Rating: R

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and Co. I simply toy with their minds

Warnings: This is slash, feel free to skip this story if you're not into that.

A/N: Are you wondering why there are hardly any reviews here? It's because this story was accidentally erased from ff.net. I'm re-posting it with a new chapter, I apologize profusely!!

Dedications: This whole story is dedicated to Maud, who is the most wonderful person ever, and who's stories you should all read.

Prologue

~~~Draco~~~

Another utterly, despicably boring day at Hogwarts. Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and Potions, ah with the Gryffindors. Yes, I haven't seen them in some time, we simply must catch up.

McGonagall is currently lecturing about turning a piccolo into a pineapple, trying to sound impressive. I wonder what McGonagall was like when she was at Hogwarts. The old bat was probably exactly the same, with that tight black bun, and those stiff robes. How does the woman breathe? She was probably just like Granger, the mudblood, a fucking know-it-all.

I'm practically snoozing here, this is ridiculously simple. I don't know why I'm forced to take this class with the people in my year. Father said I should be taking advanced courses, but Dumbledore won't allow it. Muggle-lover.

***

"Watch it, Weasel," I say as I smash past him in the doorway. His lanky body falls with a thud to the ground. I shove my hand in the pockets of my robes. The second he pulls out his wand, it's over.

"S-Sorry," he stutters, picking himself up off the floor. What the fuck? I've waited all day for this. He can't just play the almighty Gryffindor and walk away. Who does he think he is, Potter? He'll pay for that one too. He brushes off his already tattered robes and sits as far away from me as possible.

Snape is rambling about some ridiculously easy potion that I could have done that in my first year.

"What's the most important thing to remember when using the hair of an Oliphaunt?" Snape glares at the class. Immediately Granger's hand flies into the air. Of course, I know the answer to this question; I just don't feel the need to answer it. Snape purposely avoids her, and sighs. "The Oliphaunt," he begins. A Snape speech like this can last hours. I tune him out as I stare at the clock. There's fifty-three minutes left. Oh, God. Could this clock go any slower? The steady ticking is affecting my brain. Bringing me into its endless pattern. Something brings me out of my stupor. The feeling of someone watching me. I turn around to eye the possibilities. I turn to my left, Pansy Parkinson? No, she seems to be asleep. Some days this class can actually be amusing, today is not one of those days. I look again to my right, maybe it's Crabbe or Goyle. No, they're involved in a game of Patty Cake or some shit. I began to search the class room. Thomas? No. Longbottom? No, thank god. I can feel someone's eyes piercing through my skin, it's eerie. Who is it? Potter? No. Fucking Weasley? It's fucking Weasley.

I attempt to scowl back at him, shoving my hand around my wand again. He blushes and turns away. What the fuck is he doing? Is he…no, no, that would be too good. Maybe there's something on my face. I didn't look in the mirror after last class. Fuck. "Goyle," I whisper. He turns to me as Crabbe smacks him in the chest. (They were still playing Patty Cake.) I think I've disturbed their fun. He gives me a puzzled look. This isn't anything new; the statement is practically tattooed on his face.

"Wha?" He asks.

"Do I have anything on my face?" I feel like such an ass. Not like I care what he thinks though.

"Wha?" He asks again, brows knitting together. Excuse me, brow, he only has one.

"Do-I-have-anything-on-my-fucking-face?" I ask, enunciating each word.

"Oh," He laughs huskily. "Uh, no."

I roll my eyes and go back to glaring at Weasley. Again, again, he was looking at me. Is he cursing me under the table? I better curse him, just to be safe. "Aracunous," I say under my breath as I aim my wand at his leg. A rather large black spider begins to crawl up his shin. He doesn't notice it yet; he's pretending to look riveted by Snape's rambling. It's slowly inching its way up his inner thigh. God, his legs are long.

"S-shit!" He screams as he jumps up from his desk. Pansy Parkinson's head finally comes up off the desk, a bit of drool clinging to her thin lips. Weasley jumps and screams, brushing off his robes violently. He keeps giving these awful shudders, and turning a brutal shade of white. I think he might puke. I can't help but crack a sadistic smile. Potter gets up to save the day again. Too bad Father didn't finish him off when he had the chance. Oh well, he says it will happen soon.

"What is it, Weasley?" Snape asks irritably as Ron lifts his robes up, and shakes them.

"S-s-spi-d-der," he manages to spit out. I snicker loudly and the other Slytherins follow cue. It's at this point I wish I had a button that says "Weasley Stinks," as opposed to the Potter one I still carry around. Snape looks suddenly very amused as the excitable redhead begins raking his hands through his hair and shaking it.

"Sit down Mr. Weasley," Snape growls as he walks over to Weasley. He looks down at the ground and sees the little black spider crawling across the floor. He stomps on the the black six-legged creature, which makes a horrible crunching noise, and says, "10 points from Gryffindor. Now, take your seat Mr. Weasley." The Gryffindor sits down, looking thoroughly mortified. Ah, my work here is done.

***

My room is cold tonight. Crabbe and Goyle lay snoring in their beds while I try to block out the noise. It's a shame I don't know a spell for that. The green coverings around our beds are thick, but apparently not thick enough. The clock next to me reads 3:16 AM. I praise whatever God gives a shit that tomorrow's Saturday. I'm notoriously not a morning person. I hate the sun pouring through a well-placed window. I hate those awful birds chirping in the trees outside.

My mind keeps returning to Weasley. What the fuck did he want? Normally a sneer or a stare from Weasley means a fist is about to fly, but today… Something's up. Those do-good Gryffindors are plotting something. Weasley can't hide a thing; that's why he was gaping at me. It must be revenge. Ever since the little scuffle with my father and his friends last year those Gryffindors have had something against me. Imagine, as though I had said, "Father. I hate Potter. Go kill him for me." It's absurd. It was really the Dark Lord saying that, or something similar to it. My father was just doing his bit to help humankind. Well, wizardkind really.

That fucking Weasel. I need to do something. I can't just lie here like people aren't plotting against me. I need to take a walk. A walk will clear my mind.

***

Chapter One

~~~~Draco~~~

Draco wondered why the school was always drafty. One could walk down a hallway one knew contained no windows, and yet cold air would still whip wildly at one's face. Draco felt like getting lost that night. He felt like wandering aimlessly until by some odd chance he ended up back in the Slytherin common room. He took a left at the suit of armor and walked up a staircase he'd never taken before.

As though footsteps were echoing in his mind, Draco began to hear something coming down the stairs toward him. The Slytherin knew better that to mess with Filch and leapt behind the nearest tapestry. He listened intently behind the thick fabric, listening as the footsteps clunked down the stairs. His breath catching in his throat, Draco peered out from behind the curtain. Amazingly, no one was there. Yet her was positive there was a considerable thud going down the stairs. 'Potter,' he thought. 'Stupid, fucking invisibility cloak. Thinks he's so clever.' Draco had discovered Potter's cloak one night when he had taken one of his routine walks around the school. Potter wasn't very careful with it, he had slid the cloak off his head to get a drink from the school water fountain. He hadn't even checked to see if anyone was around.

Silently, Draco crept out from behind the curtain and stepped out on the steps. Not a sound was made as he walked down the stairs. He put his arms out in front of him and began to grope at the air. Then as if by some divine force he stepped on the invisible fabric. Magically a bright red head appeared in front of him, dancing by itself in the night.

***

~~~Ron~~~

He couldn't believe it. What could have triggered all of this? One minute he's desperately wanting Fleur, the next Hermione, and now, now… Malfoy. He wanted to puke just thinking about it. One morning he just woke up, and Malfoy was in all his thoughts. Everything was about him. And for once it wasn't just hatred. Oh God, what was he going to do?

Today had been awful. Not only was it impossible to hide his feelings from Harry and Hermione, it seemed Malfoy had noticed them, too. When he ran into the boy that afternoon he thought he'd die right there. He wanted to kill him, but that wasn't the only feeling present. The typical reaction would have been "punch on sight," but the second Ron touched him he'd have been in way over his head. What would have happened if Ron grabbed the unsuspecting Slytherin for a kiss? It would probably wipe that sneer off his pale pointed face. Although, that was a significant part of the attraction. Oh god! What was he talking about?

There was a sharp pain in his stomach. Was he developing an ulcer? Oh, no, wait, he was just hungry. He wondered briefly if Harry would mind if Ron borrowed the invisibility cloak. This was an emergency, he was a growing boy, and he needed food. He walked quietly to the foot of Harry's bed and pulled out the familiar fabric of the cloak. He wrapped it tightly around himself, and walked out the door. He quietly padded towards the opening of the Gryffindor common room and began to walk down the hall. Curse his large feet for making so much noise. Shame he hadn't picked up the Marauder's Map too. He thudded down the long staircase trying to distract his rumbling stomach by thoughts of Malfoy. Brrr. It was cold in these halls. His head was beginning to feel uncommonly cold. Ron turned slowly behind him. He nearly passed out when he saw the smirking face of Draco Malfoy staring back at him. "Malfoy!?"

"Weasel, just what are you doing here? And," he added with a smug smile, "wearing an invisibility cloak. Which of your fire-haired, Muggle-loving siblings did you have to sell to afford that?"

"Fuck off Malfoy," Ron replied, afraid that if he said too much he might not be able to stop himself.

"Oh, Weasley. You're so predictable," Draco said, eyes squinted into deadly slits. He began to inch closer to Ron. Their eyes were level only because Draco was a step higher than Ron was.

"Fuck off, Malfoy," Ron repeated through gritted teeth.

"No," Draco replied, simply getting even closer to Ron. Ron tried desperately hard not to shudder as the Slytherin kept inching closer and closer. He couldn't fight this much longer. And why was Malfoy inching forward like that? Did he want him too? Was it time to show that Gryffindor courage and make a move? They were inches away from each other as it was, and Ron's heart rate was steadily increasing with each breath. He couldn't help himself any longer. Ron was a creature of impulse; too much thinking would spoil this. Ron placed his hot lips against Malfoy's and pressed into the pale boy.

Immediately Malfoy's body tensed, as the Slytherin drew hastily away.

"What the fuck are you doing Weasley?!" Malfoy spat on the floor, looking horrified. Oh shit, this wasn't the reaction Ron was hoping for. "I'm not a fucking queer! I can't believe you. You're sick! Fuck, Weasley, I knew you were fucked up, but… How could you do such a disgusting thing? Fucking pervert!" The enraged Slytherin was inching backwards, as though Ron was the Black Plague.

"I- I…" Ron stammered. How was he going to fix this situation? He'd messed it all up now. Malfoy was going to tell everyone. He was going to humiliate him in front of the entire school.

"Don't tell fucking anyone Weasel. I don't want anyone to know you practically raped me!"

"I didn't rape you," Ron finally managed to say.

"Don't talk to me. You're sick. I would say you're going to pay for my therapy, but I forgot who I was talking to. Don't so much as look at me, Weasley; if you do, you'll fucking regret it." And with that, Draco practically leapt back down the stairs.

'Oh, shit,' Ron thought as he slumped down onto the step, and wrapped the invisibility cloak around himself. This had to be the worst day of his life.