How come no one has been reviewing? It's affecting my work… no honestly, it is. If no one's going to read and review and tell me what you like or don't like I can't really give you what you would like to read. Sigh. So,. Would you all please review. After all, this is the last chapter of the first part.

Anyway, read, REVIEW, and enjoy.

Chapter 13

Ron woke with an uncomfortable start, nearly tipping himself off the bed. He was fairly certain the bed in his and Draco's rooms were not quite this thin. He opened his eyes slowly and found himself looking up at a white ceiling. The med wing. He should have known. Thinking back he realised what had happened. He pushed himself up until he was sitting. He glanced round until he found what he was looking for. Draco was on the bed beside his.

Looking round for the healer, who was thankfully not there, Ron shoved the blankets off his legs and swung them out of the bed. They didn't seem particularly happy when he tried to stand on them, letting him know he had been unconscious for at least two days, if not more. Even so, he forced them to move, standing up, he reached for his clothes, which had been folded neatly on the bedside table. He pulled his jeans on under the nightshirt he had been dressed in, before puling it off and pulling his t-shirt on.

When he was done dressing he moved towards Draco's bed. The blond man lay still on the bed, his hair loose, covering the pillow and spilling over the edges. Ron had never really wondered why Draco had let his hair grow so long… He heaved a sigh.

He didn't know what to think.

Yes, he had gone eight years without thinking of Draco as a deatheater. Yes he had befriended him. Yes he had shared his bed. Yes he had enjoyed it… but despite that, or perhaps because of it, he was left terribly confused. It was as if someone had taken his world and turned it upside down and viciously shaken all semblance of normality out of it. Now that he actually bothered to think of it, he wondered how he could have just let it slide… because that was what he had done, let it slide, and he couldn't remember how… how had he gone from hating Malfoy, to sleeping with Draco. It didn't make any sense.

He heaved another sigh, before turning away from the pale figure on the bed. He needed time to think, time to figure everything out. Because something had changed between them. Perhaps he was the cause, he didn't know, he just knew he couldn't continue to pretend like there wasn't something wrong with this whole arrangement. He headed towards the door.

He needed some distance… time to think…

He stopped at the door and looked back, frowning.

How had ever allowed himself to trust a deatheater?

Harry's words echoed in his head. "Why Malfoy Ron?"

"Because." was a woefully inadequate answer right now.

He left the med wing silently.

X

Draco woke up cold, his eyes flickering open. He knew without having to check that Ron was not here, like he would have been normally. He bit back a groan. Of course, these could hardly be called normal circumstances. His insane father had driven a wedge between them so deep Draco wasn't entirely sure he would be able to pull it out. Which could prove very annoying, because the idea of taking tha matter up with the council was not appealing.

He forced his lethargic body to sit up and pushed himself off the bed, ignoring the healer's advice to stay put. There was too much to do for him to stay put. There was no point in talking to Ron, he doubted the weasel would listen somehow.

Oh how he hated angst fests.

Weasley was the most irritating individual Draco had ever had the displeasure of meeting and working with. Especially when he felt he had something to righteous about. And at the moment Ron was feeling very out of sorts because he had spent the last eight years with a deatheater, and was feeling absurdly righteous over his own affiliation with the side of good.

Still ignoring the healer he pulled on his clothes and walked as briskly as he could manage out of the med wing. So, he couldn't go talk to Ron… beside's he wasn't even sure what he would say to him if he did. That left only research. He had to find out everything he could about anything that was even remotely connected with controlling the Chirloc, not that he expected anything to turn up, but one could only hope.

He also had to work out what his father meant about the dark lord. He didn't believe for a second that Lord Voldermort was still alive and kicking somewhere. But he couldn't take the chance that it could be important somehow. There had been something about the way his father had spoken about it, not that he had his full mental capabilities back and not short-circuiting because of curses and headaches. Now that he could think clearly, there was just something… odd… about it all.

He realised halfway down the steps to the library that he didn't have his glasses with him, but the idea of going up to the rooms to get them was far to daunting for his already tiring body, not that he would ever admit it, so he continued on. He could hardly damage his eyes more than they already were.

He ignored the feeling of loneliness that swept over him as he shut the door of the library behind him. He had research to do. He did not need to be thinking about how good it would be to have something close to wild passionate sex with Weasley right now. He couldn't afford to let those kinds of thoughts take over. Because until Weasley sorted his goddamned priorities out there wasn't going to be any of that.

He pulled a dusty book of the nearest shelf and opened it at the front. He had to start somewhere.

Please review me… please…