"Morning, Harry," Hermione says.

Mrs. Weasley slides a plate filled with food in front of me. I pop a sausage link into my mouth.

"Good morning," I say.

"Has anyone seen my sweatpants? Oh- Harry's got them," Ron says as he stumbles down the stairs, half asleep.

I look down at the Chudley Cannons sweatpants I jumped into when I woke up. They're shockingly orange and dwarf my feet.

"Yeah," I say.

Ron places his hand on top of my head and then slumps into the chair beside me.

"I thought they'd appreciate it if I wore pants," I say.

"Certainly do," Fred says.

"Ah, see?" I say.

Ron looks straight into my eyes. I blink.

"Wear them whenever, Harry. I don't care," he says.

I lean my head over and just touch his shoulder with it before setting into my meal. I ignore the delighted surprise on Hermione and Ginny's faces.


The lights are becoming familiar, I notice as we skip through the line again with a flash of my teeth and a faux casual push at my hair so it flips off of my forehead.

There is something welcoming about the way the music fights to become my pulse. The way my throat is exposed garners more attention than the thin lines of lightning on my forehead. I can tell Ron notices it too. His jeans are tighter today, and his tousled red hair looks more purposeful than usual. There is something equalizing about strobe lights and fast beats, about hungry eyes tracing the path of sweat, and the steady motion of hips and hands in the dark.

"Divide and conquer?" I ask with a wicked grin.

Ron's smile dips a bit.

"You just want to find that guy from last night," he says.

"Gavriel? No, too old. But I see a few naughty Slytherins over there, breaking the rules as thoroughly as we are and I'd hate for them to do it alone," I say.

Ron nods. I make my way through the crowd and and stand behind a tall boy.

"What's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?" I ask.

He turns to face me, dark eyes meeting mine in challenge. A slow grin makes its way across his face. I bring my eyes along the sharp lines of his body, loving the contrast of his skin with his stark white shirt.

"Harry Potter. I could say the same," Blaise Zabini says.

Around us the wild masses dance, oblivious to the heat he's radiating.

"Oh, but you couldn't really," I say.

He raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not nearly as nice as you think I am," I taunt.

He pulls me into him in shark-like hunger. I crane my neck up to look into his eyes.

"Is that right?" he asks.

And then we're dancing. He seems to anticipate my every move, mirroring it at every opportunity. Mostly he challenges me, forcing me to push harder and press myself closer to him. His fingers snake down to my hipbones. I thrust my head back and shake my hair out of the way before looking back at him.

"Afraid I'll bite?" he asks.

"Not at all, Zabini," I say.

"We Slytherins are dangerous, you know," he says low in my ear.

I look directly into his deep brown eyes and smile.

"I'm not afraid of you," I say.

He laughs and lets go of my hip in favor of my hand. He twists me around and pulls me into a kiss as fierce and wonderful as our dance. The music fades out.

"Call me Blaise," he says.

"The same to you," I say.

"Well then, Blaise, I'll see you again," he says with a smile in his eyes.

He waves his wand and the din of the crowd surrounds me as he slips off into the night. I stand there shocked and a bit confused. A man claims my hands and I let him have it. What was I thinking? Blaise Zabini may be one of the relatively harmless Slytherins, but he is still a friend of Draco Malfoy.

He gave me his first name.

The fast paced song wins the battle to overcome my pulse. I smile at the man I'm dancing with. I realize I've been passive at best this entire time, and surely he was near enough to be burned by the fire of my dance with Blaise. As the music fades out I wander away. I don't have a destination in mind, really. I see Ron drinking a Butterbeer through a straw and talking idly to Seamus Finnegan. Seems more of us than I've expected have managed to wheedle our way in. Of course, the rules are only technical. There's no real age line to cross, only the line of hopefuls. So I suppose it didn't take much more than beauty and eagerness to be picked before the others.

I think of Blaise. Or money.

"Seamus!" I say cheerfully, "it was just getting boring. Dance with me."

Ron looks up. He takes a long sip. Seamus shrugs; what's to lose? He follows me away from the table.

"Harry," he says.

He doesn't say any more. I tug him against me. I close my eyes and sway. He rocks against me, hands half poised to push me away. I look at him. His eyes darken as his pupils dilate and he pulls me closer instead. Our bodies move together fluidly. That's the magic of a club, I suppose. Even if you'd never dare anywhere else, if the very next night you'd never allow yourself the privilege, something inside is set free. I twist in his arms and press my back against his chest. No eye contact is best. We continue to pretend that we care about the music.

"Harry," Seamus tries again.

I turn to him and he seems at once relieved and disappointed.

"Yes?" I ask, playing at innocence.

"You haven't danced one with Ron," he says.

"Silly Seamus," I laugh, bouncing the tip of my pointer finger off of his nose. He blinked and steps closer again. I smile and trail the finger along the buttons of his shirt.

"We snuck out together and came here at the same time. But I am here to have fun," I say.

Seamus nods quickly and swallows.

"It's just.. he came here for the same reason, but he looks miserable. And.." he says.

I cut him off.

"Then dance with him," I say.

He opens his mouth to speak. The song ends. I stick out my lip.

"Time's up," I say, "and you spent so much of it pleading someone else's case."

His lips find my neck and I falter. He sucks against my skin. I grip his arm.

"I'd say you've won another song," I relent.

I turn again and press against him. My neck is hot and my face red. He laughs triumphantly.

"I could've held out," I say.

"Of that, I have no doubt," he says.

His lips find purchase again. I squirm against the beat, proving I couldn't have won if I tried. He sucks, hard, then releases me with a proud sigh that goes straight to my groin.

"I think I've made my point," he says.

He ruffles my hair and slips away. I laugh my way over to Ron.

"Is that still the same cup?" I ask.

"Is he a boy or a leech?" Ron asks, his eyes on my neck.

I smile, he scowls.

"A particularly talented dance partner," I say.

"He didn't do that when he danced with me," Ron says.

"You've got to taunt him into it," I say.

Ron rolls his eyes and yanks my wrist. I tumble into his lap. His other arm brushes my cock accidentally. I suppress a yelp.

"You're having entirely too much fun. How many have you taunted tonight?" Ron asks.

I lay my head on his shoulder.

"Successfully? On purpose? In total?" I ask with a wide grin.

He flicks my ear. I kiss his nose.

"What does it matter? What are we here for, if not to dance?" I ask.

I stand and pull him onto the floor as a new song begins.

"Who plays a slow song?" I ask.

Ron smirks and puts his arms around my waist.

"What are we here for?" he mocks.

I lace my arms around his neck. He leans in close, eyes soft.

"Your shoulders are broad," I complain.

He presses his lips against mine gently. I let myself lose time. We sway to the music.

"I'm sure Zabini bribed someone for it," Ron says.

I roll my eyes.

"You'll make a wonderful jealous wife," I say.

Ron bites my nose.

"Oi! Who does that?" I say.

"Jealous wives," he says.

"You aren't my wife," I grumble, rubbing my nose.

He dips me low.

"You're mine," he says with a laugh.

I slap his arm.

"No one will dance with me if you keep that up," I say.

He laughs and kisses my cheek.

I yelp.

"It'll be a shame to be kept from this at Hogwarts," he says.

I nod.

We've only a week more of this, and not every night is guaranteed.

The next song is better: faster and sultrier. The slow and easy turn Ron was completing turns into a fast and demanding twist of my arm. I'm pressed flush against him. I smirk and step backwards. I flail my arms a bit, no longer worried about appearances. Or maybe I'm simply confident that he'll never judge me. My lips taste like him, like Butterbeer and mint and salt. My hands are everywhere and sweat drips into my eyes.

Ron watches me with a strange expression on his face. He bites his lip and none me in the flailing.

"This is fun," I sigh.

I twirl and realize that at some point Ron has danced us towards the Floo.

"We need to go," he says.

"They'll think," I pout.

He rolls his eyes and grabs my hand.

"Let them," he says.

He calls out our destination, grabs my face, and kisses me fiercely. And so I am whisked away home.

His fingers creep under my shirt. I make a nondescript sound.

"Hello, boys," George says.

I pull away from Ron and swat him.

"Again with the kissing!" I say.

He shrugs and glances down.

"You didn't seem to mind," he says.

"I minded!" I say.

Fred coughs.

"Fun times?" he asks.

Ron flushes red.

"It was amazing," I say.

They cross their arms simultaneously. I still haven't figured out how they do that.

"Next time you take us," George says.

"Or we could mention it to Mum…" Fred says.

I roll my eyes. Cool. Calm. Collected. Act like you snog their brother all the time.

"It's not exactly for the… straight at heart," I say.

I last a second before I start to snicker. Ron's eyes go wide and then he laughs, clasping his hand over his mouth. His freckled nose wrinkles. I stop laughing.

"We knew that. You're both wearing skinny jeans," Fred says.

"And Harry's wearing eyeliner," George says.

"Not to mention…"Fred begins.

Ron sputters. I smile.

"Next time you'll come with us," I say.

I pull Ron upstairs and shut our door.

"Use your words," I laugh.

Ron frowns. I shuck off my clothes and reclaim Ron's sweats. I pick a shirt from the floor.

"Why my clothes?" he asks.

I shrug and tuck into bed.

"They're warmer than mine," I say.

He doesn't say anything. I feel him climbing into my bed behind me. I should push him off.

"And what's wrong with yours?" I ask.

I can feel his lips curve against my shoulder. His hand holds my waist. I sigh and close my eyes.

"Yours is warmer than mine," he whispers.