Title: Realization On A Winter's Eve
Rating: Starts off PG-13 then gains an enormous R
Pairing: Draco/Ron
Summery: After much rivalry, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley make a bet, and the loser has to be the winner's personal servant for the Winter Holiday. What slashy feelings will result from this?
Current Music: Here In My Room -Incubus
Chapter Eight: Shall We Play?

The following day began much like any of the previous days at the Manor. Ron was prodded from his dreamless sleep by Draco's impatient fingers, then the blonde wordlessly left him. Ron quickly washed his hair and slipped into his ordinary attire before proceeding downstairs to breakfast. Draco was seated with his paper propped up in one hand and a scone in the other. Neither boy acknowledged the other as they ate, and the only sound came from the morning doves outside the open windows.

And so the morning went on. Ron treaded up the dewy hill to the menagerie and set to work, feeding the miniature dragons and grooming the fire-breathing horses. It was when Ron was busy harnessing the stags that a change in regular events occurred; The stall door opened and Draco stepped inside.

Ron blinked up at him from his kneeling position on the dirt floor. He was used to this situation by now, of himself crouched before Draco with wordless anticipation, like a servant bowing before his master. Ron figured resentfully that Draco was rather fond of this particular arrangement.

What are you doing here, Malfoy?

Draco shrugged. Thought I'd help.

Ron nearly gagged on his own saliva. You want to help? he asked skeptically.

Draco nodded. I have nothing better to do. There was a brief pause; one which was fueled by Ron's half-astonished, half-inquisitive eyes boaring into Draco's. Finally, Draco's somber pout broke into a smirk. Hand me the reigns, Weasel. Ron smiled too, and complied.

The air wasn't quite as cold as usual, Ron observed, as they walked the stags out across the pale green yard. The redhead closed his eyes and let the light breeze caress his skin. Draco tugged on Sage's harness to make him halt, and watched Ron for a moment; his rival's rosy cheeks, and full, parted lips gently blowing out his white cloudy breath. Draco felt a sort of warm tingle go through him as his mind absorbed this beautiful scene before him. This was the portrait he painted every night, when the house was quiet and the world was dark enough for secrets to remain hidden.

Draco closed his eyes too, and said softly,



This is a good day for Quittich.

##############################################################################

All right, Weasley. Bring that black box over to me.

There were no uniforms, no bludgers, no stadium. But there was Draco's tall tower of the Manor, in which you could spot two boys in tee shirts and denim trousers, rummaging through Draco's collection of Quittich equipment.

Ron snatched up a light-weight box made of an ebony sort of wood and brought it over to Draco, who's brow was creased in concentration as he fished through an assortment of brooms, old and new.

What's in here? Ron asked, brandishing the box in front of Draco's nose.

My snitch, the blonde replied as he pushed the box back to Ron. Aha! I knew I had a spare. Draco grinned triumphantly, selecting a Nimbus 2000 from the broom collection. He held its well-polished end out to Ron. You can use this one.

Ron delicately received the broom. So where are we going to play?

Draco pointed, and Ron's gaze followed his finger out the window, which overlooked Narcissa's garden. It was then that Ron once again noticed the easel, still obscured by the silky sheet. He was once more so curious; What could Draco not want him to see?

Draco's eyes focused on the object of Ron's attention, and he felt his stomach do a flip. He hastily darted in front of Ron and snapped, Stop daydreaming, Weasley! I need a Quittich opponent, not a stupid pile of rocks on legs. Let's go all ready!

Ron grimaced at the insult thrown at him, but nodded. The two rivals gathered their equipment and hurried down the many steps and out the front door. Ron smiled. The sun had at last come out, and all of the hedge-statues appeared to glow in the golden light.

Draco carefully opened the dark box and plucked the snitch from the inside. Pinching it between his thumb and index finger, he turned to Ron. First one to get it wins.

Ron felt a sense of deja vu. Wins what?

Draco paused, sensing the irony as well. He smirked. Nothing. He just wins.



Draco let go of the snitch, which spiraled into the air before going out of sight. The boys mounted their brooms and Draco taunted, I'll go easy on you since Quittich is more of Potter's expertise, though he clearly isn't even that great. Either way, you're just a beginner, so you won't be that much competition.

Shows how much you know, Ron retorted, and pushed off the ground with full force.

Draco watched his nemesis' ascending form get smaller, and he shook his head, grinning broadly. One thing they certainly had in common was their pride. he said softly, and his Nimbus 2001 lifted him up into the clear sky.

##############################################################################

Draco dropped onto the grassy floor, exhausted. Ron landed beside him, and rolled over to face his platinum-haired rival, smiling from ear to ear. He waved the snitch in front of Draco's narrowed eyes. Six times, Malfoy. Six.

Draco blinked, trying to catch his breath. Ah, bugger. Why didn't they make you the Gryffindor seeker? Fucking bloody hell, Ron.

Ron had been in the middle of laughing breathlessly, when he stopped abruptly. You said my name again.

Draco, realizing his mistake, mentally kicked himself. He propped his head up with his elbow. Why complain, Weasel?

Ron snickered. I wasn't complaining, Ferret.

Draco sneered in return. Do not call me that.

Ron gave a coy smile as he sat up in the grass. I just won six matches, and for that, I'll call you anything I like, Ferret.

Before Draco could retort, he was startled as the redhead tackled him. Draco instinctively rolled over so he could be on the offensive side, and he grabbed Ron's sides, tickling him. Ron burst out laughing and tried desperately to push Draco off him. Draco, however, was stronger, and he grabbed Ron's wrists, pinning them to the ground beside his head.

Draco commanded, thoroughly enjoying the situation.

Ron flailed his head from side to side. All right.

Draco brought his face down closer to his rival's and whispered menacingly, Who are you, Weasel?

Ron scowled. Your servant.

Draco nodded. He moved off of Ron so he could get up, and added, And not a bad Quittich player.

Ron almost didn't believe his ears. Was that a compliment, Malfoy?

Draco shrugged, diverting his gaze to the ground. Yeah. I suppose.

The Gryffindor stared at him with astonishment. Before either of them could say another word, they heard the familiar, squeaky voice of Narcissa Malfoy, who stood at the front door in a light green dressing gown. Draco! Ron, dinner's nearly ready.

All right! the boys called in unison. They wordlessly picked up the equipment and made their way back into the house.

##############################################################################

Narcissa seemed much more bubbly than usual without Lucius in the house. She prattled on rapidly as she elegantly cut the stalks of broccoli on her plate into small pieces. Draco was also more animated, and he had eaten about half of the food in front of him before Narcissa turned to Ron and said politely:

An owl arrived for you about an hour ago. A large, snowy one. It's in the cage with your own owl, I believe.

Ron responded, instantly forming the assumption of whose owl had flown to him. He wiped his lips with a dark green napkin and addressed Draco, Can I go see what was sent to me?

Draco nodded. I just finished eating anyway.

As the boys climbed the second staircase, Draco proposed, We'll continue our Quittich match tomorrow, Weasley? Like I said before, I wanted to go easy on you today, but tomorrow, I won't be holding back at all.

Ron chuckled to himself. Holding back, he says. All right, Malfoy. Tomorrow.

After his bedroom door was closed behind him, Ron instantly confirmed that his guess had been correct. For sitting in the cage, beside a very fidgety Pigwidgeon, was Harry's owl, Hedwig. The white owl looked up at him warily as Ron untied the manila envelope from around her foot.

Thanks, Hedwig, Ron said softly, stroking the great bird a few times before breaking the Gryffindor seal on the envelope. He tipped it over, and a thin piece of folded paper fell into his hand. He sat back on his massive bed and opened the letter. It read:

Dear Ron,

I hope everything is well for you. I asked Fred and George where you've been all holiday, but they haven't the slightest idea. Well, perhaps they do, but you know them. It's lonely this Christmas without you here. Doesn't seem right.

About last week.....Ron, I dunno what to say about that, really. But I'm sorry. I just wanted to kiss you. I don't know why. I'm also sorry I didn't catch the snitch. I tried, you know.

I hope you're all right. You were really off-colour last week.

-HP

Ron sighed, reading the note over a few more times. After several minutes of deep thought, he reached for a quill from the bedside table and sloppily scrawled on the back of the paper:

Harry,

I'm doing fine, I think. I'm with Charlie in Romania. It was sort of planned at the last minute. How's your holiday?

Sorry I worried you. I just wasn't sure how to react before. It all happened really fast. It's all right, though. You give me more answers than Mal

Ron paused, glaring down at the paper with amazement. Since when had his thoughts turned to Malfoy?! He quickly blotted out the last line, then scribbled his signature at the bottom of the sheet. He blew on the ink to dry it, rolled up the paper and attached it to Hedwig's foot. The owl hooted impatiently and soared out the window, into the night sky.

Ron stripped to his underwear and climbed into his bed. As tired as he was, he knew he wouldn't sleep well that night. He had too much to think about. Malfoy, for instance, was nicer to him today, and when they'd been play-fighting in the grass, Ron had felt....he couldn't describe it, but whatever it was, he liked it. He liked this type of Draco. He enjoyed the adrenaline rush the blonde sent through him. It was almost erotic.

Ron's thoughts seemed to slam to a halt. Erotic?! What had possessed him to use that word in describing Malfoy?! He had to stop thinking, or he knew where his thoughts might go, and that was a dangerous subject to fantasize about.

When the Gryffindor did at last fall asleep, the dream from a week before encompassed him once again. It had been a dream he'd anxiously been attempting to forget all week long; The dream which revealed to him too clearly what it felt like to have his rival's lips pressed against his own.

Over the course of the next few days, Draco and Ron dueled persistently at their modified form of Quittich, with Draco winning about one fifth of the time. Draco was only half-enraged that he was losing so horribly, for during these one-on-one matches, the Slytherin was getting the best Quittich practice he'd ever had. And he loved watching his rival diligently search the sky for the snitch. It was sort of like watching an eagle that was about to spread its wings and fly.

Draco was beginning to get worried, though. His father never returned home like he said he would, and Draco felt a strange sense of paranoia looming over him. It began the second day of his and Ron's , so to speak. Draco was just pushing off the ground, latching his legs around the broomstick, when he felt a sort of presence around him. It was as if someone was always behind him, attached like a shadow, watching him, and Draco felt uneasy at the thought of who might be spying on him.

It was only when the two boys retired from dinner each night that Draco no longer felt like eyes were boaring into the back of his head. Every night, he'd go up to his tower and pour over the painting. It was nearly finished, he knew, but it always seemed like something was missing. He just didn't know what.

Meanwhile, in the room across the hallway, Ron Weasley was relentlessly being haunted by the same dream, though some of the moments he shared with Draco were more heated than others.

############

Ron, dressed only in a pair of gray flannel boxers, slipped under the silky sheets of his bed after blowing out the lamp on his bedside table. As his eyes adjusted to the abrupt darkness of the room, he thought he saw a shadow skim past the foot of his bed. He shook his head, deciding that he was just so tired that he wasn't seeing straight.

Suddenly, a pair of soft hands gently covered his eyes, and that same voice whispered, Guess who?

Ron felt his heartbeat quicken immediately.

That's right, replied his captor, and the hands slipped from his face as the blonde appeared in front of him. A faint sliver of moonlight stretched across Draco's features, and Ron was certain he'd never seen anything as beautiful as the boy now leaning over him. His rival's silver gaze pierced his own as Draco said softly and lucidly, I want you, Ron.

Ron gulped, unsurely reaching a hand behind Draco's neck to pull them closer together until their lips were pressed together. It wasn't long before Draco's tongue found its way to the opening of Ron's mouth, and Ron willingly parted his lips to entangle the foreign tongue with his own.

This kiss seemed to last forever, but still not long enough, and Ron was not aware that he was lying on his back with Draco's slender body flat on top of him until he felt the blonde's long fingers trailing down his torso. He reflexively arched into Draco, pressing their bodies together in all the right places. he moaned, feeling his rival's fingers lightly graze over his sensitive nipples.

He could hear Draco groan, then the blonde's face leaned so close to his that their noses touched. His voice was so faint, Ron could just barely hear it. Time to wake up.

###########

Ron's head jerked up from his pillow, and he groggily gazed around the brightly-lit River Room, panting heavily. At first, he was unsure of where he was, or, more importantly, when it was. Then his thoughts quickly pieced together, and he realized, yet again, that he'd been dreaming.

Oh, but it was so real. So beautifully real.

Ron raked his fingers through his tousled hair, noticing instantly that it was damp with sweat. This was bad. For three nights in a row he'd dreamt the same dream about Draco kissing him, touching him, and doing everything that one shouldn't do to his enemy. But there was an even worse part. Oh, yes.

Ron never wanted the dreams to end.

The redhead pushed off his sheets and looked down at his watch. It was almost half-nine. That meant any minute now-

The door creaked open, and Draco Malfoy appeared in the door, dressed in his usual morning attire that consisted of the signature dark green bathrobe. Draco was surprised to see his rival already awake, and he almost felt disappointed that he wouldn't be able to watch Ron sleep today.

Good morning, Ron mumbled modestly, as pieces of the dream flashed in his brain.

the blonde answered, stepping closer. He crossed his arms over his chest and said in a detached tone, My father has returned home today, Weasel. After you work in the menagerie, I expect the hallway floor to be cleaned and the tapestries to be dusted. You've neglected to do those tasks for the past few days. Ron felt his heart sink and his gaze fell to his hands, clasped in his lap. Draco continued, I want my bed made as well before we play Quittich.

Ron looked up at his rival again, surprised that Quittich was even being brought up.

Draco smiled to himself, then turned to exit, saying lightly over his shoulder, Breakfast in twenty minutes.

##############################################################################

It was a little past four o'clock when Ron finished carrying out Draco's orders, but he wasn't tired. He actually felt stimulated by the anticipation of his upcoming Quittich match with Draco. As he and the Slytherin carried their brooms out into the garden, they were engaged in a long conversation about different Quittich teams. Draco, himself, was quite supportive of the Chudley Canons.

They mounted their brooms and released the snitch. And so, the game began. Within ten minutes, both boys had spotted the snitch and were flying side by side, neck and neck, each trying to pass his rival to grasp the winged ball.

Give up, Weasley! You won't win this time! Draco shouted, grinning madly into the cool wind.

I wouldn't dream of it, Malfoy! Ron countered, gripping his broom tighter.

Suit yourself, Draco replied, and steered his broom to the right, causing his body to ram forcefully into Ron's. Not expecting the blow, Ron was pushed sideways, making his broom veer a few feet to the right. When he regained his balance, Ron realized that he was no longer following the path of the snitch, and Draco was gaining on it!

Draco beamed, knowing that the snitch was barely inches from his outstretched hand. He was so intently focused on the golden ball that it took him a moment to notice a large gray barrier forming directly in front of him. He blinked, then gasped, trying to swerve out of the way, but the stone wall of his tower seemed to keep coming closer and closer until Draco found himself being violently thrown from his Nimbus 2001, through the misty air. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting to crack his skull on the hard stones, but then, to his astonishment, he abruptly skidded across a stone floor, landing right in front of his easel. Somehow he'd managed to fall right through the tower window!

Gasping for breath, the Draco stood at the sound of the redhead calling his name. He looked out the window just as Ron appeared outside, reclining on his broom. Ron sighed heavily. Oh, good. You're all right.

Draco answered. Where's the snitch?

Ron smirked, waving the tiny ball at Draco, before carefully gliding through the window to join the Slytherin.

Draco laughed breathlessly. Incredible, Weasel. I knock you out of the way and you still win.

Ron shook his head positively. I'd have smacked you for pulling such a nasty trick, but it looks like you already got a good scare. Ron gestured toward the window.

Draco scowled. I was not scared.

Ron chuckled. Right. The look on your face was a sort of wide-eyed arrogance.

Shut up, Weasel. Draco playfully pushed the laughing Gryffindor. He smiled. Gods, who wouldn't be scared?

Ron nodded, calming down. He sent a knowing smile at his nemesis. Another match? Less violent, of course.

Yes, but keep the violence coming. I'd like to see you nearly shit in your knickers.

They competed in the air for two more hours, a lion and serpent, dueling with full vitality, enjoying every minute of it. Draco was so caught up in the adrenaline rush that he didn't pay so much attention to his gut feeling that someone was still watching them.

He didn't know that a man was sitting patiently in the tower opposite his own, with his steely eyes fixed upon him.

##############################################################################

That evening, after dinner, Ron and Draco quietly left the dining room, and it was only when the large door had closed behind them that the two boys burst out laughing.

Ron stumbled alongside Draco, clutching his chest as he tried to stop giggling. Did you hear her? I mean, of course you heard her, he said in between gasps.

Merlin, that's what I live with every time we have a holiday. Draco snickered as they climbed the first staircase. Every year my mother plans a family gathering, and every damn year, she spends an entire day thinking and talking about nothing else.

Ron stuck out his chin and said in a mock-high-pitched voice, I simply can't decide between dark green or dark red table decorations.

Draco, too, raised his voice an octave and chimed in, And the orchestra is a nightmare! I can't have them playing the same songs as last year. He chuckled, shaking his head. My mother, Gods save her.

Well, it certainly will be a spectacular party, Ron replied, beaming. They'd now reached the third floor, and they halted outside their bedroom doors.

You're allowed to go, by the way, Draco added. I mean, not to the party itself, but the banquet before it.

Thanks, Sir, Ron answered, bowing his head slightly, and Draco chuckled.

Don't do that, you idiot. Only bow when I tell you to. Draco placed a hand on Ron's shoulder to make him tilt his head back up.

Ron shrugged. Better tell me to do it soon. The Winter Holiday ends in three days.

Draco nodded. Good point, Weasley. He reluctantly let his hand drop back to his side. Good night.

Good night, Malfoy, Ron echoed.

Draco entered his room and softly closed the door behind him. He took off his black robe and draped it over the back of his desk chair, then quickly climbed the tower steps until he found himself standing in front of his easel. He carefully removed the sheet that had obscured the painting from view, and peered intently at his nearly-finished work. It was so beautiful, but it was nothing compared to the person it had been painted of, the person Draco desired most now.

It was then that Draco jumped at the unmistakable popping sound right behind him. He whirled around just as a hard fist connected with his jaw. Draco cried out, staggering backward from the blow caused by none other than his father, Lucius Malfoy.

How dare you dishonor the Malfoy name?! Lucius bellowed, gripping his son by the collar of his shirt. How DARE you?!

Draco whimpered, What are you talking about? What have I done?

Lucius' normally pale face was red, and his cold eyes pierced Draco's. His voice dripped with venom. Before you claimed that you did not befriend someone as low as a Weasley, but I have watched you and that filthy boy for three days. And I have observed that it is not only in your interest to befriend him, but that you've become practically obsessed with him! Draco moaned in pain as his father tugged hard on his hair. Then Lucius shoved him with god-like force, throwing Draco's body down to the stone tiles with a dull crash. Draco could feel tears welling up in his eyes.

It was at that moment that Lucius discovered the portrait. His face contorted maliciously and he strode up to the easel and kicked it over. He turned back to Draco and seethed, To think that I told the Dark Lord that you're ready to receive the Dark Mark. You're undeserving of such an honor!

Draco's face felt hot, and he swiped a hand across it. He then looked down at his hand and discovered that it was covered in blood. He gazed back up at his father, eyes narrowed. I don't want the Mark! he spat. I don't want to be branded, then follow that fucking blood-sucker around, showing him allegiance.

Lucius' glare vanished, and was replaced by the familiar emotionless stare. he said coolly, You will show your allegiance before you get the privilege of taking your Mark, and you will also be the proper Malfoy before you do. With that, Lucius disappeared from the room, and Draco clutched his pounding head. He hurried down the stone steps to leave the tower, but at the bottom, he discovered that the double doors to his bedroom were locked. He felt around for his wand in the pocket of his trousers, but then realized that he'd left his wand in the pocket of his robe.

There was no way out. Lucius had locked him in here and he couldn't get out. Filled with rage, Draco struck his head against the door. he shouted hoarsely. No, no, no! After pounding his fists against the thick wood panel for a long time, he sighed, trudging back up the stairs. He gently picked up his fallen easel, and put the painting back in its place. He closed his eyes tightly and whispered, Oh, Ron.

#################

Oh, Draco.

Ron arched his naked body upward as Draco's lips encircled his swollen cock. Ron ran his fingers through Draco's soft hair, moaning loudly as he felt himself coming closer and closer to release.

Draco stared up at him as he continued to run his tongue along Ron's hard shaft. It wasn't long before Ron orgasmed in Draco's puckered mouth, throwing his head back on his pillow and groaning in ecstasy.

They lay there in the cover of moonlight, entwined in each other's arms, listening to each other's heart beats slow down. Draco leaned down to kiss Ron's jaw line before whispering, I can't stay with you right now. Don't you hear the screaming?

Ron repeated, suddenly feeling dizzy as the world faded before him.

###############

Ron sat bolt upright in bed. In his confused state, the first thing his mind processed was the faint humming sound coming from outside his window. Ron stood quickly and went to the window, listening intently. Then he remembered his dream.

he mused aloud, comprehending the humming sound as actually being a chorus of shrieks from somewhere in the distance. What could it be making such a dreadful sound?

Ron immediately mentally kicked himself. Screaming? That wasn't screaming. It was only the wind. How could he be so daft? Sniggering at himself, the redhead crawled back into bed and immediately noticed the hot stickiness of the sheets.

Oh, shit.

He pointed his wand at the mess and whispered a quick cleaning charm before replacing his head on his pillow and falling asleep.

A word from the author: Hello! My, wasn't this a lengthy chapter, eh? I thought I should make up for all that time I spend not updating. This is another choppy chappy, I think, because a lot of events go by in the period of a few days, jumping in between Ron's and Draco's perspectives. But if you could follow what was going on, rock it up! In my quick editing process, I tried to add and/or take out certain bits and pieces to make it easier to understand.

So, what do you think the sound is coming from? To be pretty blunt, Lucius is awfully pissed at this point, so perhaps that has something to do with it hint, hint. Anyhow, the next chapter ought to be up soon. Hope you enjoyed this one!

Delicious love, Ebony L

PS: By the way, if anyone was the least bit curious, I haven't found the university yet. I've actually been considering attending one somewhere in the U.S. To you Americans out there, does anyone know what NYU is like?