10/19/00

An autumnal wind is blowing electrically through the trees lining the path into Hogsmead. Red, orange and yellow leaves flutter with broken grace, drifting in shifting waves against tree trunks. Against the spark-blue sky birds are flying urgently to brighter climes and better feeding.

Ron Weasley belongs in this scene, running lightly down the path. His bright hair and white skin merge easily into the background of red-leafed oaks and pale-barked beeches. The steady thumping of his cheap shoes on the hard-packed earth and the rasping of his breath fall into a harmonious rhythm with the chattering of squirrels and the crackling of dry leaves in the breeze. The strong young body is at one with his world. His blood pulses smoothly through his veins and his eagerness for his destination is tempered by his pleasure in the thrust and pull of limber muscle.

A sudden * snap * as of a branch breaking and a voice uttering a keening cry bursts the harmony beneath the trees. Heart pounding in sudden startlement, Ron relexively pulls out his wand and slows, striding quietly off the path to investigate in the direction of the sound. Passing out of the sunlight on the path he is immediately swathed in tree-formed shadow. When he comes upon a clearing the two figures staring aggressively at each other in its center are not aware of his presence at its edge. They continue their battle undisturbed.

The slim, silver-haired youth with an elvin cast to his features has his arms folded parallel across his ribs, as if warding off a blow to his solar plexus. The usual careless fluidity of his movement is missing, and his voice is high and cracks a little as he speaks.

"It's that Weasley, isn't it. You're having it off with him."

Ron seeks to draw a breath, but a hard band across his chest seems to be making the action impossible. He can do nothing but stand, growing lightheaded, as Harry Potter answers Draco Malfoy's shocking question.

"Damn it, Draco, if I were wouldn't I just say so?" Harry's strong hands are planted firmly on his narrow hips, and his straight shoulders quiver with tension. Ron can almost see blue-white sparks crackling off his friend, and the usual pine shade of Harry's eyes is a virulent poison green around his wide pupils. "I've told you; I don't feel that way about him. He's my friend, and that's all."

*That's all* thinks Ron. Harry's words echo in his empty mind. His thoughts are suspended, and he is floating in a humming void while all his senses record and replay the scene taking place before him. He vaguely knows that there will be an emotional reckoning, but he cannot seem to care. He listens. He watches.

Draco's voice quavers and ranges over more than one register. "Then why!? I know you ..." Shoulders shaking, he maintains eye contact with Harry with a visible effort . "I know you want me. I felt it just now, in the way you kissed me. You kissed me back, Potter!"

At this Harry suddenly drops his aggressive stance and shifts until he is within a few feet of Malfoy. Eyes still trained on him, his hands reach out now as if to touch. His tone is gentle, if deep and halting. "It's not that... If that were enough..." Suddenly whirling, he spins and begins pacing the narrow glade. The sun, falling, paints sparkling colours in his ravenwing hair as he rakes his fingers roughly through it. "Look, Draco... Ron is my best friend. I *tried* to explain that to you before. I love him, I'm not giving up our friendship for you. I won't hurt him, and I won't let you hurt him. Just because I don't find him sexually attractive doesn't mean I'm not devoted to him as a person. As my closest friend."

Draco Malfoy is listening intently to this, his queerly slanted mossy eyes fastened on the forest floor, arms still crossed. He does not hear the soft gasp six feet away amongst redgold beeches. A shadow of something like hope glides over his pointed face. His voice has deepened when he speaks again. The sarcastic lilt to his speech does not drown out the raw desire. "So, are you saying that if I promise to play nicely with your other little friends you can make room for me on your social calendar?"

Rough and exasperated, yet unaccountably tender, Harry's reply is felt by Ron as piercing cold in his solar plexus. "Something like that, yes. But none of your fake politeness, Draco. I mean it. If you force me to choose between Ron and you then you know what to expect. He's always been loyal to me, and I won't betray him."

"Even though you aren't in love with him." Draco's bitter doubt is evident in his tone.

At this, Harry stops pacing again, his face becoming red and his eyes narrow. A muscle jumps in his clenched jaw as he strides closer to the other boy. Arms held rigidly at his sides, fists clenched, he grinds out his words through his teeth.

"There are a lot of kinds of love, *Malfoy*. I love Hagrid as a friend. I do NOT want to sleep with him. I love Hermione. I would give her the shirt off my back if she needed it. I do NOT want her body. I would die for Ron, he is my best friend. I do NOT want to FUCK RON!"

Draco visibly flinches at Harry's anger, but looks up at these words with a gleam in his eye. It is swiftly quenched when Harry speaks again, calmly this time.

"I am starting to think this is a bad idea." And without further words Harry spins on his heel and strides out of the clearing before the startled Slytherin can do more than flush with frustration. As if pulled by an invisible string, Malfoy slips into the trees after Harry, though the other boy is already out of sight.

"You're not going to pull this on me again, Potter!" As it echoes away, his voice regains its familiar disdainful drawl.

Ron sinks slowly down and down until he realizes with some surprise he is on his knees on the forest floor. Underneath his bent legs the mud and rotting leaves release a pungent autumnal aroma filled with decay and possiblility. Each twig, every leaf-vein, every small denizen of the forest floor stands out vividly to him as though he were seeing through his eyes for the first time.

His wand is still in his hand, hanging uselessly by his side. There has been no time to defend himself. Harry's words pound relentlessly through his head in rough disorder.

*....don't feel that way about him...would die for Ron... do NOT want to FUCK RON... my best friend.... not sexually attracted to Ron.... if you make me choose... that's all*

"That's all", he says weakly.

He stares bemusedly for a while at a stink bug which has turned itself onto its back and is flailing its legs uselessly in the air. Harry is being a true and loyal friend. Harry is attracted to Draco Malfoy but will not pursue the relationship if it could compromise his friendship with Ron. Harry does not want Ron hurt because he really cares about him, in this meaningful platonic way. Famous Harry Potter trusts Ron to accept his choice of lover provided Draco's methods are up to Harry's standards. Such as being nice to loyal, faithful Ron. Whom Harry is not in love with. Whom Harry does NOT want to FUCK.

And for a moment, Ron feels a black hatred for Harry winging its way from deep within his heart. Caverns in his soul long hollowed out by pride yield venom he never anticipated. Harry Potter has offered him the most loyal, stable friendship he has ever known. And briefly, as the shadows in the wood grow long and spindly, Ron Weasley hates him for it with a passion.

Gone like a flash, replaced with heartbroken sobs, the black feeling leaves an indelible impression on Ron's soul. He fits, here in this October wood. He is eighteen, he is grown handsome and tall and russet-headed. And the bloom of his first love is withering in an autumn chill.

As he makes his way slowly back to the path, Ron is unaware of something being born within him. Back near the clearing, unbeknownst to its creator, a small flame crackles merrily where previously a black insect struggled. Some powers do not make themselves known while their possessors are still innocents.

The End

draconigena -ae c. [dragon-born]. (Latin)

I like to think it could also be interpreted as "dragon-generated".