Ron Weasley was a great
idea and he was in no mood to oppose. Something inside him craved the heat and
the passion and the fight Ron brought along and Draco was comfortable enough
with himself to know that he needed it. And if Ron wasn’t up to the job,
perhaps he’d have to find another way, twist his arm into coming forward... He
wouldn't be looking for another boy. Not for quite a while if he knew anything
about himself. Malfoys were… very one-sided once their preferences became
clear.

He walked out of that bathroom with his head held up high, strangely alive and
elated as if the world out there suddenly held a whole new appeal. The air
smelled sweetly of hope and autumn and for the first time this year Draco felt
like flying.
~                                                                              
                                     
And in the empty Hogwarts bathroom a certain dumbfounded redhead stood above
his bag as if he was encountering an explosive device. He almost felt like
probing it with his foot, knowing what it contained. But instead he took a deep
breath and mumbled to himself:

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake Ron, you’re a Gryffindor, you can’t have that randy
bastard fuck with your mind like that. C’mon let’s do this… see what innovative
way the git found now to insult my mother…”

With a sigh he kneeled down and noticed – with no small amount of wonder – that
the blond had managed to arrange his things much more neatly. Seriously -
Malfoys and their sense of the appropriate! Ron just rolled his eyes up and
went to look for the note. It was hard to find – clearly the Slytherin didn’t
want to make it obvious to anyone that might randomly come across the abandoned
bag. If Ron hadn't heard him scribble something, he might not have found it
until it fell out by chance – and right now that thought scared him as much as
his curiosity drove him to find the damn thing!

He finally spotted a neatly folded piece of parchment in his History of Magic
book – it seemed that Malfoy thought it would be the safest there, because,
seriously, no one in their right mind would ever willingly open that book, the
very sight of it tended to make Ron sleepy, that’s just how exceedingly boring
it was.
His fingers shook when he spread it open and for a moment there he closed his
eyes, making himself ready for anything the parchment had to say. It was
Malfoy, after all, nothing should really come as a surprise. Except for a
moment there, when the blond screamed his name in ecstasy, Ron actually lost
most of his marbles. Here goes nothing, then…

Ron opened his eyes and for a moment the words just danced in front of his eyes
unintelligibly until he focused and actually read what it said. Ready his ass.
One could never be ready for that. It wasn’t insults. It simply said:

“I found your bag – you really should be more careful with your stuff! – and it
seems like a perfect opportunity to tell you a few things I have no other way
of communicating. Before I go on – you do realize this is a boys’ bathroom?
Good, just as long as we’re clear on that… Now, what I have to say…
I can’t stop thinking about you. I dream about you all the time and
yes, those dreams as well. I want you so bad I can’t think of anything else.
It’s fucking up my life and I can’t go on like that. I saw you fly today and I
almost came in my pants. That’s how bad I have it. I wanted to sell it to
myself that I hate you, but it’s just not working out anymore. I sure as hell
don’t know what this is, perhaps it’s just the teenage hormones messing with
me, but I’ve never felt like this before about anyone. You’re the only one. So…
I need to know if you’d ever give us a chance. I’d like that. I’d like more
than anything, but I’m not in a position to make the first step. Coward?
Perhaps, but there’s a reason you’re in Gryffindor and I’m not. So if you’re
interested – Astronomy Tower, tomorrow, at 11? Not morning, of course. I can’t
make you any promises, except that I’ll make it worth you a while. Just… don’t
make any plans for the night, I intend to keep you busy. I can’t imagine being
able to keep my hands off the best arse in England.
And if you’re not coming… could you please stop looking so goddamn sexy!?
Please? I might need to get myself a girlfriend and I’d really like to avoid
that if I can.”

Ron couldn’t help it, he dropped the note and started to laugh hysterically.
This… was Malfoy at his finest. It didn’t need to be signed, it
just oozed malfoyness out of it. Arrogant, self-confident, with absolute
disregard for repercussions. He might not have guessed who it was from if “the
bathroom incident” hadn't happened, simply because he would never in a million
years have thought Malfoy would want to have anything to do with him. It just
didn’t compute. But since it was incredibly, undeniably him – so was the note.
He couldn’t prove it, of course. It was written on his own parchment, with his
own quill. People would just laugh at him if he ever tried to tell anyone the
haughty Slytherin wrote this.

He wasn’t going. Of course not. It could only be a trap. Or something. And even
if it wasn’t – he was Harry’s friend and he'd chosen his side. He couldn’t help
it if his anger, frustration and hatred for the blond somehow got translated
into a massive hard-on every time Ron thought about getting even with Draco
Malfoy. He was just fucked up. He’ll get over it. And he wasn’t going. Nah. Not
ever.

“Ron? Oh, there you are! Are you alright, mate? I thought I’d lost you to some
massive attack of digestive problems!” Harry. And his ever so elegant wording.
You’ve gotta love the man.

“I’m fine now,” mumbled Ron, trying to fight a rush of blood creeping up his
face. “Just a bit too much excitement, you know…”

“Yeah… it’s not every day that you make it to the finest Quidditch team
Gryffindor has ever had!” Harry hugged him across the shoulders, and tried to
mess up his hair with friendly affection, which was hard, because Ron was a
good head and a half taller.

“Harry… erm… I was wondering… is there a chance… do you need your Invisibility
cloak tomorrow evening?” the redhead blurted out, simply feeling his face
bathing in all that embarrassing tomato red colour.

“Whatever for…?” Harry looked at him with genuine surprise. And then it dawned
on him. “Dear God, they’re like vultures, aren’t they?! Seriously, you’re on
the team for half an hour and already you’ve got girls throwing themselves at
you by the dozen! Fred and George told me the players always get to pick!”

“No, it’s not like that, it’s just….” Ron shut his mouth abruptly, realizing
that he was messing up. If Harry thought he was going out with one of the eager
Quidditch supporters, that just might save him from a pathetic attempt at
lying. And hewas always pants at lying.

“So which one is it? No, don’t tell me… Let me guess. It’s Lavender, isn’t
it?!” He looked at the redhead sideways, noticed his bright facial colour and
clapped his hand happily on his thigh. “I knew it! I knew it the moment I saw
Hermione throw… erm, never mind me… Good jugs on that one, mate, if you don’t
mind me saying so. ”

“Hm-mm…” managed Ron, about three seconds from passing out. Seriously, if the
blood didn't stop rushing into his head, the top would come off like a geyser.
Why was he doing this to himself!? And for Malfoy of all people?!

“So…” he cleared his throat. “Can I borrow it?”

“Goes without saying, mate!” said Harry warmly. He didn’t probe further. He was
well aware how insecure his best friend was when it came to girls. And Ron
could seriously use some action... almost as much as his room-mates could use
some sleep, his silencing charms were beyond poor.

This time Ron gave him a genuine smile. “Thanks, mate! Don’t expect any dirty
details, though!” he elbowed him gently in the ribs and Harry pretended to be
mortally wounded. “Moi?! Never! I’ll even help getting Hermione off your back
for the evening,” he offered.

“Hermione…? Why…?” Ron frowned.

“Never mind,” said Harry quickly with a small sigh to himself. Seriously, of
all the oblivious people on the planet, Ron took the crown. “Just make sure you
have fun!”

“I intend to,” mumbled Ron and as they finally made it out of the bathroom,
hugged his best mate in one of his bear-like one-armed embraces, though not
bothering to mess up his hair further – that would be entirely impossible, as
Harry’s hair, in any given moment, looked as if he attempted to comb it with a
firecracker.

“Would you look at that now… the love birds,” drawled a cold voice behind them
and Ron, not bothering to let go of Harry turned around to face the cold grey
eyes of Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin was surrounded by his usual choice of
cronies and for once he looked absolutely livid. “I wonder what Potter
did now to make your face explode in such glorious colours of the sunset,
Weasley?” he hissed, but as he waited for his gorillas to laugh, his eyes never
left Ron’s face. “Let me guess… you look like a virgin on her wedding night…
don’t tell me you just scored a kiss, carrot-head?”

Among the cat-calls and hysterical giggles Harry moved in to pounce on the
slimy blond git, but for some reason Ron felt his fingers close around his
shoulders and held him in his place. He'd never felt so composed and in control
under Malfoy’s provocations before and suddenly he knew just how to react to
get back at the visibly pissed-off Slytherin. A good half a head taller, he
looked him straight in the eyes and smirked:

“Spot on, Malfoy… We just snogged stupid… apparently that’s an old Gryffindor
house tradition – the Quidditch captain gets to take advantage of every new
member of the team. Isn’t that right, Harry?”

The raven-haired youth, who first looked at him as if he'd lost all of his
marbles in one go, quickly picked up on the joke and nodded enthusiastically:

“Yeah, it’s like… whatsitcalled… the right of the first night or some such rot.
Now excuse us, I really need to go and ravage Ron here. I’m kind of desperate.”

He put his arm around the redhead’s waist for good measure and pushed past the
slack-jawed Slytherins who were too shell-shocked to stop them. Ron just caught
the last spark of reason leave the grey eyes of Draco Malfoy as the blond
positively bared his teeth and when Harry pulled him behind, one of his big
hands somehow managed to catch Malfoy by the neck. The Slytherin visibly
shivered when the momentum brought him closer to Ron and then the soft breath
touched his ear for the briefest of moments:

“Foreplay, Malfoy. Just for you.”

And before Draco Malfoy could pick up his enraged melted brain off the floor,
the Gryffindors were gone and only the echo of their laughter was left behind
them.

“What the fuck did the freckled freak want?” mumbled Crabbe, sounding confused.
“Want me to fuck him up for you, Drake?”

“Oh, how about yes, Vince. It’s just a small matter of catching him first,
isn’t it?! Good luck, with the two left feet you have and his fucking endless…
Just… oh, do shut up, you troll!” barked the blond, murder still deeply set in
his grey eyes. “And for the last time, stop calling me Drake or I’ll hex your
mouth shut! And don’t you dare follow me, you brainless brick, I’ve had enough
of your nonsense for one day!” he hissed as he moved away quickly from his
house-mates. He felt their eyes filled with disbelief and confusion bore holes
in his back, but he didn’t give two shits about them on the best of his days
and right now he was too bothered to care if they were all lying on the floor,
mortally wounded. He turned the corner and kicked in the door of the first
bathroom in his way. A moment later a screaming first-year-old came flying out,
quickly followed by his bag and a livid: “… and stay out!”
God fucking dammit, he was ready to murder Weasel! Honestly, that dirt-poor
redheaded idiot was going to be the death of him! The cheeky git! How he pulled
him closer… close enough to smell that fiery warm hair… have those full red
lips right next to him, tickle his ear with their sweet breath… oh… Perhaps it
was time for another one, just so he could walk straight again… That bastard…
that fucking-good-for-nothing gorgeous sexy Weasel… Ron… oh, that felt good…
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