Feech Note: Yay! For the first time in my life, I was actually able to stick to my word and have something done on time. I had some issues with writing part of this chapter (I wasn't having fun writing it and I think it shows in my writing.) Anyhoo, all that matters to me is that the chapter is done so, enjoy! Peaches, sweeties!

Chapter 4

It was almost dawn when Harry strolled into the Gryffindor common room Saturday morning, though his stay in the Red Room hadn't been very long. After his encounter with The Dragon, he stayed back in the main room and sat through several men's dance routines, hoping The Dragon would grace him once more with his presence. To his misfortune, his wishing had been in vain, as it seemed the one time he had seen The Dragon dance that night would be the last. So, still in a somewhat euphoric state, he made his way back tot eh castle.

When he took a seat in his favorite armchair, his body was still tingling in all the places The Dragon had touched, kissed, and licked. Images of what had happened in the Red Room were fresh on his mind, like fresh ink on a piece of parchment. In his head, he still could see The Dragon's masked face, so close to his own. He could still hear The Dragon's voice whispering into his ear, smell all of the sweet aromas that came off of him, feel The Dragon's hot breath blowing into his ear. He could still feel The Dragon's tongue dancing across his skin, and most importantly, Harry could still feel his soft, warm, hand moving back and forth over his arousal. The dancer had managed to entice all but two of his senses. And, ironically enough, they were the two that Harry was most anxious to experience: touch and taste. The goings on of that night could have been enough to keep another satisfied, but they weren't enough for him. Harry knew what he wanted from The Dragon, and he wasn't going to settle for less, though he could tell, from the way The Dragon had left him, that what he wanted wasn't going to be given up without a fight.

Harry sat back and mused over what he was going to do for the rest of the day, grateful for the fact that it was Saturday. Unfortunately, right in the middle of his thoughts of going to spend some time with Hagrid, it dawned upon him that he had scheduled the first quidditch practice of the season to be that day. It was his first act as captain of the Gryffindor team and he had already forgotten about it. Of course, he had gotten himself all worked up over Ron not speaking to him and then The Dragon, how could he possibly let anything as insignificant as quidditch enter his mind.

He sighed heavily and ran his hands over his face as he leaned back into the armchair. What he wanted was to be able to go back up to his dormitory and fall into his bed. Maybe I should just postpone it until tomorrow, he thought, hopefully. But he knew that was out of the question. Postponing the practice for his own good was too Slytherin a move, and he wanted nothing to do with them. Besides, the first match of the season was in less than a month and there were three people in need of training before then: Ginny Weasley, who had taken up the position of Chaser, and Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnagan, who were the new Gryffindor beaters. After savoring one last moment of comfort, Harry wrenched himself from the chair and headed up the wooden staircase that led to the boys' dormitories.

When he walked through the door, he was greeted by Seamus's voice. "Late night, Harry?" he asked, slyly, as he put on his quidditch gear.

Dean, who was standing right next to him, all suited up, chimed in, "Yeah," he said, "I don't remember hearing you come in, last night." The two boys snickered as Harry began to feel the heat of a flush crawl up his neck and in his cheeks.

"It's not what you think, guys," Harry lied, "I was—er, in the library, studying for…that exam in Snape's class."

Seamus looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "You were in the library?" he asked, "All night?" Harry nodded, though he knew the boys weren't buying his story. "Whatever, mate," Seamus said, finally but still somewhat skeptically, "See you at practice."

Harry sighed, quietly, as he watched the two boys walk out of the room. You're going to have to be more careful, he thought to himself, if you're going to keep this up. A few moments later, he heard the sound of a door opening on the other side of the room. When he looked up, he saw Ron coming out of the Gryffindor shower room. His and Ron's eyes met for only a moment but, to him, it felt like an eternity. In that single instant, everything that was going on between him and his best friend came back to him. He was having a hard time believing Ron was going to throw away six years of friendship over something so trivial.

When Harry returned to reality, he realized that he had spaced out and was now staring at a door. His eyes went to the Ron's bed and he found him kneeling at his trunk, undoubtedly searching for his broom. So that was it, then? He was just going to ignore him. Harry began to feel himself getting angry. He wanted to say something. Anything. More quickly than Harry had wanted, it seemed Ron had retrieved all of his affects and was making his way to the door. He was losing his chance. Ron, he thought, Ron—

"Ron!" His utterance of the word had taken him by surprise. One moment he was thinking it, trying to will his friend to turn around, and the next it came spilling out of his mouth. Upon hearing it, Ron stopped and turned around, looking right at him. Harry stood frozen in his spot, still in shock over what he had just done. He stood for a long time, not sure what to say or do. It seemed to be too long a time for Ron because seconds later, he began to leave again. No, he thought. "Ron, wait!" he said.

Ron, once again, stopped in his tracks and looked at Harry. "Are you actually going to say something this time," he asked, "because I have to get to practice."

Harry let out a heavy sigh. "We need to talk." There, he said it.

Ron was silent for a moment. A tense look came to his face and for a moment, Harry thought he was going to walk away again, but finally, his face relaxed and he sighed. "You're right," he said, quietly.

Harry sighed in relief. They were going to talk. There was hope of saving their friendship after all. He took a step towards Ron. Now the only problem was determining where to start. There was so much Harry wanted to say to him, he didn't know where to begin. Fortunately it seemed Ron did because, he began to speak.

"Look, Harry," the red head said, "I don't know if you care anymore but, I'm sorry. The way I acted yesterday was…"

"Inconsiderate?" Harry finished for him, letting his anger at Ron seep through him. "Hurtful? Down right stupid?" Ron hung his head and nodded, slowly. "You really hurt me, you know," Harry continued. "Just walking away like that, without a word. And then you wouldn't even speak to me afterward."

"I know, I—"

"You had me worried sick because I thought you were going to throw away our entire friendship over something I can't even control. It isn't my fault I'm gay and, had I known you had a problem with it, I would have never—"

"What?" Ron said, looking up quickly. "I don't have a problem with it."

Harry went silent. "You…you didn't?" He asked. Ron shook his head. "Then why did you…run away like that, yesterday?"

Ron sighed. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. When you said what you did yesterday…it…caught me by surprise. I've known you since I was eleven and all of a sudden, you're gay. It just wasn't something I had ever thought to expect."

"So, you ran." Ron nodded. "But," Harry continued, "what about all those times, yesterday, when you completely ignored me?"

"I was scared," Ron said. "I needed to talk to someone but, I didn't know who and I wanted to talk to you about it but, I didn't know what to say to you so, I just…didn't say anything at all."

Harry snorted. "A lot of good that did."

"I never said it was the smartest choice."

"That's for damn sure."

Ron ran his fingers through his hair. "So," he said, softly, "is there any chance of us putting this all behind us and…being friends again?"

Harry looked at Ron in silence, contemplating the matter at hand. Could he put the events of yesterday evening behind him? Ron's behavior had hurt him, and he had acted like just enough of a git for Harry to tell him everything was over. But he apologized, a voice in the back of his head supplemented. He asked for your forgiveness. Finally, Harry opened his mouth to speak. "So, you don't have a problem with…"

Quickly catching on, Ron shook his head. "Not one," he replied. "Well, not unless you try to hit on me. Then, we're going to have some difficulties."

Harry smiled. "I can guaranty we'll have no problem there." He held his hand out. Ron returned his smile before taking the last few steps between them and shaking his hand. Yes, Harry thought, they were friends again. All was right with the world.

The two boys, having settled everything between them, walked through the castle and out to the quidditch pitch together, broomsticks slung over their shoulders. "So, who did you talk to, anyway? Fred and George?" Harry asked as they approached the grassy field, remembering something Ron had said earlier.

"What?" Ron asked.

"You said you needed to talk to someone after that whole fiasco, yesterday. Did you talk to Fred and George?"

"Fred and George?" Ron asked. "Why would I talk to Fred and George?"

Harry quickly realized he had said too much. "Oh, uh," he stammered, "n-no reason. I just—"

"Why would I have talked to Fred and George, Harry," Ron demanded.

Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, "I thought you knew about them."

"Knew about them," Ron said. "Knew what about them—" Harry saw Ron's eyes widen as it quickly clicked in his head. "You mean they're…?" Harry nodded. "That's disgusting!" Ron shouted. "They're brothers!"

Harry was confused for a moment. Then, he realized what conclusion Ron had come to. "Oh, Ron, no," he said, hastily. "Not with each other."

Ron sighed. "Oh," he said, "I thought you meant…"

"I know, Harry said, chuckling lightly. "That's what I thought when they told me. So, who did you talk to, then," he asked, remembering his question from earlier.

He saw Ron's ears go bright red. "Um…Ginny," he muttered.

"Oy! Harry!" Ginny Weasley's voice called, suddenly, from somewhere above them. Harry looked up and saw her—as well as other members of the Gryffindor House quidditch team, hovering in the air—on her broomstick. "Have you and Ron sorted everything out between yourselves, yet, because I got up at bloody five thirty on a Saturday to practice and if I don't start seeing some practice soon, there's going to be hell to pay!"

Harry laughed. "It's alright, Ginny," he answered, "Ron and I are all set."

-o-o-o-

Practice that day was perfect. They did passing drills, went over old strategies, and even made up new ones. Seamus and Dean, now having proper training, seemed like pretty decent beaters and Ginny was an exceptional chaser. Unfortunately, at around eleven in the morning, the Slytherin team came marching onto the field, their captain—none other than the Slytherin Prince himself—brandishing a note, giving them permission to use the pitch for the rest of the afternoon, signed by Professor Snape. As Harry dismounted his broom, he was greeted with the usual smirks and sneers from the Slytherin team but, when his eyes fell upon Malfoy, he saw something else. Something other than his usual vainglorious leer. It was as if, behind the twisted grin, he was mocking Harry, in an "I know something you don't know" manner.

"What do you suppose Slytherin's chances of winning the Cup this year are?" Ron asked Harry later that evening, as they sat in front of the Gryffindor common room.

"Huh?" Harry said, obliviously. He was still thinking about the look Malfoy had given him. Did Malfoy really know something he didn't? Or was he just overreacting?

"Slytherin," Ron said, "what do you think their chances of winning the Cup are, this year? You know, now that Malfoy's captain."

"Oh, yeah, Malfoy?" Harry replied, still quite distracted by his thoughts, "uh, I don't know. Can't be any better than before."

"Are you alright, Harry?" Ron asked, picking up on Harry's strange behavior. "You seem a little bit out of it. Maybe you should…get some sleep?"

"No," Harry answered, "I'm fine. I just…I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

Harry nodded. "Positive."

"Good," Ron said, "we've still got to practice those Passion Hexes."

"You're right." Harry reached into the pocket of his robes, for his wand—but found nothing there. What the… he thought, digging around the empty pocket, in search of the wand. I could have sworn I put it in he— "Oh, bloody hell!" he exclaimed, realizing where it could have been.

"What?" Ron said, "What happened?"

"My wand," Harry replied, feeling very frustrated. "I think I left my wand in the showers."

In a matter of minutes, Harry was racing across the quidditch pitch, to the shower house. Ron had offered to go with him but, he saw no need for it. He was only going to get his wand. Within seconds, he was pushing the swinging door, that led to the shower room, in. Immediately upon entering, he heard the sound of water running. Oh, bugger, he thought, must be a bloody Slytherin. Please don't let it be Malfoy.

Keeping close to the tiled walls, Harry searched the floors for the blasted piece of wood, hoping he wouldn't be discovered by whoever it was that was currently in the showers. Not long after the commencement of his search, he spotted it, laying in the middle of the floor. Without a second thought, he quickly ran over to it and extracted it from the stream of water it was currently sitting in. Suddenly, he heard some one gasp. On instinct, his head whipped up and he found himself looking up at a dripping wet, and completely naked, Draco Malfoy.

Feech Note: Oh the drama! Lol, yea I'm stil a complete spaz but you luv me anyway, right? looks up hopefully Tell me what you think about the chappie. Leave me a review! Peaches! P.S: Chapter seven or four coming soon!