A/N: Big thank you to everybody who reviewed the last instalment. This ficlet is just a short interlude between the drawing class debacle and the inevitable Weasley family drama that will follow.

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As he lay in the dark, the lumpy and rather uncomfortable padding of the living room sofa beneath him, Ron decided once and for all that Draco had to go.

He'd put up with a lot in this… this quasi-relationship: the scowls, the complaining, the tantrums, the near-complete draining of Ron's fiscal resources, the point blank refusals to participate in 'menial and degrading' tasks such as 'tidying up after oneself'.

Well, not anymore. The absolute fit Draco had thrown over the drawing class debacle was definitely the last and very final straw. Ron was going to march into his own bedroom, wake up the spoilt bastard and inform him in no uncertain terms that, come the morning, he was going to have to find some other gullible sap to sponge off; because Ronald Weasley wasn't going to be banished to the couch in his own flat ever again.

Ron was, by and large, a laid back sort of guy. He'd been able to take the ranting, the raving and the accusations of sexual exploitation: however, that comment about Ginny being 'an obviously twisted, sex-mad voyeur like the rest of those weirdoes' had well and truly cross the line.

Oh yes, he thought, irritation bubbling within him, that Draco sodding Malfoy was-

Ron didn't get to mentally expand upon his exact feelings towards Draco sodding Malfoy as his internal diatribe was abruptly cut off by a loud yelp emanating from the direction of the bedroom.

Two seconds later the yelp was followed by a muffled yet rather desperate sounding plea for mercy, followed by a series of equally desperate sounding mumbled protestations that the comment about the beak had only been intended as a joke.

"Oh great," Ron muttered, pulling himself into a sitting position. "He's having that dream again."

With a very deep and distinctly long-suffering sigh, he got up and walked into the bedroom, where Draco was gibbering something insensible about his father and Griphook the Goblin, whilst grasping desperately onto the bed sheets.

Aware that delivering his 'Draco fuck off' speech at this juncture would put him squarely into the category entitled 'complete shit', Ron moved over to the bed gently shook the blonde haired man awake.

"It's just a dream, Draco," he said, feeling strangely relieved when the other man stirred.

"Ron, is that you?" came the dazed, pleading and oddly vulnerable sounding reply.

"Yeah, it's me. You were having those dreams again."

"Oh."

Before, he could head back to the cold comfort of the sofa an arm slid around his waist and pulled him in the direction of the bed: an action to which he opted not to offer any resistance.

Within a matter of seconds he found himself in a warm, comfortable little cocoon of blankets with a warm and distractingly naked body wrapped snugly around him.

Had he been in a less comfortable and distracted state, Ron may very well have dwelt upon how strange it was that Draco always had the Evil Mutant Hippogriff and Kinky Goblin Fetishism nightmares every time Ron made a final, ultimate, not-to-be-swayed decision to kick him out.

As it was however, all thoughts of kicking his not-boyfriend to the metaphorical curb had mysteriously fled his mind.