Draco pulled the door shut and the two young wizards were swallowed by darkness.

"Malfoy?" Ron sounded slightly frightened.

Curious, Draco said nothing.

"Malfoy? Where are you?" Draco could hear Ron moving. "Malfoy?" And then, muttered as if to himself, "If that bloody bastard locked me in here, I'm going to kill him."

"What, scared of the dark?" Draco asked, and thought he heard Ron jump.

"No," Ron said defensively. "I just don't want to be locked in here."

"Sure," Draco said sarcastically.

Ron ignored that, asking, "So, are you going to turn on the lights or are we just going to stand here in darkness for the next few hours?"

"Actually, I was thinking of standing here in the dark."

"Malfoy?" Ron sounded more than a little panicked.

"I thought you weren't afraid of the dark," Draco reminded him, smirking.

"It's not the dark I'm afraid of," Ron muttered.

"You're afraid of me? How touching."

"You know, not everything's about you, Malfoy," Ron snapped.

Draco laughed. "It isn't? I hadn't noticed yet." Draco considered confirming Ron's fears and coming up behind; there were millions of things he could think of doing with Ron in the dark. Unfortunately, he wasn't entirely sure exactly where Ron was, and groping around in the dark for him seemed awkward—and Malfoys were never awkward.

"So … are you going to turn on the lights or not?" Ron sounded slightly less panicked and a little more annoyed.

"I thought we had already established that we're going to be standing here in darkness for the next few hours."

"If you aren't going to turn on the lights, I will." Draco could here Ron's robes rustling as he presumably searched for his wand.

Following the sound, Draco reached out and touched—his arm? Ron stilled and Draco moved his fingers up the cloth of his robes, finding his shoulder and sliding back down his back—no, chest. He could feel the edges of his robe and his shirtfront. Ron was facing him? Hmm … that opened up some possibilities.

He moved his fingers to Ron's neck, his second hand joining the first. He cupped Ron's chin, his fingers brushing gently over his lips. Ron jerked his head back and Draco sighed.

He found his wand and muttered, "Lumos!"

"Better?" he asked curtly.

Ron didn't respond. He was avoiding looking at Draco, glancing around the room He was avoiding looking at Draco by glancing around the room. It was a pleasant, cozy room—one that the Slytherins had set up quite possibly centuries ago to gather in when their common room wouldn't do. Draco had actually only been here twice before—once to meet Snape for an extra Potions lesson when his grades started slipping during his third year and again at the end of his fourth year to discuss whether or not the Dark Lord had actually returned. He had chosen this room mostly because it was comfortable, was stocked with small amounts of food, and was all but guaranteed to be empty. No one came here unless someone set up a meeting, and Draco doubted that most of the younger Slytherins even knew about it. His father had told him, of course, but most of the other students in his year had been surprised when one of the older students announced the meeting about the Dark Lord. All of the furniture had been stolen from various rooms in Hogwarts over the centuries—mostly the common rooms and faculty room, since it was all far more comfortable than anything in the classrooms. There was a small, low wooden table, an expensive-looking rug that Father claimed he had stolen from the Headmaster's office during his seventh year, a chest containing food, a wide variety of chairs and cushions, and a bed. And it was presumably the bed that had made Ron blanch.

"Malfoy," he asked in a choked voice. "What is a bed doing here?"

Shit. He'd forgotten about the bed. According to Snape, it had been moved here when the Slytherins began meeting here on a regular basis during the Dark Lord's years of power. He had never said if they gathered to discuss supporting or opposing the Dark Lord, but Draco assumed it was to support him. At this point, he hadn't regained enough power for any of the current Slytherins to consider joining him. "Um… Existing, I suppose," Draco answered.

Ron looked at him. "Why is it existing here?"

Draco shrugged. "Someone moved it here?"

"You're going to rape me. You're really going to rape me."

"Well, I wasn't planning on it, but now that you mention it… well the bed's right here." Ron paled and Draco laughed. "I was joking. Can't you take a joke? God, you Gryffindors have no sense of humor." Ron gave him a disbelieving look and Draco sighed patiently. "Look, I may be a horny 16-year-old boy and all, but I prefer my prey to be just a little more attractive—not to mention willing."

Now Ron looked offended. "What do you mean, 'more attractive'?"

"Well, Weasel, Granger may think those freckles and red hair are cute, but I can't say as I agree."

Ron's hand moved involuntarily to touch his hair. "What's wrong with my hair and freckles?"

"Well actually, I think your hair looks like someone spilt tomato sauce on it and it never washed out."

"My hair. You're commenting on my hair—and you think I'm gay."

Draco laughed. "I'm image conscious—artistic. That's different."

"I thought artists were supposed to be gay. Or gay people were supposed to be artists, or something."

"You should know by now that Malfoys never do what they're supposed to."

Ron seemed to have relaxed marginally, though he was still watching the bed suspiciously. Draco muttered "Incendio!" lighting the candles in their sconces around the room with the familiar spell, and went over to the chest, opening it.

"Would you like some hot chocolate?"

"Hot chocolate? You have food down here?"

Draco gave a patient sigh. "What part of '16-year-old boy' escaped you? Of course I have food. So, you want some?"

"Sure. I guess I'm hungry."

"Oh, I think I can give you something to eat," Draco said suggestively.

"Malfoy!"

Draco laughed. "This is too easy."

"I hate you."

"Really." Draco found two cups and filled them with water.

"Yes. I do."

Draco snorted, adding the chocolate powder to the mixture. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"Huh?" Ron looked confused.

"You mean you haven't read Shakespeare?" Draco asked as though this was a grievous crime worthy of death.

Ron blinked. "Shake what?"

"Shakespeare," Draco repeated.

"Is this Shakespeare as in 'shake spear' or 'shakes pear'? Because I haven't read either spears or pears, and certainly not while shaking. Or are they supposed to be the ones shaking?"

Draco gave him a disgusted look. "Shakespeare."

"Um… I don't have one," Ron said. "Either of them."

Draco sighed. "He was a playwright."

"Oh."

"He was also probably very, very gay," Draco continued.

Ron stared at him.

"Yes, he was pretty and witty and gay."

Ron was giving him a very odd look and had begun slowly backing away from him. But seeing as he couldn't actually get out without knowing the password to the second door, Draco ignored it, setting their mugs on the table. "Hamlet—the play that's from—was a play by Shakespeare. You should read it."

"I don't read."

Draco glanced up from their cups. "What, your parents couldn't afford to send you to primary school?"

"I can read," Ron corrected him. "I just don't. Especially not plays. Ugh."

"Hamlet's good," Draco said, slightly offended. "Shakespeare's a good writer—you should read something of his. I'll lend you my copy of Hamlet, but if you hurt it, I will rape you… In front of the whole school."

"Pervert."

Draco just muttered "Fervens!" over their cups, heating them.

"So what kind of inbred dipshit names their kid 'Shakespeare'? It sounds kind of wrong."

"Shakespeare's his last name," Draco informed him.

"Oh. I knew that."

"His first name was William," Draco added.

"I had an uncle named William."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"He was a fucking wanker."

"Well, from what I've heard, so was Will Shakespeare. But he was an eloquent fucking wanker."

"Right… and how eloquent was he while he was wanking?"

"Umm… I guess you'd have to ask his boyfriend. Or was it his best friend? I can't remember. I think the biography I read of him got it confused."

Ron was looking at him oddly. "Malfoy, are you gay?"

"Well, on the Kinsley scale, I think I'm a 4…."

"What?"

"Well, maybe more of a 3.5, but who knows."

"What's the Kinsley scale?"

"It's a scale of 0-6 where 0 is straight as a ruler and 6 is gay as the rainbow and 3 is bi."

"Oh."

"So according to the scale, I'm 'predominantly gay, but more than incidentally straight'."

"And where exactly would you put me?"

Draco paused to consider. Honestly—honestly he wasn't sure. Ron seemed straight, but to the best of Draco's knowledge he had yet to express much of any interest in girls—and, well, he was 16 for God's sake. But he'd never expressed any interest in boys either, nor responded in the slightest to Draco, so who knew? "Oh, 7 or 8."

"…there is no 7 or 8 on a scale of 1-6…"

"Maybe even a 9…"

"Malfoy!"

"God, learn to take a joke, will you?"

Ron was flushing hotly now, so red his freckles weren't even visible anymore.

"You look like your face is about to explode or something," Draco commented.

"I'm not gay."

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"Not spears again," Ron groaned.

"No, no, it's pears, not spears."

"I'm not gay."

"You said that already."

"Well, I'm not. I'm not gay."

"Yes you are."

Draco shook his head and handed him his mug of hot chocolate. "You are."

Ron accepted the mug. "I'm not."

"Just read Hamlet, poof."

"You have to give it to me, first," Ron pointed out.

"Meet me here tomorrow and I will."

"Er… where's here?"

"Oh, right," Draco said. "Okay, I'll give you something so you can find this room tomorrow. You heard the password?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah." He glanced down at his hot chocolate.

"Are you planning on drinking that before it gets cold?"

Ron looked back up at him. "How do I know you didn't poison it? Or drug it? How do I know you didn't put a love potion in it?"

"Love potions are illegal," Draco pointed out, taking a sip of his own drink.

"So? You're a Malfoy. What do you care?"

Draco shrugged. "You want me to take a sip and prove it to you?"

"Ugh, no. Then I'd be drinking your spit." Ron made a disgusted face. "I'd rather take my chances."

"So… are you going to sit?"

Ron glanced around the room. "Well, there are certainly enough chairs, aren't there?"

Draco nodded, leaning back in his own seat. Ron sat down on the other side of the table from him.

"So Draco. Do you know how to play chess?"

"No," Draco admitted.

"What?"

Draco shrugged. "I never learned, therefore I don't know." Actually, his father had tried to teach him when he was little, but it had always bored and frustrated him because he never won. But he wasn't going to admit that to Ron.

"Want me to teach you?"

Draco shrugged. If it had been anyone else, he would have told them to go screw off. But he wanted to get on Ron's good side, so he nodded.

"You have a chess set anywhere down here?"

"Probably somewhere. Look under the bed—I think I remember some things getting stuffed under there last time we were down here to make room for us to sleep."

"Under the bed?" Ron looked horrified. "Have you no respect?"

Draco shrugged. "Guess not."

Ron looked at him with a mixture of horror, revulsion, and suspicion. Draco watched in amusement as he warily got up and made his way over to the bed, keeping as far away from Draco as he could. After a few minutes of fishing around underneath the bed, he got up, chess set in hand. His face and robes were smudges with dust and he was looking at the chess set with a horror.

"I swear, if there are any pieces missing I am going to kill someone." He glanced up at Draco with a reproachful expression. "Don't you ever clean under there? It's filthy."

"Well, no," Draco admitted. "Do you clean under your bed on a regular basis?"

Ron just stalked back over to his chair, placed the chess set gently on the table, and began explaining the rules.

A/N: Stars-n-moons91: Nope, nothing to maul Ron. Well, except Draco, but I don't think anyone'd mind that. :P Kashiaga: Actually, I think Draco poses a bigger threat to Ron than anything in the room. Princess Orli: Thanks ;D Orange: Without you, I don't think I'd even have this scene (or the next one). Thank you, thank you, thank you.