Penname: Page of Cups
Email: AndromedanPrincess@hotmail.com
Title: Everything Changes
Pairing: Ron Weasley/Draco Malfoy
Rating: R
Summary: Ron hates him. Really hates him.
Caution: Boy on boy love ahead. If you don't like it, go away. If you hate the pairing, why are you reading this? If you can't take it, just give up.
Disclaimer: This story contains characters, locations, and other random things created and/or owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc., etc. Since no money is being made, no infringement is intended. Section 102(b) of the U.S. Copyright Act states that copyright protection does not extend to ideas, procedures, concepts, principles or discoveries, but the actual words used to express those things. I know. I'm researching my copyright abilities
Chapter Two: "I Hate Him!"
Ron Weasley crumpled up the piece of parchment in his hands and threw it to the side, glaring at Pigwidgeon who was flying around his head and hooting happily. Landing by his goblet of pumpkin juice, Pig nipped at Ron's finger in what was probably meant to be a loving gesture. The sting in his finger was most likely not as bad as Ron made it out to be but he was already in a foul mood and the fact Pig was taking blood again irritated Ron to no extent.
"Clear off," he sneered at the owl. Pig, however, was not easily offended and hooted, flying over to land on Ron's shoulder. Sighing, Ron dropped his head in his hands.
"What's wrong, Ron?" asked Hermione, giving Pigwidgeon a loving pet. "Who was the owl from?"
"My mum," he said, sighing. Glancing across the Great Hall, Ron caught sight of a familiar head of white blond hair and silver grey eyes grinning maliciously back into his own. Clenching his fists under the table, Ron glared back at Malfoy. That eagle owl of his had just flown away after taking a sip of Malfoy's pumpkin juice, which he now pushed away from him. "It must be nice to be a smarmy bastard who gets whatever he wants."
"What?" said Harry, looking at Ron confused, a look he often wore. "What about being a smarmy bastard?"
"Malfoy!" cried Ron. "Always getting those packages from home filled with sweets. I hope they rot his teeth."
"Ron! That's not very nice," said Hermione.
"And what has Malfoy ever done to render me to be nice to him?"
"What's wrong? What was that letter about?"
"I'm not going home for Christmas, okay?" said Ron, glaring at her. Hermione and Harry fell silent, exchanging glances from across the table.
The only time Ron had ever gone home for Christmas during his stay at Hogwarts was two years ago in their fifth year just before Ginny died. Before then, it hadn't been a big deal to Ron, staying at Hogwarts more for Harry than for any other reason because Harry had no one else to spend the holiday with. It seemed unfair to leave him alone. Then, in the fifth year, every Weasley who continued to go to Hogwarts went home for the holiday. Harry had been invited as well and it was the last time the entire family had been together. Several months later Voldemort had attacked Hogsmeade during one of the weekends the students were allowed to go to the village, and Ginny had died along with three other Hogwarts students and two patrons of the Three Broomsticks.
Ever since Ginny's death, the Weasley family had become very strained. Harry spent his summer holiday with Remus Lupin and his godfather, Sirius, upon Professor Dumbledore's request. The Weasley family needed time to regroup, and even Bill and Charlie, the two eldest Weasley siblings, were home for much of the holiday. There was much sympathy from the wizarding community for their loss, especially from Harry who had taken to the family as if it were his own.
As if the tragedy to befall them wasn't bad enough, Hogsmeade visits were cut off the next term at Hogwarts along with the option to go home for Christmas and Easter holidays. It wasn't safe, and the school was the only place Dumbledore deemed protective for all students. Families of the students were constantly dying, and a week rarely passed by when someone didn't receive an urgent message from the ministry expressing their condolences for a lost loved one.
Harry's hardest lesson came at the end of the sixth year when he truly realized that you never could know who to trust. He always thought Ron had been unjust when refusing to trust his brother, but Harry ended up dueling Voldemort in some remote location he had been taken to and barely escaped alive. Sometimes he wished he had died. It was more painful to go back to school, look Ron in the face, and know he had seen Percy, heard his voice among the Death Eaters.
Malfoy, surprisingly, had very little to say on the incidents involving Ginny or the duel. He never brought it up in their fights, which continued just as often if not more than usual. Harry expected Malfoy to take cheap shots at Ron, using these things to get to him or Harry himself like he so often did. It never happened, though, and Harry couldn't bring himself to put his heart into their brawls anymore. Some part of him respected Malfoy for steering clear of such a sensitive subject.
Now, in their seventh year, Ron had been dealing very tersely with everything that had happened in the past two years. Harry felt dreadfully responsible - feeling Voldemort only attacked the Weasley family because of his close proximity to them. Ron typically told him he was being foolish when bringing up any sort of thing. They even got into a row over it, Ron telling Harry that not everything revolved around him. Harry quickly apologized. He knew it wasn't easy on Ron, first being known as Harry Potter's best friend and then as the brother of one of the girls who died, just another one of those poor, red-haired Weasleys.
It was early November and there were grey skies out if the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was any indication. Now, with Ron practically seething and sneering down at his porridge, Harry and Hermione were at a loss for words. Ron had been desperately wanting to go home this Christmas now that Dumbledore said it would be okay despite his misgivings, but here he was with his ruddy letter, and telling them he wasn't going.
"What happened?" said Hermione, finally. She reached out to tentatively rub Ron's shoulder.
"Mum and Dad are going to visit Bill. They said there isn't enough money for me to come along, but I think they just want me to stay here. Said something about Hogwarts being safer anyway." Grimacing, Ron grabbed the balled up parchment and dropped it into his porridge. "I hate my life."
"Don't say that, Ron," said Hermione. "I'm sure it won't be terrible. I'll stay here, too, and so will Harry. We'll have a wonderful time together."
"I appreciate the effort, Hermione, but I really want to be alone right now."
"Are you sure?" said Hermione.
"What is the little Weasel crying about now?" came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. Ron's eyes narrowed and he slowly turned around to face him. "What happened? Did that plump little mother of yours write to let you know she needed to sell your house so she could continue to feed at such a pace?"
"Leave my mother alone, Malfoy," said Ron, clenching his fists and Harry noticed Ron going for his wand.
Harry paused, unsure of what to do as Hermione watched him from across the table. An angry Ron plus an insulting Malfoy never yielded positive results. Ron was already so upset Harry considered letting him hex Malfoy but not wanting to see his friend get in trouble, Harry stood.
"Why don't you go fight with someone who cares, Malfoy?" said Harry, wearily. "This is neither the time nor the place for us to be dealing with your shit."
"Don't you get sick of Potter fighting your battles for you, Weasley?" drawled Draco, picking at his nails. "I know I would. He never lets you stand up for yourself."
"Harry, I can take care of this myself," said Ron.
"That's what he wants you to say, Ron. He's just trying to get to you."
"I can take care of myself," repeated Ron.
"Sit down, Potter. I don't think he wants your help," said Draco.
"Ron -"
"Sit down, Harry."
"Nice to see you finally speaking for yourself, Weasley. I didn't think you had it in you. It's no wonder no one notices you if you let Potter do everything for you."
"I don't let Harry do everything for me. Malfoy, I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now. Move."
"But I'm perfectly happy with where I'm standing," said Draco, shrugging. "Suppose you'll just have to enjoy my company, Weasel. I read about your father's raise at the ministry. It's about time. I suppose you can each afford your own comb now." Glancing up at Ron's hair, Draco shook his head disapprovingly. "Then again, perhaps not."
"Malfoy -" Ron warned, his fingers closing around his wand.
"Tell me, Weasley, what's it like to lick Potter's feet?"
"What's it like to lick Voldemort's?"
Harry practically choked on his breakfast. Ever since Ginny died, Ron had taken to using Voldemort's name, refusing to give him the satisfaction of fear. It was a personal battle, but it never got easier to hear it come from Ron's mouth.
Malfoy's lips twitched, and Ron thought for a moment that it was the faint hint of a smile. Confusion soon abated when his lips twisted into a horrible sneer.
"I would expect something like that out of you, Weasley. That's very typical."
"You aren't about to win an award for originality any time soon, either."
"Is there a problem here, boys?" said Professor McGonagall, stepping between them. "Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Weasley?"
"No, Professor," they chorused, and Ron fingered his wand, ready to hex Malfoy if he should make one false move.
"Remember, no fighting. You've already lost enough points for both your houses this year. I would hate to have to send you to Professor Dumbledore. Honestly, I've never known two seventh years to behave like such children!"
Professor McGonagall passed them to go to the Head Table, her robes billowing behind her in violent flaps. Draco sneered at her as she went, his grey eyes turning to narrow slits as his lips horribly twisted in a shape Ron thought was unnatural. Faintly coming from his mouth were curses of the non-magical sort if Ron could depend on his hearing and he felt a strange sense of agreement with Draco.
Glancing at him, the blond once again laid his eyes on Ron, and looked him over, taking inventory. Ron felt his cheeks heating up as Malfoy surveyed his robes, looking disgusted with the material and the good two inches that they lacked in length. Saying nothing, Draco cocked his eyebrow in Ron in what could only be taken as some sort of unspoken challenge before motioning for his goons to follow and they left the Hall.
"I hate him!" cried Ron once they had gone, dropping back in his seat next to Harry, and apparently forgetting about his desire to be alone. "I hate the way he looks at me! I hate how he always insults my family! I hate that rich little git and how he gets everything he wants! Why do things like that always happen to the worst people?"
"I think it's the other way around," said Hermione, gently. "If you got whatever you wanted, you'd probably act like Malfoy does, too. A person can only be a good as he's taught. You've been taught humility and Malfoy's been taught arrogance."
"Whatever he was taught, I hate that slimy git," said Ron, violently stabbing the eggs on his plate, causing a terrible, high-pitched sound from the fork scraping against the dish. Ron didn't seem to notice.
"I don't like him, either, Ron," said Harry, trying to offer his friend some comfort.
"I really hate him, Harry. I despise him. I loathe him. Hermione, what's another word for hate?"
"Abhor. Detest -"
"I abhor him. I detest him," continued Ron. "And what was that eyebrow thing he did?" Ron tried to imitate Draco's silent challenge, looking very silly trying to arch his eyebrow and look menacing at the same time. "What was that? And did you see the way he looked at me!"
"He looked like he was checking you out," interrupted Seamus Finnigan, snickering.
"He did, didn't he?" said Harry. "He did a whole body scan."
"That's sick, Harry," said Ron, leaning on the table with his elbow and dropping his forehead to rest on the back of his palm. "Why me? Why is it always me that Malfoy has to insult? I know there's loads of people that he doesn't like. Why me and why my friends?"
"Harry," said Seamus. "That's all he cares about. Getting back at Harry for making him look like a fool first year. Everyone knows the story about Malfoy offering his friendship and Harry insisting that Malfoy was the wrong sort."
"Everyone knows about that?" said Harry. Seamus nodded.
"Right, so all he cares about is salvaging dignity. Does a really rotten job of it, though. Don't take it personally, Ron. He insults Hermione, too."
"He doesn't insult you," said Ron.
"Sure he does. Every time I get in Malfoy's way in the corridor he calls me a slutty Irish wanker. That's what Malfoy does. He insults people. Honestly, if anyone's a slut, it's him. Now, I'm going back to the common room to spend my weekend with my girlfriend."
Seamus gave them a polite wave before pushing his plate away, standing, and heading out of the Great Hall. Ron watched him go, Seamus's comments rolling in his head and a desire burning in him to get back at Malfoy for the constant chiding he verbally suffered. After years of these childish squabbles, any time he would end up on the receiving end of Malfoy's reproach, Ron often wished the fights would just end. They were growing up, maturing, and he had enough of Malfoy to last him a lifetime.
"I'm going back to the dormitory," announced Ron, folding his napkin and tossing it into the center of the table. "I want to be left alone for awhile."
"Okay," said Hermione, looking nervously across the table to Harry. They each watched Ron with careful scrutiny as he left.
~*~
Draco Malfoy leaned back into the plushy, emerald green armchair and propped his feet up on the table sitting before him. Watching the flames lick the embers in the fireplace, he half-listened to Crabbe go on about his latest letter from his father in regards to the ever popular dark mark. His mind, however, was trained on Ron Weasley, the way he had looked only a few hours before in the Great Hall, staring him down and smoldering. Draco wished he could have Weasley smoldering in quite a different manner.
"Are you listening, Draco?" asked Crabbe.
"Not really," answered Draco. This caused Crabbe to scowl at him but Draco ignored it.
"What were you thinking about?"
"Weasley and how pathetic and poor he is," replied Draco. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly.
"Why do you always insult him anyway?" said Goyle. "Potter isn't that important."
"What?" said Draco. "What does Potter have to do with anything? Who said anything about that scar-headed moron?"
"Why else would you spend so much time on someone like Weasley?"
Draco paused to stare at Goyle very hard. It wasn't a particularly attractive sight.
"I'm going to my room. If you know what's good for, you won't disturb me unless my life depends upon it."
Not waiting for their reply, Draco rolled his eyes at the two boys he considered to be more of bodyguards than anything else and headed for the hallway. He made it to the prefects corridor in record time before uttering his password and slipping into the Head Boy room. Discarding his shoes and socks by the bathroom door, Draco made his way over to his bed and dropped down onto it, staring up at the ceiling.
"Weasley, you poor fucker, get out of my head," Draco said aloud to the empty room.
There was very little about Ron Weasley that Draco didn't like, not that he was about to tell a living soul that. He depended very heavily upon his image and facade to not only get through holidays with his father, but the remainder of his Hogwarts schooling until he could get away. Lucius Malfoy had been telling Draco to grow up and be a man every since he was seven years old. What he meant by that was to grow up and be like him. Sneering, Draco rolled onto his stomach.
"I will never be like you," he muttered.
They were all the same: hate Potter, hate the Weasleys, hate mudbloods, and honor Voldemort. Draco tried, did a very good job for a manner of years, but that silly red-headed fucker had gotten in his head. Crabbe and Goyle were among the many he despised. Draco was always ragging on Weasley about how he was just another face that never stood out, how people always looked past him and never at him. He was the kind of person you just forgot existed. At least that was how it must seem to everyone else. Draco had a hard time thinking of anything but Weasley.
He really was exquisite. Ginger red hair that had turned into an exotic copper shade over the years. Weasley was tall, lean, with strong, broad shoulders. Sometimes Draco wished he could just look past Weasley like everyone else did. They didn't know what they were missing. There was something about Weasley's face, how it would get flushed when Draco made him angry. Weasley angry was a beautiful thing.
How would he looked flushed for reasons other than anger? A smirk crossed Draco's face as he thought this, imagining Weasley twisting and writhing beneath him, begging for more. He could imagine Weasley's voice crying out his name. Knowing Weasley, it would be one of those low, husky voices, the type that drove Draco wild. He had many conquests at Hogwarts, but Weasley was a challenge. Weasley was something else all together. It was taking Draco's game up to a new level. There was so much passion that went into their fights, channeling it into sexual prowess would only heighten the experience. Draco's mind practically exploded just thinking about it, not that he would let Weasley know these things. At least not yet. For Draco, it was going to take some time and some careful planning but he would have Weasley. No mistakes should be made about that.
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What can I say? Cliché, yes. Definitely. Still fun? I think so. Besides, clichés are tried and true.
Flames will be thrown into my fan, as I am too hot to use them for anything else.