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: Sounds of Silence -Simon and Garfunkle
Chapter Nine: The Second Confrontation

Throughout the night, Draco had only lightly slept, leaning against the tower wall, using his work shirt as a pillow. As he slept, he felt strangely conscious of his surroundings, but heightened senses comes naturally with fear. Draco wasn't afraid, though.

He was petrified.

And all his dreams depicted the worst: pain, torture, destruction. Take your pick. Everything was dead in a thick, dark haze, and it was all Draco's fault.

Draco awoke moments before the dawn. Running a shaky hand over his face, he concluded that the blood was practically dry. Nothing a shower couldn't fix. Almost on instinct, he stood and turned toward the stone steps below him. Oh, right. He couldn't leave the tower. Throughout the night, he'd thought of ways to escape. He usually stored his brooms up here, for instance, so he could just fly out. But as fate would have it, Draco remembered that he and Ron had left their brooms out in the garden.

he muttered, turning his gaze to the window. There was a dim light in the sky, and the birds had begun to sing. Draco sighed, slumping back into his position on the floor, resting his head on the wall. He wondered what Ron would say if Draco didn't come to wake him up that morning. Would he go looking for him? More than likely. Then he could help him get the hell down from here.

His thoughts dissolved at the loud popping sound to his left. He shivered at the appearance of his father. Lucius carried a calm expression as he took a few steps toward Draco, looking him over.

I suppose you've been punished for long enough, he drawled. Besides, tonight is our Yule party, and so many relatives would wonder where you are. Without warning, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Draco's face. Draco flinched, recoiling against the wall. No more pain.

To Draco's surprise, his father had only cast a cleaning charm, and the younger Malfoy no longer tasted blood in his mouth. He brought a hand to his no longer bruised cheek.

No blemishes, right, my son? Lucius tucked his wand back into his dark robe.

Draco scowled, words at last finding him. So you mean to cover it all up? Just like all the other times you beat me?

Lucius ignored Draco's spiteful words. You will have to attend the party this evening. I suppose your servant will attend as well, which means I expect that no one will tidy up the menagerie today. He then strode over to Draco and forcefully pulled him up by his shoulders into a standing position. The air between them was thick with tension as they glared at each other. Lucius whispered, You won't breathe a word of this to anyone, or it will surely be your very last breath. Lucius pulled away, and Draco watched him warily as he apparated from the room.

Draco frantically rushed down the steps and tugged on one of the door handles. To his solace, the doors creaked open. He exhaled heavily, stumbling into his bedroom. He stood in front of his large mirror and watched his reflection. He looked all right, but he felt like a wreck. What was he supposed to do now?

The only thing that made sense was to keep himself busy by getting ready for the party. He sauntered into his bathroom and fiddled with the taps of the massive bathtub. After removing his clothes and throwing them aside, he slipped into the water, leaned back against the edge of the tub, and closed his eyes.

Draco didn't realize how exhausted he was until now, and he almost preferred to fall into bed and sleep for a little longer before starting the day. But it was nine o'clock when he finished bathing and combing his hair into position. He'd have to wake Ron soon.

Then it hit him. Ron! Was he all right? Draco's mind swam with the dreams of last night; dreams of a red-headed boy being tortured. Draco carefully opened the door that connected the bathroom to the River Room and peered nervously around the room.

In the bed to his right, a patch of red-orange was sticking out of the pile of pillows. Draco sighed with relief and moved closer to the bed. Ron's face was in his pillow, and his body moved slightly as his chest slowly heaved with each even breath.

To be that pillow, Draco thought, smirking to himself.

He froze suddenly, hearing a groan come from his rival, and Ron's head jerked up from the pillows. Draco watched as the Gryffindor shook his head a few times and yawned as he sat up.

The blonde felt it was about time that he said something.

Ron jumped, startled, then turned to face Draco. His cheeks were flushed and his half-lidded eyes met Draco's almost shyly. He cleared his throat and acknowledged,

Draco walked up to Ron's bedside and sat down next to his rival. Er...Sleep well? he asked, intensely taking in Ron's features. No bruises. No blood. No harm from Lucius. Good.

Ron felt his cheeks get warm. Yes. I slept.....well. He diverted his gaze to his bed sheets, hoping Draco wouldn't notice his blush.

Draco paused before answering. He shouldn't worry Ron anymore with stories about being beaten. So he replied,

Ron nodded. Are we playing Quidditch today?

Draco shook his head. Today you have to get ready for the banquet, so no chores and no Quidditch.

Ron didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. He'd been so looking foreword to another match with the gorgeous Slytherin. And suddenly another idea occurred to him. Erm... Malfoy? Draco leaned closer to show he was listening. Ron could no longer hold his gaze, and he looked down at his hands, feeling ashamed. I don't have any really nice clothes.

History amended at that moment, and all the deceased Malfoys flopped over in their tombs as Draco Ignis Malfoy smiled and said the inevitable: That's why I'm letting you use mine.All right, Malfoy, you can look. But I feel really foolish in these tight clothes.

Draco whipped around to look at Ron, and suddenly forgot how to breathe. Ron stood modestly in Draco's black dress slacks and a buttoned-down silver shirt. Draco silently praised the god that decided his body should be smaller than Ron's, because all the clothes Ron wore were tight-fitting in all the necessary places.

Stunning. Absolutely stunning, Draco mused aloud, and noticed with satisfaction the light pink tinge forming beneath Ron's freckles. Draco's eyes trailed down his rival's torso, and he paused, frowning. The sleeves are too short though. Your arms are much too long for that shirt. Draco pulled a black shirt from its wire and tossed it to Ron. Put this on. I haven't had it altered yet so the sleeves are longer.

Ron nodded and wordlessly unbuttoned the shirt he had on. Draco meant to turn around to give the redhead some privacy, but he stopped abruptly, eyes transfixed on Ron as he shrugged out of the shirt, revealing his pale skin, freckle-kissed shoulders and soft, brown nipples. Draco bit his lip, unable to tear his eyes away, and Ron's gaze coyly met his as he dropped the smaller shirt at his feet.

Draco, Darling!

Draco and Ron started and turned their eyes to the bedroom door.

Yes, Mother? Draco called, annoyed by the interruption.

Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. Would you like me to have it sent up to your room? Narcissa's voice was muffled by the door, so Draco had to crane his neck a little to hear.

Yes, thank you!

Oh! And, Draco, could you help me pin my gown? I can't seem to make an even seam.

Draco sighed. He didn't want to leave the very shirtless, very beautiful Ron. He turned to Ron and smirked. She's a lunatic about parties, I swear. Ron smiled too, once again holding his gaze. Draco was forcing himself not to let his eyes wander back down to Ron's chest, and he shifted uncomfortably and mumbled quickly, Try on the shirt while I'm gone. He mechanically turned and left Ron alone in the dim bedroom.

Ron slipped into the new shirt, enjoying its soft feel, then stood in front of Draco's tall mirror to examine himself as he buttoned the last few buttons on the front. The sleeves were better in length and black was a good colour for him, he decided, turning around before his reflection. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled at the image in the glass. He'd never felt so proper, and new, and.....rich.

He chuckled to himself, and told his reflection, You're looking good, Ron Weasley. You're looking jolly, jolly good.

And then, his reflection replied in a high-pitched voice, Hello, Draco. Welcome to your diary. If you'd like to make a new entry, you can do so- now. Ron stared at the mirror in disbelief. Malfoy's diary. Ha! Malfoy's diary! This would tell him everything he'd ever wanted to know about Draco. All his dirty, little secrets.

After much silence from Ron, the mirror inquired, Draco, would you like to view some old entries?

Ron said softly, almost anxiously.

Just a moment, said the voice, and suddenly, Ron's reflection disappeared and was replaced by an image of a slightly younger Draco looking more than discontent. June eleventh of two years ago, announced the voice, then the Draco reflection began to speak:

He's back again. That bastard is in my house, with all his followers. Father's downstairs, being a hospitable host, and Mother is ill again. I didn't see him, and I'm grateful because I'd rather he didn't know that I exist. But Father told me last night that I'm meant to take the Mark. Someday I'm going to attend those meetings, and I know it's my duty to serve and be a good Malfoy heir, but I'm afraid. I don't want to be my father. And I told him. He.....he-

Ron watched as Draco's face contorted, and he swiped a hand across his eyes. Dear Gods, he was crying.

Draco sighed and tugged on a piece of his hair. He said I was weak, and he hit me all across my legs with his staff. There are still bruises. And I hate him, even though he should be punishing me for not living up to his standards. I hate him so much.

The image instantly disappeared, and Ron saw himself. The light female voice asked, Draco, would you like to view more entries?

Ron whispered, unable to believe that Draco would almost think it was right for Lucius to hurt him.

Previous or later entries?

Much later, Ron answered, seeing himself vanish, only to be replaced by an older Draco Malfoy seconds later.

August nineteenth of this year.

Draco looked out at Ron and sighed. His voice was deeper than it was in the earlier entry. Father gave me a present last night. Except this one wasn't wrapped in a box. It was a girl. A really beautiful girl; my age, with red hair and big brown eyes. At first, I didn't understand what the purpose of having a girl for a gift was. Draco chuckled dryly to himself. I soon discovered exactly what she was for, and when my father left, she came onto me and started kissing me. Took off her clothes. The blonde sighed again. She was beautiful. But for some reason, I wasn't attracted to her. I didn't want to just take advantage of her, so I asked, Is this really what you want?' She didn't say yes' or no'. She just looked at me and said, I have a family who needs me.'

Draco ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. I told her she didn't have to do anything, and I let her go. I really know now that I'm nothing like Father, as much as I try to be. I'm too weak, and when a whore offered herself to me, I refused her because she was my age, and I didn't want to hurt her. Merlin, I'm weak.

The image was gone. Ron knelt before the mirror, amazed. Next entry, he told the mirror.

August twenty-third of this year.

A new figure of Draco formed. He looked tired with heavy, blood-shot eyes, but he also gave an expression of calm. They killed her, he said indifferently. The whore; they killed her this morning. I overheard my father and another Death Eater talking about the Dark Lord. They said he got tired of using her; she didn't please him enough, so he had her destroyed. Draco laughed bitterly. It'll be me next, once I get my Mark. Soon he'll get tired of me, and just like that, I'll die. In the background, Ron could hear knocking on Draco's bedroom door. Draco whipped around to look at it, before turning back to Ron and whispering Good night. And he was gone.

Another entry. Later, Ron ordered anxiously.

Just a moment, the mirror answered, and then added, October sixth of this year.

The scene changed to a darker room illuminated by a pale green light. Ron guessed it was the Slytherin dormitory, and Draco stepped into view dressed in black, satin pajamas. His cheeks were flushed. I dreamed about him again. I just can't get his face out of my head. He's the most beautiful person I've ever seen, and I'm a Malfoy. I get what I want, but I want him more than anything, and he hates me. Despises me.

Ron gagged, eyes large. He? Malfoy's gay?

I don't blame him, though. I've never treated him well, but I would go back and change all that if it would make him want me. And he's always with stupid Potter, and Granger. Granger's sure to have him. I just don't know what to do.

Crabbe suddenly appeared behind Draco, and Draco's eyes widened.

Good night, Draco whispered, and the picture was gone.

Ron stared at his reflection, mouth agape. Had he heard correctly? And he's always with stupid Potter, and Granger. Ron felt his heart beat begin to accelerate and he said hoarsely, Another entry. Later.

December ninth of this year.

The scene was Draco's bedroom once again. It was the day they'd first arrived at the manor. Draco was dressed in a nice robe and his hair was neatly in place. He had a small smile on his face.

Well, I'm happy. Really happy, because I won the bet with Weasley, and now he's here. In my own, bloody house! He's likely just going to sleep right now, in the room across the hall. Draco dragged a hand through his hair, and continued. I, er, don't really know what I'm supposed to make him do tomorrow, as my servant. Honestly, all I want to do is kiss him. And every time I see him, it only gets more intense. But I still have my doubts that this will work. I can only hope to Merlin that something good comes out of him being here. Anyway, I'm home, and I'm going to bed. Good night.

No. No way in Hell. Draco could not have just said all that. Could he? He wanted him. Draco Malfoy wanted him! Ron didn't know what to do, what to say. All this time, with all their fighting and rivalry, behind all of Draco's hurtful comments- he wanted him! Ron couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Next entry, he whispered urgently. This could not be real.

December tenth of this year.

I almost kissed him today, Draco said softly, staring blankly out at Ron. We were taking the stags for a walk, and Apollo dragged him into me. And I was on top of him in the grass. Gods, I wanted to kiss him right then. I just couldn't. What would he think of me if I did? He gave a frustrated sigh. I can't be so open with him anymore. I don't want him to know how I feel, and he's already in danger if Father finds out. Father. Draco sniggered to himself. Father barely notices me as it is. He doesn't even know about the painting, and-

Ron thought aloud. The tower. He jumped up and strode over to the double doors. To his delight, they weren't locked. He threw open the doors and hurried up the spiral of stone steps until he was standing before the portrait. He gasped.

It's me.

There, upon the canvas, was Ron Weasley, sitting in the Slytherin dungeons, gazing out the window above his head, watching the snow spiral down from the Heavens. In the bottom corner of the painting, a few words were scrawled in ink.

What I love most about you.

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

Draco was feeling slightly annoyed after accidentally poking himself with pins three times. But he'd managed to make the edge of his mother's dress look even, and if it made her happy, he was content. He trudged back into his bedroom, expecting to see Ron, fiddling shyly with his new shirt.

But there was no one there. he called, looking around the room as if Ron was about to jump out from behind his desk, or bed, or closet. His eyes rested on the double doors across the room, both wide open. Oh, no, he whispered, dashing up the stone steps. When he came to the top, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Ron turned from the portrait to look at him.

Draco's throat clenched. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Oh, Merlin. He tried to speak, but found no words.

Ron stared at him without expression. I know.

Ron couldn't know. He wouldn't understand if he knew what Draco felt for him. Draco had to save this. He had to cover for himself. He spat angrily, What? You know how to go through someone's personal things? Though, it is just a painting. At least you stumbled upon my best work.

Ron protested, But I know, Malfoy.

Draco argued, You went through my things and found one of my paintings. I suppose it doesn't matter if I show you the other ones now, does it? They're of fruit.

Ron shouted. I know why you painted me, so stop making it seem like it isn't important.

Fuck you, Draco retorted. It isn't important, so drop it. Never speak of it again. Draco felt his eyes start to sting, and he turned away from Ron as a small stream of tears cascaded down his cheeks. He made his way over to the stone steps.

I saw the diary, Draco, Ron called desperately. I saw it.

Draco stopped. I hope it was a decent show, he whispered. Then he made his voice harden, and said indifferently, Finish preparing for the banquet, then meet me in front of the dining room at nine.

Before Ron could say another word, Draco descended the stairs and left him alone in the tower. Ron sighed, frustrated. Draco was denying everything. He wouldn't even let Ron speak; let him explain how he felt. Ron took another glance back at the painting, then slowly walked downstairs.

He had just flopped onto Draco's bed when he heard a faint knocking on the bedroom door. he asked, sitting up. The door gradually opened, and the long nose of one of the House Elves appeared from behind it.

The House Elf coughed timidly. Master Malfoy?

No. Ron Weasley, Ron corrected. Please come in if you meant to.

I did, Sir. The small, somewhat distorted head of the elf popped into the room, followed by a dirty toga-like dress and two large feet. I brought your lunch, the House Elf explained as he waved his arms in large circles. It was then that a platter of sandwiches floated lazily into the room.

Ron got up quickly and took the silver tray. Let me help you with that.

Thank you, Sir. The little man with large ears bowed his head, then turned and hurried out of the room.

Ron set the tray down on Draco's desk and took a ham sandwich from it. He didn't know what to do now. He wished he could talk to Draco, but he knew the stubborn Slytherin wouldn't listen. It was no use.

Ron went into the bathroom and turned on the taps of the bathtub. He carefully folded the shirt and trousers, then slipped out of his boxers and dropped into the hot, soapy water. He closed his eyes, pleased that the tension in his muscles was being burned away by the water. He wished it could do the same for the tension in his mind. he sighed. Who ever thought I'd feel this way about you?

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

Draco busied himself by walking through the Manor and inspecting all the Christmas decorations. But all the while, he felt confused. Ron knew how he felt. Why hadn't Draco just admitted that it was true? Oh, one small reason. He was certain he'd be rejected and humiliated.

Draco hadn't seen his father anywhere, and he was beginning to get worried. What if the Dark Lord arrived at the banquet? Draco's initiation could be due any day now.

No, you idiot, Draco told himself, shaking his head as he walked through the library. He'd never appear in public other than his cult of Death Eaters. As far as Draco was concerned, he and Ron were perfectly safe today, and that was good to know.

But it seemed that he'd now taken a step backward in his task of winning Ron over. Ron had found it all out much to soon, and now Draco found himself in the agonizing position of Ron's indifferent nemesis, who wouldn't speak to Ron or even go near him if he wanted to. Rejection. Humiliation. Self-hatred. These concepts were almost familiar to Draco by now.

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

Ron slowly descended the hall stairs which led into the foyer. He was dressed nicely, his hair was neatly combed, and he smelled like strawberry soap, but he felt very much out of place when his eyes rested on the mass of mingling party guests in front of the dining room.

Ron recognized only a few of the guests, including Professor Snape who was dressed in his normal, black robe. Among those he didn't know was a stout woman in a superlative red ball gown with a large ruby-studded necklace, and a tall gentleman with graying hair and a fancy, gold watch. Ron wondered how much such accessories cost, since all the guests seemed to be sporting them.

It was at that moment that Ron spotted Draco. He couldn't look away.

Draco wore a dark green, buttoned-down shirt with a black tie and black trousers. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, making his pale face glow more than ever. When he saw Ron, he paused, gazing at him, before turning his focus to his feet.

Ron walked over to him, suddenly feeling a little nervous. When he stopped in front of the blonde, he whispered, Malfoy, I need to talk to you about-

Let's find seats, Draco interrupted tonelessly. He turned and led Ron in through the grand doors to the dining room.

Ron peered around the large room. Narcissa really did a good job. There was a tall, Christmas tree in each corner, adorned with candles and other decorations. Mistletoe hung from the ceiling every few feet, and Ron suspected that when everyone was good and drunk that evening, the hanging plants would be used quite a bit. The flames in the fireplaces crackled, casting a cheery glow over the room, and a group of ghosts sat by the end window, playing Christmas music on their violins and cellos.

Ron and Draco sat down beside each other, neither looking at his rival. Around them, radiant guests were taking their places at the table. Narcissa Malfoy entered before Lucius. She was clad in a pale green, silk gown, and her light hair was elegantly piled atop her head. She nodded to a few guests and took her place at the foot of the table. Lucius, in a dark blue robe, sat at the head and looked over at Draco, then at Ron beside him. Lucius waved a hand and the table filled with platters of Yule meats and pastries, pies, cakes and puddings. Ron was pleased to see his wine glass fill to the brim. He quickly piled chicken legs and potatoes onto his plate, then he glanced at Draco, noticing that the Slytherin had selected only a thin piece of pecan pie. Draco was nervous about something, Ron could tell.

As they ate and drank, surrounded by the chatter of bubbly guests, Ron heard the stout woman, sitting across from him, call to Lucius in a resonating voice, Lucius, what a marvelous event! I mean to thank Narcissa, but the woman is bedded in conversation as it is.

Thank you, Eugenie, Lucius drawled, for your rarely-offered approval.

Eugenie Crabbe nodded her large head graciously, then added, And there's a meat you've set out, next to the chicken. It's simply delicious! I can't recall ever tasting it before.

Lucius' eyes moved to his second cousin's plate, and a small smile formed on his lips. That would be venison, my dear.

Draco's head shot up and he looked over at Lucius. Venison was an uncommon food to find in this part of England, because only a few deer, magical or non-magical, lived in these forests. Lucius met his gaze, and firmly held it from across the table, and Draco began to feel sick as thoughts of the worst came into his mind. His father wouldn't. He couldn't.

Eugenie smiled smugly. No wonder I can't recollect tasting such a divine thing. I always become so attached to woodland creatures.

Yes, well, Eugenie, Lucius replied, never once looking anywhere but Draco's eyes, attachment is for the weak.

Draco knew what had been done.

Panic overcame him and he stood up quickly. I-I've got to go. Excuse me. And he bolted out the doors and into the foyer. He had to get to the menagerie. Had to check. Had to get to the menagerie...

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

A few guests watched Draco leave with curiosity, then resumed their gossipy conversations. Ron paused for a moment, unsure of what had just happened. Why was Draco so upset? He had to go see if he was all right, so he got up and meandered to the double doors, as he pulled on the handle, a squeaky voice called from behind him,

Ron whipped around as a pudgy figure waddled up to him. It was Pansy Parkinson, dressed in an frightfully tight black dress. She giggled, wobbling into him. I thought it was youuu. She was clearly sloshed, and she giggled some more.

Er, hi, Pansy, Ron answered, backing into the door a bit.

The wine is fab-, fab- Pansy looked confused as she tried to sound out the word. She threw up her hands, Oh, whatever! Ron meant to exit through the door once again, but he felt two hands pulling him back. Pansy turned him back to face her and said, Ronnnn, I wanted to let you know that I don't believe the rumours. You don't seem like the sort of boy who likes boys, you know?

Well, thanks, Pansy, Ron told her, pulling her hands from his shoulders. But I've got to go. With that, he burst out the door and into the foyer.

Ron would've laughed, but he was worried. Where was Draco? Then he noticed that the front door was slightly ajar. He pushed through it, finding himself immediately enveloped by darkness. Oh, Draco. He had to find him.

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

Draco stumbled through the dark curtain of night, trying to find his way to the menagerie. He should've brought a candle with him, but he wasn't thinking about that back at the house. He wasn't even thinking about it now, as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him, running his hand along the Manor's outer wall as a guide. Then, at last, he saw the small glow from the old wooden building, and ran toward it until his fingers felt the wooden door and pushed it open.

In the dim lantern light, Draco felt his heart speed up as he slowly walked down the hallway. Everything was quiet, and Draco didn't like it. He pulled out his wand as he neared the door, preparing to speak the password.

But the door had all ready been opened.

Draco's throat clenched as he entered the small room, and he dropped to his knees as tears tumbled freely down his cheeks. He knew why he'd sensed so much pain last night.

There, in the center of the room, three swords had been jabbed into the dirt floor. Upon each sword was the head of a stag, with its cold, lifeless eyes staring into Draco's.

Draco smelled blood, and sobbed silently, cradling his head in his hands. They were dead. All of them. Dead. Destroyed. Because of him.

Draco stood on shaky legs, unable to look into their frightened faces any longer. He tore himself away, and felt himself get dizzy as he ran back down the hall and into the darkness. He had to get away. He was a murderer. He'd brought this upon himself, and he had to get away.

Suddenly, he collided with something soft. Another body, whose arms instinctively wrapped around Draco's waist. Let go of me! Draco cried, struggling.

Draco, it's me! said the other boy, gripping him tighter. It's me, he said in a softer voice, resting one of his hands behind Draco's head.

Draco let out a half-gasp, half-sob. he whispered.

Yes. Come on. Let's get you back inside.

Draco felt himself being pulled, but his legs wobbled and before he could stop himself, he fell foreword. Strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him back up before he could hit the ground.

Woah, woah. Okay, I've got you, Ron told him, holding him secure.

Draco couldn't help but sob again. He had never cried this much before, and he buried his face in Ron's shoulder. He killed them, he whispered, but it was my fault. He shuddered, and Ron stroked his hair, trying to calm him down.

You didn't do anything wrong, Draco, he whispered, turning his head to nuzzle his face against Draco's.

Draco could smell his favourite soap on Ron's skin, and for a brief moment, it took his concentration off of what he'd just seen. When the tears stopped flowing from his eyes, he pulled away slightly so he could look at Ron. In the dim light from the menagerie, and the moonlight above, he could make out the contours of Ron's face, with eyes staring at him expectantly.

Ron waited with anticipation, watching Draco's eyes, like two silver lamps, flicker nervously over his face. Ron gulped, feeling a little nervous, himself. He opened his mouth to say something reassuring, like Don't blame yourself, but instead, he surprised himself by saying softly:

Do it.

Draco no longer needed an incentive. He rested his hands on Ron's back, slowly pulling them closer together until Ron's lips were on his own.

They closed their eyes and stayed that way for what many might call half of eternity, but it wasn't nearly long enough. For the first time in either of their lives, Draco and Ron felt that nothing could be more right than this.

Draco reluctantly pulled away, taking Ron's hands in his own. He sighed. Sleep next to me tonight.

Ron chuckled. Is that an order, Sir?

Draco gave a small smile. Then he leaned into Ron once more to kiss him.

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A word from the author: the music swells Swoon. Well, this was certainly a complicated chapter, wasn't it? The good news is Ron hasn't been harmed. The bad news.....our three favourite stags are no longer living. But then more good news: Draco finally grows balls and kisses the object of his affections. Yay!

Thank you all soooo much for your wonderful reviews and criticism. I want to personally thank Noctalune. My dear, your critique has been extremely helpful, and it gives me a challenge which is really good for me. Even though I'm unable to correct the chapters posted (my computer won't let me remove stories from ff.net for some reason), I have been using your ideas in correcting the chapters stored on my hard drive. So, your thoughts haven't gone unheard, er, unread. I wanted to give a few explanations as to why my spelling and grammar is off in a few places you mentioned:

Firstly, in one of the chapters (I think seventh), I had Ron think Tell me how what just happened. It is, without a doubt, grammatically totally incorrect, but it's also a habit of mine. In my school, if we want to know what's going on, we say How what just happened? I'm not sure how the developed, but we just say it anyway. It's a habit I've got to break. hehe.

The second thing was my dreadful spelling of . Yeah, isn't really that close, is it? g I sort of buggered that one up because I leant the books to my friend Jess, and I haven't been able to use them as a reference, so I basically guessed how the word was spelt. Oh, well. I think I got it right this time. But once again, thank you for telling me this stuff. I really appreciate it! hugs

By the way, a bunch of you were asking what country I'm from. Technically, I'm from Scotland, or at least, I was born there, but I've been moving a lot between Toronto (Canada) and Kent (England). My step dad has business stuff in both places, so, you get the idea. Oh! Thanks to everyone who offered input on NYU. It's definitely one school I'll be applying for, but sort of as an exchange student if need be. It's not like I can't speak English, so there shouldn't be a problem.

Goddess, I wrote a lonnnnng word' today. Hehe. Brightest blessings!

Delicious love, Ebony