Rating- R: Strong language, Sexual Content, Violence

A/N: Hello. I'm revising this story because I read through it and realize it sucks. Please feel free to re-read as well as comment on my work. It is greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters or settings. I am merely borrowing them and will return them to their owner (J.K. Rowling) when I am finished. I am not making any money what so ever from this story. I am simply doing it for your entertainment and mine as well.

About The Author:

One: I have just recovered from a horrendous writers block and hope that if I start slow I could pick up some of my other stories were I left off. This little revision I'm doing has been something that I've wanted to do for a while. "The Closet" was my first finished Fan Fiction.

Two: I'm slow to update. The more you nag me about it the less I want you reading my stories. I refuse to put something together in a sloppy manner. It takes time. Please, exercise some patience. It's okay to have the occasional "Hurry, this can't wait!" in there if I leave you with a cliffhanger but don't threaten to stop reading my story. Because I don't care.

Three: I try to reply to all my reviews, so come back and have a look please.

W-A-R-N-I-N-G: Is that clear enough? Some people don't seem to get it. Yes, this is a slash fiction, and for those of you who don't know what that is and haven't taken the time to look the term up it means two boys will be sucking face in the story. Have a problem with it? Well there are simple steps you can take in order to avoid not pissing me off and sparing the rest of the site of your idiocy by posting a flame because I chose to write on this particular topic.

One: Turn back now. You don't like it, I don't want you here.

Two: Don't review. Tell a friend or something. Don't tell me, I know how you feel and quite frankly I don't agree. At all.

Simple I know. But for those who enjoy two boys snogging, by all means, grab some grub, get comfortable and have a nice long read because this is your cup of tea folks.

Now.. onward!


Draco-

Draco bolted down the empty halls of the Malfoy manor as fast as his feet would carry him, though his stomach was weighted by an unnatural force, his heart raced as his feet pounded the white tile to the rhythm of his heart. He kept his eyes focused on the shimmering oak doors that held an allure of freedom. Freedom from what, he had no idea. The halls seemed to stretch into mile long tunnels, the doors remaining just a small hope, something of a mythical idea in the back of his head. But they were there, and he would get to them.

Sweat danced from his forehead down into his eyes causing him to absentmindedly fling a free hand up to his brow and brush the rain his body was producing away from his line of vision. Instead of a feeling of relief, and the ability to see yet again he spotted tiny strings of red on his eyes lashes. The liquid on his hands held a sickly silky texture to it. He dared not look down, but he did stop, only feet from the door, he had stopped and was standing in the now eerie hallway of his home. His heart was hammering at his ribcage begging to break out of its jail and run through the door Draco had been trying to reach. It was trying desperately to pull him forward.

He stood. Terrified as he raised his hands slowly, not leveling his eyes with his hands but waiting until they reached his sight. His fingers had filled with sand, palms with lead. Slowly, his fingers came into view, shining dully from the light of the moon peeking through the front doors. They were not flesh colored. They were coated in a thick, red, substance. They were coated in warm blood.

He began breathing frantically, his lungs grasping for air, pulling, yanking, and tugging at his throat begging him to feed them more air. Guilt sagged in his stomach. He immediately began searching his body for any kind of open wound. A cut, something that would bleed so profusely it would succeed in coating his hands in silk of the deathly sort. There was nothing. This was not his blood. His eyes began to sting as he choked back an overdue scream, whose blood was this? What had been forced upon him? The sound of an expensive vase shattering into small shard awoke him from his terror. His head flicked behind him and he immediately spotted a large, dark, stumbling figure moving towards him as it groaned a phrase over and over again. Draco could not move. He was paralyzed by fear, his feet had grown roots and embedded themselves into the pricy marble. His mouth stretched as his hammered at his vocal chords. He was screaming. Screaming so loud his head was pounding. He would die. His screams faded into reality as he awoke with a jolt in his four poster bed, sucking in air, only to find Crabbe and Goyle hovering around him like two over concerned baboons.

"Maybe he's dying," Draco heard Crabbe whisper stupidly to Goyle as the outline of his shadow shuffled towards the larger one standing over the bed.

Draco felt a large hand tap him lightly on the face once or twice and closed his eyes, praying for patience. The calluses on Goyles hands were absolutely appalling. He had told them more then a million times to keep there brute like hands off of him. His body was rattling, shaking like the tail of a rattlesnake. It was cold in the room. Why was it so bloody cold?

"Draco," grunted Goyle in a weak effort to try and wake him.

"Draco!" he repeated now abandoning a gentle approach replaced with a yell and a hard smack in the face. The impact of Goyle's hand sent shock waves of anger down Draco's spine. That little bastard actually dared to accost a Malfoy.

"What!" Draco spat through a clenched jaw as he shot up in his bed. His body continued its tremor as he reached for the bloody arsehole who had just smacked him square in the face. Oh, once he got his hands on him, he would pay.

But before he had the satisfaction of revenge a blinding light shone in his face. The pain from the intense bright white light caused Draco to squeeze his eyes shut tightly before rubbing them with one of his boney knuckles. Now they were really in for it.

"Turn the light off you useless mutt." shot Draco while trying to peek through the slits of his eyes hoping they would become comfortable with the sudden increase in light. So far they were failing him. "Why the hell are you two out of bed?" he questioned, clearly annoyed.

"You were screaming." said Goyle monotonously as he pointed a fat finger in Draco's face. Bad move.

Since when did a Malfoy not hold a title high enough to have a finger pointed in his face? What the hell was Goyle thinking? This gesture just irritated the blonde furthermore, and needless to say he was already in a bad mood. He quickly slapped Goyle's hand and watched feeling slightly more powerful as a look of shock and pain dashed across his so-called-friends face. He settled himself back into his sheets.

"I was not screaming," he said almost as if it were funny. The fact that he probably was was horribly embarrassing. Something that he could never admit to, what sort of powerful wizard was afraid of a few spooky dreams? Certainly not a Malfoy.

"I heard you!" Goyle started after looking quizzically at his gargantuan hand in which Draco had just slapped. He really was a bloody idiot.

"That's the third time this week!" he tacked on as his eyes narrowed slightly. He looked like a concerned woman. Yes. Something like Draco's mother when she was worried Draco had not had a good time at a ball of theirs.

"Goyle. Your IQ has hit an all time low. I was not screaming. You're insane as well as utterly useless. Shut your overly large mouth and go to bed, I have yet to sleep peacefully. " said Malfoy whilst pulling the covers over his head. He heard Goyle mutter something that sounded similar to "stupid prick" from under his silk sheets and then heard the click of a light switch. So he was a prick now was he? Who were they to be sticking their noses in Draco's business anyways, he could have bloody well been dying and then should have left him alone. People like Draco didn't need the moral support of others. The only thing he needed was his pride and his power, and he was working on gaining one of the two.

The beds squealed in the distance as Crabbe and Goyle lifted themselves onto their sheets. They were sure to be asleep in only minutes, and then Draco would own his thoughts privately, without their eyes sifting through the darkness to catch a glimpse of him, checking if he was awake. Though stupid as the both of them were, the had gotten one thing right. Draco had been plagued by that dream for three nights in a row now, and if it kept up, he would have a hard time covering up the only dent in his façade. It was a blow to his ego, and he almost now sympathized with Potter when he was having dreams such as Draco's in their fifth year. If there were two things Draco and Potter had in common it was having unwanted dreams and popularity because of a name.

Stupid Potter, were he got off on being such a slimy git Draco had no idea.

He had everything and yet he had nothing. True friends, Draco only had friends because they were afraid his father would hex their morning toast. It's not like he wanted them much anyways, he had himself, and that was all he ever really needed. But he had always wondered what it was like to actually enjoy the company of ones peers instead of being constantly annoyed by their idiocy. He wondered how nice it would be to have someone as smart and Granger constantly at hand. And though the blonde absolutely loathed the woman there was no denying the fact that she was smart. He simply could not argue it. Without her Potter and Weasley would have been attending Hogwarts, they would have been expelled long ago had they not had her to constantly lift them out of the huge holes they dig for themselves.

Speaking of Weasley, since when was Potter such an icon that he deserved his own side-kick, A true friend that took all his shit and was continuously shoved aside or forgotten whilst Pothead received all the glory for all three of their doings. It's not that Draco had any room to speak on that matter, for the Slytherin did have two side-kicks rather then just one. And as much of a disgrace Weasley is to the wizarding world, there was something about his lanky frame and pointy nose that Draco hungered to ridicule.

Lately Draco had been finding the Weasel an easier target, though he never did it directly, he would make a comment to Potter about his loser friend and then out of the corner of his eye watch the red-head react. Each of them varied, though Draco had been doing it so often by now he could almost predict which comments would receive a certain reaction and when finding himself correct his stomach began filling with tiny grains of want, which was ridiculous because he had already gotten what he wanted and that was a negative reaction. Or did he want something more? No. Impossible.

But if there was something Draco strived for it was to get the Weasel so riled up that his ears turned blood red. The angry gesture was something of a trophy to the blonde, something he could brag about, something that could almost compare to a notch in his belt. It made his breathing ragged and his stomach flair. But it was only because Draco loved to piss people off. Yes. That's exactly why.

Lately though, Ron had been somewhat of a magnet for Draco's eyes. They would just wind up on him when he felt he had nothing better to do, which was in fact, most of the time. He would stare at the back of Weasley's head and cook up an insult towards him that he would use as soon as the bell rang, hoping for those red ears. Sometimes it worked, and Draco felt bliss and other times Hermione would convince him not to get upset, and Draco would fight the urge to indent her face using his fist because she had just ruined something that could have been genuinely beautiful. Something so pure and lurid that it seemed to be the only thing that was real anymore.

The blonde rolled over on his side, tucking his hands under his pillow as his eyes became heavy with sleep. And though his body was urging his to rest, his mind was still working, still dreaming up way's to upset Weasley. Hoping that maybe tomorrow, he would achieve his daily goal.

Ron-

Ron grabbed the nearest piece of toast and shoved it into his mouth without noticing the disgusted look Hermione was giving him. Of course, that always seemed to be the case with the two. Ron had built up a short of shield to Hermione's dagger-like stares. He swallowed hard while looking over at Harry who was picking at his food as if the house elves had cooked up something outrageous and disgusting for breakfast rather then the eggs he usually shoveled onto his plate.

"You gonna eat that?" asked Ron hopefully as he pointed to Harry's plate. There was not point in wasting a good plate of eggs on teenage depression. There always seemed to be something wrong with Harry, anyways. Not that Ron could blame him, the bloke did have it rough.

Harry shook his head before sliding his plate in front of Ron. Delighted, the red head seized the nearest fork and attacked the uneaten eggs occasionally missing his mouth and spilling them down the front of his shirt.

"You know Ron that really is disgusting," said Hermione with a stern look set on her face. The girl was sixteen years old and she was already developing wrinkles on her forehead. He had always warned her about working so hard, and sweared she would die at a young age from a heart-attack or something.

"Oh c'mon Hermione, that's no way to talk about Harry, it's not like he's got any germs or anything." said Ron as he continued stuffing his mouth with eggs and toast, spitting small bits onto the table as he spoke. He watched amused as Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust and shot him another look. Of course, he was still immune. Or somewhat immune.

"I was talking about your manners, Ronald." She sneered before snatching the newspaper on the left side of her plate and burying her face in it. Ron had always hated when Hermione called him by his full name, it reminded him of his mum, or it seemed like she was his wife, and that thought alone was nothing short of dreadful.

Ron exchanged looks with Harry and he could tell The-boy-who-lived was in one of his moods again. So he settled for belching loudly watching with a sly smirk on his face as Hermione's grip on the newspaper tightened. Mission accomplished. He had gotten the last word.

"Whoa, Have a look at Malfoy, he looks horrid." said Harry, perking up slightly. Then again who wouldn't it was always nice to see a rival hit an all time low. After all the misery Malfoy had caused the trio Ron was aching to get a look as well.

Ron directed his attention over to the Slytherin table where he had a hard time finding Malfoy at first. He had not expected him to look that bad. Harry would thrive off of any little flaw Draco held, then again so would Ron. When he did spot the blonde he almost wished he hadn't. It was almost as embarrassing as the time he had been turned into a ferret. His skin was pale, washed out, and lacking its usual arrogant glow. His eye-lids were sagging heavily over pale gray as if small weights had been attached to each one. His hair was sad, dull, and hardly taken care of anymore. Instead of the slicked back look Draco usually fashioned for himself, he had abandoned all attempts to comb it and let it stick to the sides of his face as well as out of either sides of his head. And despite this the girls at his table continued to look over in his direction and giggle quietly to their friends. But Draco wasn't paying attention to them.

He was currently eyeing Ron, making him slightly uncomfortable as his heavy eyes managed to radiate a look over udder destruction over to the Gryffindor table. The blonde leaned towards his side kick. Ron couldn't remember who was who. Crabbe maybe? He whispered something in his ear and the both of them shot the red-head a deathly glare, and he may have been immune to Hermione's eyes, but there was something about Draco's that hit a nerve. Every singe time.

"A right prick he is." muttered Ron loud enough for Harry to hear who nodded in agreement. He hoped maybe Malfoy could read lips, the he would understand what Ron had just muttered to his friends. Surely that would piss him off, and Ron wanted nothing more then to make Draco as mad as he made Ron.

"You just have to ignore him," said Hermione from behind her newspaper. It seemed like a logical idea, but Ron had a pride problem. He couldn't just look away. He couldn't just ignore the constant teasing and prying.

"I can't ignore him when he constantly cracking jokes about my misfortune." said Ron in a you-should-know-this tone. He was almost appalled that Hermione could suggest something like that to Ron, and he could tell that the look he was sending her caused her to understand how ridiculous that statement was to him.

"Then why don't you say something back instead of turning into a human steam engine?" asked Hermione impatiently as she folded the newspaper gently and placed it next to her, she was suggesting something a little more in Ron's nature. "Bet you never thought of that," she added as she picked up her fork and knife. She was wrong. He had.

"Yeah I have. I just..." began Ron who was now screwing up his face in anger. Of course Ron wanted to react, but there was just something about a powerful and dark wizarding family that made him think twice before he mouthed off.

"You just what..?" asked Hermione.

"I just. Have you studied for the potions test yet?" asked Ron trying desperately to change the subject. He was not in the mood to bicker about his battles with Malfoy. Certainly because he always seemed to let his short temper get the better because of him.

"Yes, but that's not what i wa-" began Hermione before being cut off by Ron "Me neither" he said quickly before resuming to binge. He wondered if that would be enough of a hint for her. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. And there was no question the girl was bright but she did lack in the common sense department on occasion. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You're impossible," she said, now turning her attention back to her half eaten liver pie. Ron could tell by the look on her face that she was biting her tongue, and though she had just insulted the red-head he was grateful that she did not take it to another level, she had gotten the hint. Thank god.

"Uh-oh looks like we've got company," said Harry meekly. He hoped Harry was lying.

Ron looked up slowly, his eyes lingering on small details, the placement of dishes, Lavenders new Barrett, Draco Malfoy and his cronies making his way to the Gryffindor table. Drat. His stomach became an acrobat, twisting itself into millions of knots as his heart hammered at his ear drum. Draco had read his lips. Ron was a dead man.

"Hey Weasel, seems your father's gotten a promotion. At least that's what the Prophet's saying…I don't know who he had to fuck to get that but I except you might be moving to a nicer shack now? Maybe one that actually has a roof?" snarled Draco. Anger shot into Ron's fingers. He was ready to fight, he was ready to rip the blonde apart with his words.

He opened his mouth to retaliate but Hermione spoke first.

"At least his father made it in the newspaper, you would think your dad would after what happened to him, goes to show no one really cares about the Malfoy's, or at least not like you thought they did." she said casually as she rose to her feet. Ron sat, shocked, mentally thanking god for the woman that drove him nuts on a daily basis.

The smirk vanished from Draco's face as it turned stone cold, the blonde clenched his jaws and before Ron could even register what had happened he had pounced on top of Hermione and was hitting any part of her face that she wasn't shielding with her hands. Both Ron and Harry sat in shock, starring at each other and then occasionally averting their eyes to the scene in front of them. They had do decide who would do what, and they had to do it without words.

Hermione moaned as Draco continued to hammer at her face, the soft thuds coming from his fist on her face echoing eerily in the now silent hall as the students who had been so peacefully enjoying their meals and chatting with their friends now stared terrified as Draco continued to do damage to her face.

Harry was the first to move off of the bench. He seized Draco's arms and pulled him off of his friend then carelessly throwing him, as if he were some sort of toy, on the floor. Draco, who seemed to be possessed by rage, was already trying to lift himself off of the ground in order to once again reach Hermione but Harry was quick to move. In one swift motion he planted himself on top of the Slytherin and held both of his wrists on either size of his head as Draco continued to thrash below him. He was screaming, yelling so loud the words lost articulacy and became just a string of letters that did not make any sense.

Ron quickly helped Hermione to her feet. She was sobbing, tears leaking through her swollen eyes and her chin was coated in a colorful mixture of blood, spit, and snot. He helped her to the sweat, hoping that Harry could hold Draco down long enough for Ron to be able to find a teacher. Hermione tried to touch her face, to wipe the mixture from her chin and the tears from her eyes which were now almost swollen shut and bruising, as if blue ink was seeping through her pores.

"Ron!" He heard Harry yell. Spinning around on his heels he figured quickly that the raven haired boy had failed in holding down his opponent and Draco was now charging at Ron. Frozen with fear Ron stood, despite his heads up he did not have the time to collect his thoughts, to organize what was a good idea to do in that situation and what was a bad one. Sadly, he chose the bad one as Draco's hands shoved his shoulders causing his feet to loose their footing and his back to hit the floor with a loud thwack. The impact had left him breathless, as if his lungs had fallen out of his rear-end. He could see nothing but the blue of the sky, the clouds not taking any particular shapes, not even the shapes of clouds and his mind was spinning. The bewitched ceiling was bewitching him.

He could hear a mutter as if someone was whispering in his ear but he could not turn the sounds into spoken words. He was trying to breath, his organs were trying to find their designated spot because it felt as though his stomach had lodged itself next to his ribcage. The noise stopped. The speaking had stopped and he could feel something wet brush against his ear.

When he finally came back to his senses Draco's face was fading from his vision as Harry pulled him off of the red-head. Ron shuffled backwards trying to stand as he crawled away, wondering where Hermione was. He stood. She was still sitting on the bench, sobbing and shaking.

"We need to go to the hospital wing." Said Harry urgently. Ron wasn't hurt badly. The shock of the impact only caused him to lose consciousness for a few seconds. A few long seconds. He nodded as he seized on of Hermione's hands and wrapped it around his shoulder as Harry did the same.

The journey to the Hospital wing was one the trio made often, Madam Pomfrey was one to roll her eyes and greet them with a less then friendly "What did you do this time?". She would be shocked to hear that they had not at all provoked this mess they found themselves in. Hermione, small as she was, seemed to weigh more then a troll, then again Ron wasn't exactly in his best physical condition, his lungs were pinching, dry, and hungry. The contents of his stomach sloshed angrily against his belly button, disappointed and ready to find any way out. Yet Harry persisted.

"Malfoy's gone off the deep end." Harry managed to push through a string of strained breaths, Hermione wasn't responding, the shock and pain caused her to doze off and the two young men were finding it increasingly hard to pull her up rows upon rows of steep stairways.

Ron wanted to respond but could hardly keep one logical thought connected to the next. They had detached themselves and were blasting of the sides of his head like a children playing with firecrackers. The red-head wore a vacant expression, his lips were crack and as smooth as desert sand, his angry body continued to batter him from the inside, creating a slow and steady throbbing.

When they finally reached the hospital wing the two young men were worn from dragging around a barely conscious Hermione. Ron, whose thoughts continued to nag him, made straight for one of the crisp and clean hospital beds where he threw himself down without hesitation. He could hear Madam Pomfrey fussing over Hermione, scolding Harry for polluting her friendly and subordinate disposition. But the red head hardly paid mind to the conversation persisting to his left, he continued to replay the scene in his mind.

It almost felt as if the blonde's body was still pressed tightly against his. It almost felt as if that was they way things were supposed to be. Like their bodies were molded to fit each other. Of course, in a sense that they were perfectly matched to be each other enemies. But why was it that thought of Draco's hot breath on the side of Ron's neck roused a tingle in his lower stomach, near his groin. There was no way that the thought of beating the Slytherin's face to a bloody pulp was arousing. Then again, after all those years of verbal torture, seeing Draco's pretty face smashed by Ron's own fist was a little more then appealing. Fantasizing about punishing Draco did the same as counting sheep for this Weasley. And sooner then later, his thoughts faded becoming nothing more then dreams. But they say, dreams can come true.