"Two hundred and thirty five to two hundred and fifty!" Ron exclaimed, pumping a fist into the air in the locker room, "Damn that was close!"

"You were great!" Ginny shouted, "Did you see how angry Mike looked? I could hear him cursing from all the way across the pitch." She laughed gleefully.

"He was really letting me have it," Ron said, still grinning, "But we did agree to play like we didn't know each other."

"So he won't be upset?" Harry asked with a laugh, he was pleased that Ron had played so well against his boyfriend; however, Michael was notoriously a sore loser, which had been the reason Ginny had dumped him.

"He might be," Ron replied, a hint of worry in his eyes, "But I'll make it up to him." He shrugged with a smile.

"Ew," Ginny said, rolling her eyes then joining her friends in leaving the locker room.

Ron laughed and tore off his robes with a sigh of relief. The day had been warm and they had played hard. Ron ran his hands through his damp hair. They were the only two left in the locker room. Harry gave his friend a smile before they heard a knock at the door.

"That's probably for you," Harry said, raising his eyebrows knowingly.

Ron grinned and went to the door, as soon as he opened it, Michael walked in, looking sweaty, windswept, and grumpy. Harry went tense, realizing he was worried, but…almost hopeful. Though he had a feeling Ginny probably didn't gave as much patience as Ron, and Ron wouldn't dump someone for such a petty reason.

"Oh, cheer up," Ron said gently, running his hands up Michael's arms, "At least it was close. You were playing well. It was Cho who wasn't, you know that."

"Mm," Michael replied, his lips tightly closed, his eyes settled on Harry for a brief second before flicking back to Ron.

"Come on," Ron whispered, his smile fading. "Don't be mad. Please?"

Harry watched carefully from the corner of his eye as he changed out of his quidditch robes. Michael sighed and moved Ron's hands off his arms. Ron dropped them.

"Please?" He repeated, almost pitifully, stepping closer.

Michael sighed through his nose, then shook his head.

"I can't be mad when you beg," he finally said, "But you owe me." He finally smiled and grabbed Ron by the front of his shirt, pulled him close, and kissed him gently, brushing a lock of hair away from his eye.

Harry took that as a sign to leave.

"I'm sure Dean and Seamus are setting up a celebration of sorts, are you going to be there?"

"Sure," Ron said, resting his chin on Michael's shoulder to look at him.

"Alright, see you later then." Harry smiled at him even though his insides were squirming uncomfortably. He was committed to trying.

As he started walking away he heard Ron murmur,

"Maybe I could sneak you in, hm?"

Harry sighed when the fresh air finally hit his face. He just didn't understand what Ron saw in that mopey Ravenclaw. Seamus's words echoed in his mind. 'Dark hair, moody, sarcastic. No wonder Ron is comfortable around him.' It was confusing to him. Did that mean Ron found him attractive?

There was a small flutter in his stomach at the thought and it shocked him so much that he stopped walking.

Did he…want…Ron to find him attractive?

Did he find Ron attractive?

Harry shook his head slightly and briskly finished his walk to the castle. Maybe the party in Gryffindor would distract him.

[][][][][][][][]

"Why so glum, chum?"

Seamus pressed another butterbeer into his hands, popping the top off his own. Harry was standing near an open window in the common room, leaning against the wall. He opened his fourth or fifth butterbeer and took a large swig.

"I'm not," he lied, wiping his mouth.

"If you say so." Seamus shrugged, then followed Harry's line of vision. He laughed. "Mate you have got to get over this Corner thing."

"I just don't trust him," Harry snapped, briefly forgetting his promise to himself that he would try harder. But the more he saw Ron and Michael together, the more Michael bloody Corner snagged his best friend and took him away from Harry, the more Harry grew bitter and resentful.

"Blimey, Harry," Seamus chuckled. Then he nudged him and lowered his voice. "Well if you're that bad off, maybe something a little stronger?" he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large hip flask and offered it to him.

Harry twisted the tiny top off and a strong peppery, cinnamon-like scent filled his nostrils. He took a deep breath and took a big swallow of the burning liquid and immediately coughed as his chest felt like it was on fire, and a buzzing feeling erupted in his head.

"Whoa," Seamus said giddily, he nudged Harry again, "Keep it. I nicked it from Dean anyway. You seem like you need it."

Harry thanked him and took another drink, and suddenly felt much calmer. He felt his mouth twist into a lopsided smile. Only a couple minutes later Ron and Michael approached him.

"What are you smiling at?" Ron asked, grinning, and before Harry could answer he immediately asked, "What's that?" nodding toward the flask in Harry's hand.

"Dunno, Seamus gave it to me." Harry handed the flask to him and he and Michael sniffed it.

"Firewhisky!" Michael whispered excitedly, and he and Ron both took swigs of it before handing it back to Harry, who quickly polished it off.

"That's good!" Ron exclaimed, "Burns a bit."

"A bit," Michael agreed with a laugh, "Let's find Finnigan, maybe he has more." He gave Ron a peck on the cheek. "Thanks for bringing me, love."

Ron turned pink and the couple walked away in search of Seamus. Harry felt a tugging feeling to go after them, his mind still buzzing. Then he grabbed two butterbeers off a nearby table and headed for the boys dorm stairs, feeling a bit dizzy, but pleasantly thoughtless.

Once in the boys dorm Harry sat on his trunk and downed the drinks. He then sighed in relief, reveling in the emptiness in his head. He had enjoyed the party for a short tine, but the more he had been forced to see Ron and Michael together, the worse he felt. Now he was ready to be alone.

His chest burned and his head buzzed. He faintly realized he was probably drunk. He'd never consumed much more alcohol than the low percentage of a couple butterbeers. But it felt good. He blearily understood now why his Uncle Vernon ended each day with a glass of scotch or two.

Harry got off his trunk, a tad wobbly, and began to pace, not wanting to stay still but also not wanting to return downstairs. It was then that he heard laughter sounding as though it was coming up the stairs. Not wanting to deal with anyone right now, Harry quickly wrenched open his trunk, snatched his invisibility cloak, threw it on, and quickly dropped to the floor. He edged backwards until he was propped against his nightstand, and tucked his knees up to his chest.

The door flew open and Ron and Michael tumbled inside. Harry held his breath. He watched. As soon as the door shut, Michael grabbed Ron's waist and forcefully pushed his lips against the redhead's, pushing him backwards up against the wall. Ron's hands slid under Michael's shirt.

"We can't be too long," he murmured, smiling as he pulled his face away from his boyfriends, "They'll notice."

"Five minutes, love," Michael replied, raising a hand to the side of Ron's face and running his thumb over his bottom lip.

"Okay," Ron whispered.

"Hm," Michael said mischievously, lowering his hand and curling it around the back of Ron's neck, "You know what you could do with those five minutes?"

Ron turned a violent shade of red and smiled shyly, biting his bottom lip.

"I don't know…" He finally said, "I don't think this is the best place…"

"I'm joking," Michael interrupted with a chuckle, pushing his body against Ron's and tilting his head to kiss him on he neck, "My sweet boy."

Ron closed his eyes contentedly, a pleased sort of moan escaping his parted lips.

Harry slowly and quietly let out a breath. An achy feeling was filling his chest. He gripped his legs tightly. It was difficult for him to sit here and watch them. He knew it was wrong. But he was kind of stuck there. He couldn't exactly take off the cloak. And, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't just close his eyes.

"We should probably go back," Ron murmured, opening his eyes.

"You sure you want to?" Michael asked, tugging at the bottom of Ron's shirt, "We could just stay up here. Touching each other. You seem to be enjoying it." His hand dropped lower, fluttering lightly over the bulge in the redheads pants.

In lieu of words, Ron pushed his lips against Michael's. Their hands instantly ran over each other's stomachs, chests, and shoulders as they kissed in an almost aggressive manner. Suddenly Michael gasped and pulled back.

"Don't bite me," he said, raising a hand and grasping Ron's chin, "You git."

Ron smiled. "I'll do what I please," he retorted, raising his eyebrows.

Harry's stomach lurched, but he had a feeling it wasn't from the alcohol. It was like watching a car wreck. He couldn't look away. And suddenly, as he watched them, he imagined himself in Michael's place. He wondered if he could touch Ron in that way. Talk to him in that way. Make him gasp and moan…

His heart pounded so heavily he wondered how they couldn't hear it. Amongst his bleary thoughts he suddenly realized what all his anger and resentment toward Michael Corner was. He wasn't being protective. He didn't have a lack of trust in the Ravenclaw. That's not what it was at all.

He was jealous.

"Not so eager to get back anymore?"

Michael's voice interrupted Harry's realization.

"We should," Ron, his hands fiddling with the button on Michael's jeans, "But…"

Michael once again raised a hand up to Ron's face and gently kissed him. "You don't have to. Not here at least." He sighed softly as Ron ignored him and continued to unzip his pants, one of his hands plunging down them. "Fuck, Ron…"

"You could do that," Ron whispered, his arm working up and down slowly.

Harry closed his eyes. This, this he couldn't watch. His mind swam uncomfortably as he listened to the small gasps and moans. Thankfully, whatever Ron was doing, worked well and he soon heard a barrage of swearing followed by gentle laughter. Harry opened his eyes carefully, and it took a moment for them to adjust.

"Still sore about losing?" Ron asked, grabbing a towel from the wash basin and wiping his hands.

"Not so much," Michael replied, then paused, "Did you…what you said…"

Ron slowly dropped the towel carelessly, and shrugged. "I've thought about it."

Michael smirked. "Good." He zipped and buttoned his jeans and looked back up at Ron, tilting his head to the side. "Have you ever…?" looking curious.

"No," Ron admitted, his smile waning, "Not with anyone. Have you?"

"A few times. A girl, and a guy."

Ron suddenly froze, a variety of expressions flashed across his face.

"Not your sister," Michael said quickly, raising his hands in a 'calm down' sort of way, "We never even kissed, remember? We never even held hands."

"Right," Ron replied, shaking his head, "You…slept with a guy before?" Michael nodded, stepping close to Ron and grabbing his hands. "How did you…I mean I know how, but…were you…" He struggled to find words, and seemed incapable of looking his boyfriend in the eye.

"I topped," Michael said quietly, raising one of Ron's hands to his mouth and kissing it, "Is that okay?"

Harry felt his stomach give another uncomfortable lurch as he realized what they were talking about. No, he thought blearily, Ron wouldn't actually sleep with him. But soon his heart sank when he heard his best friend say,

"Yeah…that's okay."

His voice was soft, and shaky. Michael let out a gentle chuckle, and pulled Ron into a hug, whispering things so quietly that Harry was grateful he couldn't hear. He had heard, and seen, enough. Now all he really wanted was for them to leave so he could lay down, and hope neither of them noticed he was gone when they went back downstairs.