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Originally posted: February 12, 2004 (on FictionAlley)
Reminder: This fic is not related to the Psychic Serpent series or anything else I've ever written and does not reflect my ideas about what was likely to occur in canon, with one or two tiny exceptions. However, some things in OotP inspired me to write this. Be warned that this is SLASH (depicting and referring to male/male relationships) and a non-consensual sexual encounter is also mentioned (in THIS chapter). Also, in case it wasn't clear in the previous chapter, this is in British English (spellings, grammar, etc.).

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Chapter 2

Seeing

Ron had denied it, of course, which Luna also took in her stride. She told him later that she had thought that the reason he'd broken up with Hermione was that he already knew how he felt about Harry. She had assumed he knew. So she decided to go along with the charade, even though her ultimate goal throughout it all was to awaken him to how he felt about Harry, to get him to see it, admit it, especially to himself, even if he never admitted it to anyone else, including Luna.

Luna and Neville passed him now; as she danced with her husband, she gave Ron the same sort of sad look Remus had given him, making him think, Am I that pathetic?

Yes, a voice in his brain told him as his eyes alit once more on Harry and Ginny. You are in fact just that pathetic.

It didn't help that his worst enemy had also seen his weakness and had exploited it. He tried to wipe the memory from his mind, but a part of him didn't really want it gone, a part of him wanted to treasure forever the image of Harry gazing at him with frank desire in his eyes, Harry kissing him hungrily, taking his and Ron's clothes off, touching him in ways Ron had only dreamed of.

When they'd been close to the end, those green eyes boring into his, so close, the familiar mouth had said, in the familiar voice, "Say my name. Scream my name. Tell me what you feel for me."

And Ron had done it. "Harry!" he'd cried out at the apex of being, of feeling. "I love you so much!" he'd groaned, clutching the other boy's sweaty body, pulling his mouth down for a kiss. Never, in his wildest dreams (and he'd had his share) did he ever imagine this would really happen. Hope was one thing; Ron was, at heart, a realist, and something of a pessimist. And yet, when Harry had first kissed him, Ron hadn't questioned it. He'd just gone along blissfully, living in a dream world, revelling in the feeling of Harry's skin under his fingers, making him produce noises he'd only heard Harry make in his dreams, in his fantasies.

Ron kissed with his eyes closed. He had felt the movement under his fingers, laced in Harry's hair, but until he pulled his face back, gasping from his release, he hadn't been able to see what was really happening.

The pale, pointed face hovered over his, smirking. Ron's fingers were still in his hair, which had gone from pitch black to nearly white. Green eyes no longer looked into his; instead, silver-grey eyes laughed at him, even as Ron pushed him away violently, making Malfoy hit his head on the stone wall. In spite of this, the laughter did not cease.

"Harry!" Malfoy had squeaked, imitating Ron (very badly). "Oh, shag me senseless, Harry, I want you so much!" he'd taunted in a falsetto, still laughing. Ron had never felt so much like committing murder, and yet utterly paralysed with fright. Malfoy knew. Malfoy knew how he felt about Harry.

Malfoy, he realized, was not just getting off from what they'd done together when Ron had thought he was Harry. He was getting off from screwing with Ron's mind as well.

"You actually thought he wanted you?" Malfoy had crowed, almost helpless with laughter.

No, Ron had thought. That was actually the last thing I'd thought.

"You know what he's probably really doing right now, don't you? With her?" He nodded knowingly at Ron. "They're probably not wearing any more than we are. Do you think she's a screamer? Do you think she's just screamed his name, the way you did? Does it run in the family?" Ron gasped, closing his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to not see this in his mind's eye, to imagine them together…

"Or don't you want to picture your sister shagging him? Do you imagine that he's fantasising about you when he's with her? Do you tell yourself that she's just a substitute?" Malfoy smirked. "Speaking of a substitute, I think that the next time I use this potion to be him, I'll pay your sister a little visit instead. Afterward, I can tell you which Weasley screams louder. Or better still, I could be her, and experience something you'll never really know—"

Ron had lost it, simply lost it. Malfoy was in the hospital wing for over a fortnight after Ron finished with him. Ron had been suspended, returning in disgrace to number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and he'd lost his position as Head Boy, which had been awarded instead to Harry, whose quick-thinking and Mobilicorpus spell had probably saved Malfoy's life. Ron knew that he'd been stupid, that Malfoy was hell-bent on getting revenge for his father going to Azkaban. He wondered whether Malfoy had actually been trying to get Ron sent to Azkaban, too. If Harry and Ginny hadn't found him beating Malfoy to a pulp, he might have done.

Neither his sister nor Harry ever asked him why both he and Malfoy had been naked.

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