Ash's note: For Huush.

Sun streamed into the hotel bedroom in streaks of light, casting as many shadows as it illuminated. One could see the dust swaying lazily through the air, dancing softly as the window's curtains fluttered in the autumn breeze. And suddenly, it all stopped. The soft wind died away, permitting the shades to coast back into place.

This seemed to be the cue for one of the figures in the bed to wake up.

A black haired man with startling green eyes stirred amid the tangle of sheets, stretching his very able arms across the headboard. Through a heavy yawn, he patted about the bedside table for his glasses. The thin designer frames were nowhere to be found, it seemed, so the man just frowned and curled back against the body next to him. The red hair was just barely in the morning glow, shining with almost blonde highlights.

Wait a minute. Red hair?

Harry Potter sat up immediately, looking down at his partner in shock. The movement disturbed their sleep, and blue eyes opened slowly.

"Harry?" The voice was groggy. "What's wrong, Har?" A thin, but wiry arm wrapped about his waist, and tugged a bit to pull him back down. "Lay down, it's only seven in the morning." The force failed, so the redhead sat up as well. "What's wrong?"

Then, as if lightning had struck, Harry understood. He remembered everything. Fighting with Draco, packing up all of his things in a small bag, and storming over to the Weasley's pad for comfort. He hadn't intended for it to come to this...

"Ron..." his own voice was cracking, almost husky in tone. "Did we...?" Before Harry even finished his sentence, he knew that they had. Both of them were without clothes, bed sheets tangled about their waists. And as if that wasn't enough evidence, Harry thought back to how he had woken up- one arm draped across Ron's lower back, holding them impossibly close. One freckled leg of Ron's had, somehow, snuck between both of Harry's in the night. Combine that with the way the bedspread felt against his skin...

It was enough to prove his train of thought correct. Definitely enough.

"Harry," Ron whispered, mouth close to Harry's ear as he tangled his fingers in the raven hair. "You are so beautiful." Soft lips began to kiss his jaw, weakening the black-haired man's resolve to get out of there. "Let me keep you."

"Wait," Harry protested weakly, not making a move against him. "Ron, what about...?"

"Malfoy?" the redhead interrupted, continuing his assault of tender kisses down to his lips. Nimble hands drifted away from Harry's hair to his torso, pushing him back against the bed. "You told me that you weren't going back to that bastard."

Harry was vaguely aware that Ron's skin smelled like the cologne that Hermione had gotten him for Christmas. "Your wife."

A small chuckle played up past the melodic strings of Ron's vocal cords, giving voice his pleasure at having Harry Potter his slave. He moved from his place on the divan to Harry's waist, straddling him. "Lavender doesn't suspect a thing. She's probably out with Seamus right now, shopping. And what do you think she was doing last night? She was called to go to a 'girl's night out' party just before you appeared on my very lucky doorstep. If she suspects a thing, she won't care. Just as I don't... We stopped caring a long time ago, Harry."

"Listen to yourself talk, Ron. You know you would throw a tantrum if you ever found her in bed with another man." Harry resisted against a slow grind, pulling himself away from Ron's toned body. "Or woman, for that matter." He slid off of the bed, walking to where his pants were tossed randomly against a lamp shade.


Ron, still on the bed, looked slightly put out. "You didn't seem so resistant last night, Harry." He followed his lover to where he stood, taking the pants out of his reach. "You agreed with me. Said that we should pretend like it was back when we were teenagers. Back in school." He tossed the pants away and pinned Harry against the wall, looking deep in his eyes. "You remember."

Harry did. But he was too ashamed to say so. "Ron, just listen to yourself." He frowned softly as the redhead pressed their hips together. "You're not in the right state of mind."

"You know you want this, Harry. Stop fighting it!" Ron dipped down to nip softly at the silky skin of Harry's neck. "We would be mid-shag now, if you weren't so stubborn." That was all it took, along with a nibble on his left earlobe, to sweep the last bit of Harry's willpower away. The two men stumbled their way back to the bed.

Draco Malfoy ran his pale hands through his equally pale hair in frustration. Crowds should be outlawed.

It was rush hour in London, and the blond was looking for his A.W.O.L. lover. Having searched for Harry most of last night and all of this morning, he was getting frustrated. Finally, he resorted to very low measures.

Magic.

He had promised never to use magic against Harry, but drastic times called for drastic measures.

The Locator Spell had pointed Draco to this one specific cafe near the Heart Hotel downtown. Inside was the afternoon rush of executives looking for a lazy cup of java, tourists looking for some English fun, or locals just looking to escape the real world.

And then he saw him. Harry was sitting at one of the booths near the back of the restaurant.

Alone.

With a very audible sigh, Draco marched up and knelt at his side. "Harry," he breathed softly, putting a hand on the seat to steady himself. "I'm such an asshole. What I did was so wrong, I don't deserve you." Harry looked very alarmed, and was about to say something, but then Draco put a finger to his lips. "But I need you. You're like oxygen, I need you so badly... Harry, just give me another chance. I'll set it all right."

Then, all of a sudden, someone cleared their throat from behind him. Ron was standing there, looking murderous at Draco. "You don't deserve him, Ferret." The blond stood slowly.

"And you do, Weasel? I think Harry is old enough to make his own choices."

Harry stood as well, looking terribly worried and unsure of what to do. "Guys, can we not do this here?" They both ignored him.

"He's made his choice, haven't you Harry? He made it as soon as he came with me to the-"

"Ron, please!"

"Hotel!" Ron continued, getting red in the face. "We went to a hotel. And yes, Harry is the best shag I've ever had."

Draco's own face went white. Even the anger moved away from his eyes. It was all... empty. He seemed to shrink and lost some of his unique charisma. And with all good reason- his life had just been stolen from him. Stolen from him by... by... Weasley. The red-headed Weasel who seemed to have nothing, but then had everything. He had Harry.

And Draco didn't.

So without another word, just a sad, last look at Harry, he turned and walked away.

And Harry, with one sad, last look at Ron, followed him.