I hate making introductions

This is indeed a Ron/Draco fic. Just to let you know, the plotline has nothing to do with neither the books nor the movies. This is me attempting to finish a story….I have quite a number of those I had started and quickly grew bored with. Despite my love for reading fantastically long stories, my patience is null when it comes to writing. So please, enjoy this while it lasts. If we're lucky, I'll finish it. This subject intrigues me!

Disclaimer: I in no way own any of the Harry Potter characters. I do, however own Rupert Grint; he just doesn't know it yet.

What A Merry Little Christmas

"Handsome, tender, soft.
Why do you look right
through me, thinking no?
I can't deny my feelings
growing strong.
I try to keep believing,
dreaming on."

"Harry…Harry, get your arse up! It's Christmas!" a 17-year-old Ronald Weasley bellowed at the foot of Harry's bed. The pile of presents in the room was enormous for only two inhabitants seeing as how Dean and Seamus had both went home for the holidays. "Harry, if you don't get up, I'll open your presents for you. You've gotta check out all the stuff we got from Fred and George!"

Harry groggily pulled his head from under the covers and stared at Ron. "It's not nearly noon yet. Can't we have a lie in or something?" he finished, shoving his head under the pillow.

Ron shrugged and went back to his own bed opening the gifts from his older brothers meticulously, hoping to Merlin that none of them would explode.

His load had ended up being a jumper in burgundy, The Wizarding Way Toward Great Organization Skills, 2 boxes of Exploding Snap, Romanian Dragons in Their Natural Habitat, 3 small vials of "testing" love potions, the latest Chudley Cannons poster, a glass chess set, and a pair of positively dreadful socks. When he finished unwrapping his gifts he stared at Harry's lifeless form, waiting for the ebony-haired man to emerge form his cloth cocoon. Finally, after 10 minutes of entertaining himself with a game of chess, Ron got up and went to the Great Hall. I'm too bloody hungry to be waiting for his lazy arse to get up, he thought to himself as he sat down at Gryffindor table and started to pile his plate with food.

Before he could even get a bite of his egg, sausage, jelly and toast sandwich, a jeering and maniacal voice boomed behind him. "Well, look what we have here boys: A Weasel in its natural habitat; alone and stuffing its bizarre face with food. The mudblood and Potter leave you to find real company, did they?"

"Shove off Malfoy," Ron said with his mouth partially filled with food. He was determined not to let the arrogant blonde ruin his Christmas morning although he knew the bastard wouldn't give up so easily.

"Oh come now Weasley, that wasn't very polite," Malfoy said, suddenly bending right next to Ron's ear. His voice turned low and sultry, but still held its vehemence, "What would Potter's groupies think if they saw you aroused by the sound of my voice?" He stood up straight and laughed with his cronies as Ron's face rapidly turned as red as the bean curry. The walked away, not forgetting to push an occasional first year out of "in their way".

Damn it, I could have sworn no one could tell! Ron thought to himself furiously as he stormed out to the quidditch pitch. It had been going on for 2 weeks now, he just couldn't figure out what the hell was wrong with him. Malfoy was cold, heartless, indignant, snobby, insolent, and just down right mean…so why did Ron have this urge to lean back into him when he bent over? Why did he want to turn around and snog those rose petal lips until they burned as bright as his very own hair? It wasn't a mystery how he could, but just… why Malfoy?

Ron had realized during his sixth year that girls just weren't all that appealing to him. He tried desperately to find normality in it all, but gave up to be like Bill, a total homo. AN: I know Bill is supposed to be married to Fleur…but I hate her and I didn't like the way the series was headed once Ron was poisoned. Fleur doesn't exist and Bill is GAY!He just couldn't figure out why he would be interested in Malfoy of all people. All the Malfoys were blatant bastards and had hated his family with a passion.

The chill of an English winter was biting through Ron's thin gloves, but he didn't feel like going back in just yet, not until he thought everything through. There were a couple of Hufflepuffs having a snowball fight on the frozen lake and a Ravenclaw reading in the topmost of a dead tree's branches. Man, that girl could be Hermione's sister. The little things were comforting to him, but they didn't ease the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something important.

Ron decided to head back up to the common room after he lost feeling in his toes. Once he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, the events struck him full force and he realized that Malfoy meant and knew every word he said. Bloody fucking Hell!

Draco walked off with Crabbe and Goyle, hoping that they would go find some food to pillage. To his utter dismay, they didn't. He hated them; it almost hurt his pride to associate himself with such dunderheads. The only sense of pleasure he got from hanging out with the brutes was the fact that their bulk terrified underclassmen.

They finally reached the Slytherin common room Draco spat the password. "Harpy venom." The overgrown sacks of burlap bustled in as he gracefully strode toward a forest green leather couch, scaring the few other Slytherins out of the room. He unloaded his bag and grabbed his potions assignment. Draco looked over it with disdain. He had finished it in class but the Potter brat had to open his obnoxious mouth and earn the class another 6 inches on the properties of boggart saliva. Damn the bloody Golden Boy. It has been 2 days and I can hardly find more than 8 inches. "Crabbe, fetch me that book rat in the lower wing and tell him I will not be patient for more than 2 minutes." The bumbling fool left in a hurry, eager not to displease the snobbish blonde. It was known in the rooms not to bother a Malfoy when he was working; especially when he was working hard so the fact that he wanted someone else to do it for him was a rare occasion indeed. He got out a scrap piece of parchment and began to scrawl a not for the boy.

To any passerby, Draco looked as if he was concentrating on his work; a graphite prince in all appearances, but in reality, he was thinking of the youngest male Weasley. How the taller boy had this carefree air about him, how his eyes were always filled with passion. Anger really didn't suit him, but Draco loved to watch his eyes blaze with fury. Ron was the one thing he could never have though. He was a blood traitor, a filthy muggle lover, a Weasley, and the thing that Draco desired the most.

It wasn't as if Draco had a hard life, he was wealthy, an heir, a pureblood. He was only disciplined if he showed weakness and was otherwise left alone, though much has changed now that his father was dead; followed the Dark Lord to his very last breath, the idiot. Now Draco had only his suicidal mother, psychotic aunt, and a seriously annoying fetish for a certain redhead.

He began to imagine what it would be like to run his hands through that mess of a hair. He wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss with a passion, with a purpose. Suddenly, he felt sick at the idea. He was a Malfoy. Even though his father was dead, it did not mean he could go off and have fantasies about his worst enemy, even if the bloke was hot. The same time Draco had finished fantasizing, the Seventh-year had come up from the lower dungeons with his schoolbooks.

Draco finished the note and stood up slowly. He shot a dirty look at Crabbe, Goyle, and the other male that told them to leave him alone and went to his dormitory. It was going to be a long evening.

Ron stepped into the common room to find a still disgruntled Harry pouring over gifts. "Oi, Ron! Where have you been all this time? I went down to see if you were stuffing your face, but Patima said you had left hours ago."

Ron just smiled and playfully punched Harry in the arm. "Whatever, mate. It's not like I stay in the Great Hall all the time, especially stuffing my face." He sat by the fireplace and began poking embers.

"No, seriously mate, where did you go? Patima also said she saw Malfoy whispering in your ear and you went bogey. Did something happen?"

"And every time I see
you I crave more.
I want to feel you closer,
but you leave me feeling
frozen."

Star: So? So? What did you think?

Ron: I think you're mad.

Draco: Only a mudblood would write such things. You're a mudblood, aren't you Star?

Star: What does it matter? If you're mean to me, I'll just make you die in the end.

Draco: ……...

Ron: ………..