Disclaimer:

I own neither Harry Potter nor any other character or creation of J. K. Rowling. Give her credit for the characters. Give me credit for the plot.



Notes:

Hello readers. This is my first attempt at a slash fic, and my second attempt at any kind of fan fiction ever. Constructive criticism is welcomed and flames discouraged. I hope you enjoy the tale.

I've recently edited and re-formatted a bit of the first and second chapters. The first chapter's dialogue is more seperated and, hopefully, easier to read. The second chapter's text has been changed minutely, because I decided that Malfoy sounded way too mushy. I wanted a strong attraction, but I didn't want him to turn into pudding. At least not yet. *wink* So a small amount of the content has been changed.

Please note that I do not have a beta, so all mistakes are my own.

Finally, thank you, reviewers. I am touched deeply by your kind words and hope to fufill your expectations. With that said, on with the next chapter. *smile*





Chapter 3




Ginny pushed past Ron, who was standing dumbly at the door, his mind still working through the events of the past ten minutes.

"Ron, don't just stand there—do I look like a house elf? Help me unpack your things!"

Ron snapped from his reverie to raise his eyebrows at Ginny. "If Hermione ever catches you saying that, she'll hex you to the next century," he commented as he walked over to the bed, watching as Ginny conjured the spell to return his belongings to normal, usable sizes. He grabbed a pile of his socks and walked towards the handsome dark wood dresser to his left.

"So," he drawled casually, trying not to sound like the curiosity was killing him, "what's with the visit from Mr. Malfoy?"

Ginny looked up. Ron was putting the socks in the drawer, and his face was hidden. She furrowed her brow. "Draco's just coming for a visit, same as you."

Ron's eyes widened, but he kept his voice the same. "Same as me, eh?"

Ginny put her hands on her hips. "You know what I mean." She stalked over to the dresser and looked Ron in the face as he straightened his back. She looked Ron straight in the eyes and asked, "Why? Do you have a problem with it?"

Ron broke their eye contact and looked to the right. "A problem? Nay, no problems here. I'm just curious."

Ginny lifted an eyebrow. "You're looking awfully guilty, Ronald Weasley."

A grin stretched across Ron's face at this statement. "Blimey, Ginny, you sound just like Mum."

Ginny scoffed. "I do not!" she said in a loud, authoritative tone. Ron began to laugh. She crossed her arms and huffed, and Ron laughed even harder, falling onto the bed. She grinded her teeth and pursed her lips, but she couldn't keep the smile off of her face. "Oh well," she conceded, biting her lip and trying not to giggle, "Mum certainly had her ways of getting what she wanted."

Ron's laughter subsided to chuckles as he leaned up from the bed, shaking his head. "You still never answered my question.

"As you didn't answer mine."

"I asked first."

"So? It's my house."

Ron sighed. His sister had learned to argue from the best—their older brothers. "Fine, then. I'll tell you."

Ginny sat down next to Ron on the bed and leaned against him.

"It's just that...well...,"

"Well what?"

Ron sighed again. "I don't know why this is so hard to say. I'm,...I dunno...just not used to Malfoy being on our team, I suppose. The last thing I remember about him, Gods, was him calling our family poor, him berating Dad, him making fun of my wand—"

"Ron, people change. You've at least read about what he did during the war."

Ron nodded. "I'd love to hear that story," he hinted.

Ginny shook her head. "You'll not be hearing it from me. Go ask him. I'm sure Draco will have no problems telling you."

Ron's brow furrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

"By what?"

"Why would he have no problem telling me specifically?"

"Did I say you, specifically?"

Ron snorted. "No, but you damn well insinuated it."

Ginny chuckled. "Fine. I did mean you specifically. It's just that Draco said—"

"Malfoy was speaking about me?" Ron spit the words as if they were poison. His sister looked at him with a disapproving frown.

"He just told me that he wished that the two of you would have been a tad more...," Ginny paused, looking for the right word. Ron, for some reason, held his breath.

"...civil," Ginny concluded.

Ron felt a small wave of disappointment wash over him. "Where the hell did that come from?" he thought, but turned to Ginny and said, "Civil? Hell, I wanted to kill the bloody git every time I laid eyes on him."

Ginny flashed him a quick smile, almost hinting that she didn't believe him. "I'm sure you did...but what do you think now?"

"Now?" Ron deadpanned.

"Yeah, now," Ginny said, smiling mischievously. "When he walked through the door. And how did you end up flat on your arse, by the way?"

"Oh, um...," Ron said, beginning to blush. "I, um...well, was kind of peeping."

Ginny laughed loudly. "Peeping? What ever for?"

"Well," Ron said, turning redder with every word, "you guys rushed away and I had no clue what was going on."

"Why didn't you come out and join us instead of peeping through the foyer?"

Ron looked away. "I wasn't invited."

"Gods, brother, I hope you don't expect us to invite you into every room of the damn house!" she mocked. "Ron, please join me in the lavatory."

Ron poked her in the ribs playfully. "You always were too mean to me."

She laughed. "Afraid of your little sister, eh dragon tamer?"

Ron smiled, but shook his head. "There is no such thing as a dragon tamer."

"Whatever. You still didn't tell me how you ended up on the floor."

"Simple. I tripped. You guys were coming back, and I didn't want to be caught peeping, so I ran."

Ginny giggled. "Ran for where?"

"I don't know. Away from the windows. Anyway, it didn't work."

"Obviously. You were staring up at Draco...what were you thinking?"

Ron cleared his throat, but couldn't help blushing again. "I wasn't thinking anything, Ginny."

"If you weren't thinking anything, I'll kiss a mandrake."

Ron chortled. "What, is Harry that bad?"

Ginny punched him in the arm. "Quiet you. Answer the question."

Ron sighed. "Okay, fine. I was just really...surprised to see him. He was the last person I would have expected to drop in at the Potter residence—especially on a broom."

"So it didn't cross your mind how hot he looked?"

Ron blushed again, but indignantly replied, "What? I beg your pardon!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Come on, now. You were checking him out. I don't blame you. I was checking him out, too."

Ron's eyes bulged. "What?? I never thought...and you're a married woman!"

"Remember, never is a strong word. And being married is not synonymous with being blind."

Ron narrowed his eyes, but contiued, "But what about Harry??"

Ginny laughed. "Harry knows there's nothing between me and Draco. I mean, how could there be with—" She paused abruptly and looked into Ron's face. "There's nothing between me and Draco," she said at last. "He's one of our best friends."

"You and Harry?"

"Of course. You've got to give him a chance, Ron. He's such a great person; so funny, so suave, so sexy..."

"Okay, you can stop the Malfoy fan club. I'm not going to hate the man just because of our past."

"You'd better not. His rooms mere meters away. And you're grumpy in the morning. I wonder how he'll take that."

"Wonder away, then. I'm going to finish unpacking my stuff." Ron moved from his place on the bed and picked up a pile of shirts.

"He's a really nice guy, Ron. And a really good friend." Ginny walked over to the door. "I'll leave you to your unpacking. Dinner will be soon, but don't wait until then. Come down into the living room when you're done."

Ron waved his assent.

The door had almost fully closed before Ginny stuck her head back in one last time. "Hey Ron?"

"Yes?"

"I bet Draco would make a really great lover." With that, she slammed the door. Ron could hear her giggling down the hall. He caught his flushed reflection in the mirror and quickly turned away.


***



"I'm being led to my doom," was all Harry could think as Draco stalked in front of him, his fierce grip beginning to cripple Harry's right wrist. Of all the things that Harry would rather face—three-headed dogs, wild dragons, Voldemort himself—a pissed Draco Malfoy was not one of them. He tried not to recoil in anticipation of the lecture he was about to receive. Harry knew Draco too well to expect to have permission to explain. No, Draco will most likely scream, demand, and banter until he was satisfied, and then Harry would begin to explain. He had only held audience to this experience but once or twice. It was the opposite of pleasant.

Draco fumed as he pulled the Boy-Who-Lived in tow. He'd been in the Potter home enough times to have memorized its layout, so he knew exactly where the door to Harry's office was. They came to a huge door with magic symbols hand-carved into the oak. "Wronski Defensive Feint", he growled through clenched teeth, and the solid door permitted their ingression. Once inside, Draco flung Harry forcefully to the settee that he knew would be there.

Harry wheezed in contention as he wrapped his own hand around his now bruised wrist. "Heathen," he thought in his head as he rubbed the sore skin. He straightened his position on the settee, huffed, and then looked up. Draco was still at the door, his hands flat against it, his head bowed. Harry winced again. "This is going to be bad," he thought.

Draco leaned against the unyielding door, eyes closed, trying frantically to collect his thoughts—to keep the sky from crashing into the ground. In the last ten minutes, his precarious world had been demolished by blue eyes and a lock of orange curl. He couldn't help it, though. Draco had come undone. Slowly, he pivoted and leaned his back against the door, but kept his eyes closed. His face was hard as granite. "Do you think this is some kind of fucking joke, Potter?" he spat.

"Draco, listen—"

Draco scoffed and turned his head. "Listen? You want me to listen? Honestly, after all we'd been through...I bloody trusted you!" he yelled, finally opening his eyes, his deadly focus on Harry.

"But Draco, I—"

"You?! You what?? You smart little shit, you think you know everything You think you can be the hero again? You bring him waltzing back into my life, delivered right before my damned eyes! And you expect me to be happy?!" Draco began to pursue his prey, slowly creeping closer to Harry. "After all I've done to try to forget the bloody bastard...all the damn nights I've been haunted by his face in my fucking dreams! This is my life! Don't you get it?? You're fucking with my life!"

Mere inches away from Harry, Draco wanted to reach out, grab the shit by his throat and hex until every Unforgivable Curse was drained from his warring brain. Worse, he wanted to strike him in muggle fashion—anything to make him feel a fraction of the pain that etched along his skin, running deeply into his heart. Instead, the fervor drained from his face, and he scoffed pitifully. "I'm fucked, Harry," he said softly, sank onto the settee beside his friend, and with elbows on knees, buried his face in his hands. Completely dejected.

Harry put an arm around Draco's shoulder. "You're so crude. I don't know why I put up with you." He sighed and continued, looking at the other man's profile, "Draco, I didn't invite him."

Draco faltered a moment, then scoffed. "Do you really expect me to believe that Ron Weasley just happens to drop by for a visit at the exact moment as me?"

Harry poked Draco's shoulder defensively. "Do you really believe that I would be so cruel as to invite Ron here? So insensitive? Hell, do you think I'm that stupid? Trust me, I'd have much rather saved myself the ear-beating, you git. Ron arrived not more than five minutes before you did. Hell, we didn't even get the chance to tell him you were coming. Good best friend I am—I didn't even give him a good welcome before Ginny and I scampered off to see to your safe arrival. Blimey, what isn't going wrong?"

Draco raised his head from his hands, stress clearly marked across his features. He knew Harry wasn't lying. Harry had never lied to him in all the years of their friendship. Nor had Draco. The two knew practically everything about each other—especially the issue that was now surfacing.

"Draco," Harry began slowly, taking a breath, "I know you've had a...fondness for Ron since Hogwarts."

"Fondness?" Draco repeated dryly. "Fondness doesn't even cover it. Doesn't even begin to cover it. I'd almost risk saying that I'm head over heels for the man, and the only reason I don't is because we've not had a civil moment between us for the last sixteen years! What the hell kind of love is that, Harry?" Draco sighed.

"We've discussed this already. You know things are different now."

"Damn it,...the dreams were only coming once or twice a month now, rather than every damn day...taunting me..." Draco shivered to remember the dreams he would have about Ron, details that he would not completely divulge to Harry—partially out of not wanting to embarrass him, and secretly partially out of not wanting Harry to get any ideas himself. Ron was Draco's secret, his heart's desire. His obsession. At Hogwarts, it had manifested as criticism, sharp and witty comments, or even downright physical assault. That is, until Seventh year, when Ron had seceded from many of his other classes to focus on his gifts with the beasts of Hogwarts. He looked at Harry to see, from the expression on his face, that he was also recalling Seventh year, but most decidedly for different reasons.

"Remember, Draco? Ron definitely won Hagrid's favor. He was Hagrid's pride and joy, none higher. He even ascended me in Hagrid's eyes, I believe." Harry recalled the glowing pride when Hagrid set his eyes on Ron calming Fluffy without aid of music, or Ron conversing with Aragog. "Funny how his gift only began to set in at the end of the Sixth year. I always thought that his way with animals could have been such a great help in the earlier years." Harry glanced at Draco, who had averted his eyes for some reason. "Draco?" Harry said, and Draco looked up. His face was pallid, eyes stormy with thought. "Draco, this happened for a reason."

"Of course, you wouldn't want me to go attributing it to my star-crossed fate, is that it?"

Harry scoffed. "Star-crossed? You've succeeded in bringing down the Dark Forces of the Wizarding World—"

"—With help," Draco interjected, trying not to smile, but not succeeding very well. He knew his emotions were safe with Harry. Fighting side by side, relying on him, even saving his life a few times—showing emotions were no worry between the two of them.

"—fine, with help. You're now a successful—"

"Okay, okay. My life isn't that bad anymore. But with Ron, it's star-crossed. It will never work."

Harry shrugged. "Never is a strong word, remember? Maybe that's why he's here—"

Draco raised an eyebrow.

Harry smiled and said, "—to change that star-crossed fate."

Draco looked down again. "I'm afraid, Harry. Damn it, I hate fear. I defy Voldemort, help to defeat the Dark Forces, and the red-head across the hall makes me tremble." He looked up. "Hell, I don't even know if he's got an interest in men, let alone consider me. To him, I'm still Draco Malfoy, the evil git who degraded him years ago. Didn't you see the look in his eyes when he saw me? He was humiliated, like I had just insulted his family again, and—this kills me—he seemed to recognize the feeling! I couldn't stand to see it return to piddling rivalry again." Draco turned to look at Harry, who was smirking. "What? You're going to mock me now?" Draco said, mostly in jest.

"No," Harry said slowly, "It's just obvious you didn't catch the way he looked at you when he saw you standing at the door. Perhaps you were distracted by my friends, ahem...other attributes?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, Potter?"

"Oh, so I'm Potter again, eh? Maybe I wont' tell you." Harry smiled triumphantly as Draco's eyes narrowed even further. "Ah, you're so easy to torture. You couldn't have seen Ron's face. He looked at you in awe. I remember the expression fondly, myself."

"What do you mean?"

"It was the way I used to look at Ginny when I was in Seventh year and she Fifth. I practically gobbled her up with my eyes, amazed at what I saw. That's what you call love at first sight, Draco. You don't even realize it. It's just there."

"At me? You can't be serious." Draco shook his head in disdain. "The boy only has eyes for a dragon."

"Exactly, Draco." Harry said smugly. Draco looked up again, and couldn't help a small smile. The seeds of hope had been planted—just not in naught, Draco hoped.




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