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.

Can you believe it? It's not been weeks and weeks and already I'm updating! I hope its a sign of things to come...aka more efficient muses resulting in quicker updates. *wink*

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

Once again, finally, thank you to my consistant and wonderful reviewers. As I've said before, I am so touched by your kind words and hope to fufill your every expectation. *smile*





Chapter 5




The sun blared through the library window—strong, crisp, and unable to be ignored. Ron groaned and shifted his neck, only to feel excruciating pain through his skull. He groaned again in certain agony. "What devilry is this?" he thought, until he discovered that even thinking hurt. He squeezed his eyes as shut as they could be in attempt to ignore the chipper light, but it wasn't working. It was at that time the birds outside the window decided to crescendo their song, chirping and tittering painfully high pitched notes. "I want to die," Ron croaked as he attempted to find a comfortable spot on...whatever he was on. He was in so much pain, he didn't even care. Far away, he heard laughing. It began to draw closer and closer until he heard the familiar voice boom loudly, "Good morning, sunshine!"

Ron flicked his fingers in the air. "Avada Kedavra. Let me sleep."

Harry laughed loudly, making Ron wince. "You must be really hung over if you tried to kill me, of all people, with Avada Kedavra."

"Dammit, Harry, can't you shut the hell up?"

"Nope," Harry said with a grin. "I had an excellent night, and I'm ready for the day."

"Yeah, I vaguely remember that. I heard when I was going through the halls," Ron groaned. "Ever hear of a silencing charm, Potter?"

Harry laughed again, and Ron wondered what the fuck was so funny. "You're acting just like the selfish Slytherin you spent the night with, eh?"

Ron's eyes shot open. "What??"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you don't remember."

"God, Harry, you know I don't remember anything when I'm drunk," Ron fretted, his temples pounding.

"Yeah, and so does Draco."

"He does? How does he know that?"

Harry grinned mischievously. "Because you told him."

"Bloody sodding hell...," Ron said and covered his hands with his face.

"What?" Harry asked. "Half of the wizarding world would love the opportunity you had last night. Draco Malfoy's the World's Sexiest Wizard, according to Rita Skeeter. Hell, he even beat out me, the git," Harry said, his delight evident in his voice.

"At least you're humble," Ron groaned, then attempted to stand up. "Harry, where the hell are my legs?"

"Maybe you let Draco fuck them off."

"Jesus, Harry! Don't say shit like that!"

"What? Just because you're mad because you missed the best lay of your life—,"

"I did not miss the best lay of my life! Nothing happened!"

Harry's eyebrows raised. "Are you sure about that?"

Ron opened his mouth to reply affirmative, but then his dreams came back to him...dreams of him with Malfoy, on Malfoy, in Malfoy, drinking from Malfoy like he was the bloody fountain of youth. He couldn't be positive of how much was fact and how much was fiction—especially if Malfoy was with him. He vaguely remembered pouring two drinks at the library mini bar last night...

"Aw, fuck, Harry...it's not possible," Ron whimpered, unsure.

"What? So the dragon tamed you for once. Would it really be that bad?"

"Well, I..., uh..., um,...Harry, he's Dra-, uh, Malfoy! God, who fucks a Malfoy?"

"I did."

Ron's eyes practically fell out of his head.

"What??"

"Before I married your sister, yeah. We spent one night together. He's awesome between the sheets...hell, he's a sex god. I wasn't so deeply in love with your sister, I'd probably be with Draco, just for how good the sex is. Throw love into the mix, and, well, ...damn."

Ron blinked forcefully. "Wah...what??" he repeated.

Harry looked at him, then tilted his head. "You've got a major hangover, huh?"

"No shit, Sherlock."

"You're so mean when you're in pain. Where's your Griffindor pride?"

"From what you're saying, it was fucked by Draco Malfoy!"

Harry chuckled. "Come on, let me take you back to your room. You can sleep a bit, get a nice bath, and join us when you're feeling human again."

Ron grumbled all the way up the stairs.

*******************


"There's a big difference," said Ron aloud, when shrouded in the safe solitude of his chambers, "between what Harry says and what happened." Desperation crept into his voice. "There's got to be."

Ron had just woken from a nap of considerable length. He couldn't remember what time it was when Harry led him from the library to his chambers. Now, the clock read 1:18. He stretched and got up, searching for his wand. He'd need a good hangover spell to get through the rest of the day. He wondered why Harry didn't cast one on him when he found him. "Bloody bastard," he thought vengefully. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Wouldn't be the first time for what?"

Ron's attention darted to his doorway where a fully dressed Draco Malfoy leaned against the frame. Ron's eyes quickly traveled the length of Draco's form before he was aware of what he was doing. Draco was dressed in faded denim and a gray sweater—the shade brought out the icy blue of his irises. Ron froze. Draco stared back with an eyebrow raised.

"Well, the least you could do is invite me in, Ron."

"He called me Ron again." The thought stole across Ron's brain quickly, but he pushed it aside and said, "Uh, I'm in my pajamas."

"I can see that. Smashing pajamas they are," Draco replied satirically.

Ron blushed and looked away. "I'm such a dolt," he said. "Please come in."

Draco nodded his head. "That's more like it." He walked into Ron's chambers and sat in one of the burgundy and golden chairs to the left of Ron, noting the affect of the other man in his natural colors. It was enchanting.

"At home in your natural Gryffindor habitat, I see," Draco commented as he watched Ron try to get his thoughts together.

"Ah, well, I'm actually more at home in a, an, uh...hut. Cottage," Ron sputtered, just to fill the silence. "It's kind of like Hagrid's, in some fashion, I suppose. Romanian, too. Um, yeah."

Draco raised his eyebrows for a moment, and then nodded, as if having considered the information, found it believable. "I suppose one day I'll see for myself."

Ron's eyes shot wide open, then he blushed and looked down. "I suppose," he spoke softly. Damn, though, if his head wasn't aching so horribly. That was most likely the reason that Ron sounded so dumb—or at least that's what he told himself. So long as it had nothing to do with Draco's presence, then Ron could reason through it. He lifted a hand to his temples.

"Headache?" Draco asked. Ron nodded. "I figured. Didn't the spell work?"

"Spell?" Ron looked pained.

"The hangover spell?"

"Oh, no. I've yet to cast it."

Draco scoffed. "Then why are you sitting here talking to me?" He sighed laboriously, then searched for his wand. "Here, I'll cast it."

Ron nodded his consent and put his head down. Draco stood and held his wand, carefully casting the charm, throwing in his own alteration to the incantation. He stepped away as Ron blinked a few times.

"Wow," he said. "Blimey, that's amazing! I feel like I've gotten 16 hours of sleep! How did you do that?"

Draco chuckled. "I've had quite my experience with hangover charms, and have perfected them over the years. I've got a few for different occasions."

"You'll have to share them one day, Malfoy." Ron smiled, but noticed Draco looked perturbed. "What's wrong?" he questioned.

Draco looked pointedly into Ron's face. "I'm not here to hex you, right?"

Ron looked unsure. "Uh, right."

"I'm not here to hurt you or kill your family or friends, right?"

"Yeah..."

"I'm not even here to make fun of you, right?"

"Not that I know of..."

Draco drove his point home. "Then why do you still address me by my last name? For bloody sake, Ron, we're adults now. I no longer have any wish whatsoever to berate you or your family. Hell, I'm a good friend to all of them! Percy's one hell of a dancer when he loosens up, you know." Ron looked fairly shocked, but Draco wasn't sure whether it was because of his question or his comments about the Weasley crew.

"I didn't know you knew my family," Ron said softly.

Draco tried to look nonchalant. "Well, I guess Arthur and I became friends during the war, along with the twins. And here, look at this." With that, Draco stood and reached for the hem of his sweater. Ron gasped as he pulled it over his head, shocked—and totally missing the point. "See?" Draco said, pointing to his sweater underneath. It was black stitching with a green D in the middle, made by none other than Molly Weasley.

Shocked, Ron asked, "When did you get that?"

"Ah, before we all left for the war. Look here." Draco pointed to a place in the sweater, somewhat lower and to the left of his heart. There was a large tear, and looked to be mended by an unskilled hand.

"What happened?"

Draco took a deep breath. "We were out in the field, and I was hit by a rather nasty rogue blasting curse. It tore through my armor and defenses, but halted, for some reason, at this sweater. Only this rip was made, and I thoroughly believe my life was saved. I stitched it up with a quick spell and returned to combat without my armor and magic defenses. I remained unscathed."

Ron's face changed from confusion to wonder. "Really?"

"Yes. You can ask Harry. He was there, too. You could say this is my lucky sweater," Draco concluded with a light smile. After a few moments, though, Ron's wonder remained. "Well then," Draco said, to break the silence.

"Oh," Ron jumped a bit, breaking from his fury of thoughts. "I was just thinking..."

"About...?" Ron opened his mouth as if to answer, but then shut it again. "Ah, nothing. Nothing." He smiled somewhat sheepishly, and said, "I get what you mean."

It was Draco's turn to look confused. "You do? About what?"

"Names. I guess I can call you Draco, Malfoy."

"What, you're going to call me by my entire name now?"

Ron blushed. "No, Malfoy, er, uh...Draco. I'll call you Draco."

"Good. That's who I am. Remember it." He smiled again. "So how was your evening?"

Ron groaned again and dropped back down to lie flat on his bed again. "First you came and fixed everything, and now you're going to mess it up again!"

"I did?"

"Yup, you killed the hangover only to unearth it's cause. Do you have no shame?"

Draco smiled again, only more mischievously. He cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe, why? How was your evening?"

Ron threw his hands over his eyes. "Damn you, you know I don't remember."

Draco sat down on the side of the bed. "Oh, that's right. Mr. 'I-drink-two-drinks-and-loose-entire-days', right?"

"Well...maybe it was more than two drinks."

"Ah, his memory returns. How much did you have?"

"Well...starting with dinner, and then before bed, and so...uh," Ron calculated, wincing. "Maybe 6...7?"

Draco scoffed. "Of vodka?? Are you serious?"

Ron shrugged. Draco noted that he was still lying flat on the bed. It was ruining his concentration on the nice, safe conversation they were having...with Ron still in his pajamas.

Ron eventually answered, "I had champagne at dinner, maybe one or two...but when I woke up and found the library, I had quite a few shots of vodka. I was looking to get drunk, so I achieved my purpose."

Draco leaned slightly over Ron's form. "And why did you have that purpose, eh?"

Ron slowly uncovered his eyes and found his gaze met with icy blue. Only it didn't seem so icy—rather, it was steaming, fogging up his mind. "Uh,..." he said.

"And are you sure you don't remember last night?" Draco murmured in a silky tone, leaning in even closer.

"Uh...," he said again, "Not much."

"Do you remember me?"

"Vaguely. I remember you being there...when I woke, I thought I was dreaming."

Another eyebrow raise from Draco. "Really?" he said, drawing out the word, sending shivers down Ron's spine so that he forced himself not to react. Draco continued, "So, what were you dreaming? About me, that is...?"

Ron's was blushing, and once again, his eyes were wide. He sat up quickly as he placed a hand on Draco's arm, so as not to hit him. "Nothing! Um, that is...I think...we were just..., uh," Ron grew redder as the memories of his dream came back. The scariest thought was that he could not remember how far they had gone. If Ron's entire dream was true, he thought he would be, ahem, feeling it right now, but he wasn't, so the most Ron knew was that he hadn't given himself to Draco. He couldn't be sure about the rest.

Draco noted his panic. It intrigued him. Ron must have dreamt more than the passionate drunken kiss they shared on the library settee. It intrigued him indeed, but he was feeling evil, so he relented, "Well, when you remember, be sure to come and find me." Suggestion was written all over his countenance. He leaned in and brushed his lips against Ron's only long enough to feel Ron's delicious gasp, then turned and walked out of the room.

Ron watched him leave, too entirely stunned to react. As soon as Draco was gone, he released his breath in a torrent. "Holy hell," he thought, and dropped flat back to the bed beneath him. "I need to talk to Harry. Now."




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