Title: Not Necessarily Wanting Me

Author: Lorien_Eve

Pairings: Harry/Ron, Ron/Draco

Disclaimer: All the characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I dirtied them up a bit, but I promise to have them nice and clean when I give them back.

Spoilers: Everything

Rating: PG - NC-17, this chapter is PG.

Feedback: I'd love some!

Summary: Ron's in love with Harry, but he's afraid Harry will never feel the same way. Draco helps him forget - even if it's just for a little bit.

Genre: Romance, a little angst, a little drama

Author's Note: I wrote this story for NaNoWriMo back in November. After I went over my word count of 50,000, I set it aside and worked on some other things. The story isn't finished, but I'm still working on it and I'm a little over halfway done. I wanted to go ahead and post it to hopefully put pressure on myself to finish it. This has *not* been beta-ed. No way would I put my beta through such torture. I've read over it myself, but I know I missed a few things, so please excuse any typos and mistakes. I'm really bad at writing summaries, so don't judge the story by my description of it. It's better than it sounds. Honest. Oh, and one more thing I wanted to mention…I know Fred and George are two years, not just one year, older than Ron. I wanted to use them in my story, though, because they’re fun to write, and since it’s *my* story, I can do that. : )

Additional Note: For those of you who are wondering, the Ron/Draco story starts up in this chapter.

Monday morning was Harry and Ron’s least favorite class-Potions. Mondays were bad enough, but having to spend an entire class period in the cold, drafty dungeons with Snape and Malfoy was almost more than they could handle.

They pulled up the chairs at their usual table in the back of the room, waiting miserably for Snape to arrive. Malfoy sauntered in a few minutes later, with Crabbe and Goyle right behind him. He threw a mocking smile over in Ron’s direction.

“I’d like to wipe that smile off his pointy little face,” Ron said, drawing his hands into fists.

“Don’t do it here,” Harry said. “Snape’ll take off more points than we’d ever be able to earn back.”

As if speaking the name caused him to appear, Professor Snape billowed into the classroom, looking even more bitter and furious than usual. Maybe he hated Mondays as much as Harry and Ron did.

“I had planned to return your marks today,” he spoke slowly in an effort to keep his temper under control, “but after reviewing your abysmal attempts, I decided to fail all of you.”

Hermione let out a gasp mixed with horror and distress. She’d never received a failing grade for anything before. She rarely got anything less than perfect.

“You are a disgrace to the art of Potion-making. A group of fourth years would’ve done a better job than you lot. Because I am a fair teacher, I am giving you one last chance. Blow this one, and I can assure you, I will not be so understanding in the future. Gather your ingredients. Now!”

The class scrambled over to the cupboard, trying not to raise Snape’s ire any further. They all knew how dangerous he could be when provoked. Draco watched Weasley scanning the shelves. It was time to put his plan into action.

Ron found the loveage and the fluxweed, but was having trouble locating the Jobberknoll feathers. He found one at last, situated behind a stoppered bottle of dittany. He went to grab it, but just as he did, a thin, pale hand reached out and snatched it.

“Hey! That was mine!”

“I believe it’s mine now,” Draco said, twirling the feather between his fingers.

“You took it on purpose!”

“So what if I did?” Draco spoke casually. This was great. Weasley was furious.

“Give it back!”

“You want it?”

“Yes! Now give it back.”

“Come take it.”

Ron reached for the feather, but Draco jerked it away before his fingers could grab it. Draco held it out again, teasingly, but retracted it once more, just in time.

“I’m warning you, Malfoy…” Ron said.

“I told you to come and take it.” Draco’s eyes were narrowed in provocation. He held the feather out one last time.

Ron’s hand came near, but instead of grabbing for the feather, his fist connected with Draco’s jaw. Draco staggered back, momentarily caught off guard.

“That’s it, Weasel!” he yelled, rushing forward. He had wanted to avoid a physical argument, but Weasley had instigated it, and he was not backing down. He would pay for marking Draco’s flawless face.

Draco landed one good punch, but then Ron swung again. Draco fell backwards into the cupboard, and Ron charged into him. The shelves gave way under the force of the two bodies, and every bottle, vial, jar, and dish came crashing down.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” Snape roared, sweeping over to the destroyed cabinet.

“Weasley started it, sir,” Draco said, smoothing his sleek hair back into place.

“I don’t care who started it,” Snape said, barely managing to keep his anger hidden. “You two insolent fools have ruined a years’ supply of extremely rare ingredients.”

Ron was avoiding Snape’s eyes. He was still furious at Malfoy, but Snape frightened him.

“Detention for both of you.” Snape said. “You will report to me this evening after supper. Now get out of my sight!” He turned on his heel and stalked off.

Malfoy’s silver eyes glinted. His plan had worked perfectly. Phase two would come tonight. Weasley was dead.

****

Because Ron and Draco had successfully destroyed the items needed in creating the Potion, Snape had no choice but to dismiss the class. Harry was sorry that Ron got saddled with a detention, but he was grateful to him for getting them out of that nightmare of a lesson.

Ron complained loudly about his horrible luck over dinner that evening in the Great Hall. He was so busy talking, that his mouth wasn’t filled with the usual surplus of food.

“I can’t believe he gave me detention!” he said for the fifth time.

“Snape gives detention for breathing too loudly,” Harry said. “You knocked the whole cupboard down. What’d you expect?”

“But still…detention. Mum’ll kill me.”

“I told you to leave Malfoy alone. He’ll just get you in trouble. You should’ve listened to me.”

“You should finish that detention as soon as possible,” Hermione told him. “You’ll get awfully behind on your homework if he keeps you too late.”

Ron glared at her over his steak and potatoes. Homework was the last thing on his mind right now. Detention was bad enough. Detention with Snape was a nightmare. Detention with Snape and Malfoy was a perfect Hell. He could already feel the flames licking at the hem of his robes. Across the dining hall, he saw Malfoy get up and head toward the double doors.

“I’d better go,” he said. “Malfoy’s already leaving, and I don’t want to be late.”

“Don’t lose your temper again,” Harry warned. “You don’t want another detention.”

“We’ve got an essay on Misdirection Spells due tomorrow, don’t forget,” Hermione reminded him.

“You can copy mine,” Harry said. “Now go before you’re late.”

****

Ron walked down the cold, stone corridor to the dungeon, cursing his bad luck for getting him into such a pickle. Trouble always managed to find him. Maybe he was born under a bad star or something. He’d have to ask Professor Trelawney about that. Why did Malfoy get to him so bad? He taunted Harry just as much, but Harry almost always managed to keep a cool head.

As he suspected, Malfoy was already there, standing smugly in front of Snape.

“Glad you could make it, Weasel,” he said.

“That’s enough, Draco,” Snape said. “It’s that tongue of yours that got you into this predicament. I suggest you learn to hold it better in the future.”

Draco smirked at him. He never took Snape’s threats seriously. Lucius would cut Snape’s fingers off and dice them into nice little pieces if he so much as looked at Draco the wrong way. He could’ve easily gotten out of this detention tonight if he’d chosen to, but it was the second step in his plan to take down Weasley, and he wouldn’t miss it for anything.

“Because of your grappling display this morning, I have had to invade my own stores for Potion ingredients. I am now severely lacking for my personal use.” His black eyes narrowed and bore right into Ron’s. He pointed to several boxes in the middle of the room. “I want you to divide these up, cut them properly, bottle them, and place them on the shelves of my new cupboard. Do try not to destroy this one. I assure you I will not be so tolerant of your idiocy a second time.” He swept out of the room with his black robes gusting behind him, leaving Ron and Draco alone.

Better get this over as soon as possible, Ron thought, as he walked over and opened a box. He pulled out a couple of wrapped packages and set them down on a desk. Malfoy was still standing in his original spot. The great, bloody git probably thought he was too good to serve a detention.

“It’s your fault we’re in this mess,” Ron said. “You’d better get to work.”

Draco approached the boxes slowly, with a refined grace. “I’ll get around to it when I feel like it, Weasley.” He fingered each package before deciding on one that didn’t look too messy.

“Keep over on your side,” Ron said. “Don’t bring that stuff over here.”

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t taint myself by getting near you.”

Ron was busy cutting up bunches of knotgrass. There was a huge stock of it, and he wondered if he’d ever get through it.

Draco, on the other hand, was leisurely slicing delicate strips of asphodel root. He was in no hurry to end this evening. He had finally gotten Weasley alone. No one would be around to hear the screaming. He smiled to himself in deep satisfaction.

After about an hour, Ron had managed to cut up his stocks and bottle each one. He moved back over to the boxes for additional supplies. Malfoy still hadn’t gotten through his first package.

“I wish you’d hurry up,” Ron said. “Your bloody arse isn’t keeping me here all night.”

“Professor Snape wants this done correctly. I’m only ensuring that his wishes are carried out.” Draco spoke in a lofty, arrogant voice that he knew would get a rise out of Weasley.

“If I have to come over there and rip them apart with my hands, I will,” Ron spat. “I’ve got better things to do.”

“Like Potter, perhaps?”

Ron froze. What the hell was Malfoy talking about? There was no way he could know about Ron’s feelings for Harry.

“What did you say?” he hissed slowly through clinched teeth.

“You said you had better things to do, and I merely asked if Potter was one of those things.”

“Shut up, Malfoy, or I’ll ram this ginger root so far down your throat that you choke on it.”

Draco chuckled. Weasley was surprisingly funny when he made empty threats.

Ron turned back to the task at hand, which was getting the herbs cut, and getting the hell out of here as soon as possible. His arm was aching with exertion, but he ignored it. A sore muscle was a small price to pay for freedom.

Draco had at last finished with his own provisions, and strolled over to collect more. Carrying a package back with him to his seat, he sat down and opened it. Oh, this was good. He’d get the Weasel with this one.

“Hey, Weasley?”

Ron didn’t bother looking up, or even acknowledging him. Draco wasn’t affected, though. It took much more than that to dissuade him.

“Why don’t you come over and skin my shrivelfig?”

“What?” Ron hissed angrily.

“My shrivelfig. Why don’t you skin it for me?”

“You’re sick.”

“It’s a simple potion ingredient. I was asking an innocent question. I think you’re the sick one for reading something into it.”

“You implied it.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Whatever.”

This was going even better than Draco had planned. Weasley was jumping at every bait he threw out. He obviously wasn’t fed enough at home. It wasn’t that Draco ever doubted his plan. It was almost ingenious, though that wasn’t surprising considering he was the one who came up with it. He had one last trump card to play. He would save it for the end. It was too good to waste.

It had taken several hours, and with almost no help from Malfoy, Ron had managed to empty the boxes and bottle the ingredients. All that was left was to place them on the shelves. That would take awhile because of the massive volume, but he felt like the worst part was over. He had gotten through a whole evening of detention with Malfoy, and other than some verbal sparring, there had been no incidents.

Draco had already gathered his containers, which were significantly less than Ron’s, and was attempting to align them on the shelves of the cupboard. The top ledge was too high for him, and Ron got great pleasure in watching him struggle to reach it.

“You’re short, Malfoy,” he said with a sharp laugh.

Draco turned to him. “I’m not short. The cupboard is too tall.” Playing ignorant was fun once in a while.

“Move out of the way and let me do it.”

Ron picked up a glass pitcher and tried to place it on the top shelf. He hated to admit it, but Malfoy was right. It was too high, even for him. He grabbed the nearest chair, pulled it over, and stepped onto it. He was eye level with the top of the cabinet now.

“Hand those to me,” he instructed Malfoy, pointing at the bottles on a nearby table. Draco picked them up and handed them to Ron.

Phase two was officially under way. Weasley was so easy. Draco obediently handed each bottle upward. The first table was emptied in short order. He smiled inwardly, knowing exactly what to do next.

He handed Weasley the next container, but he held it longer than was necessary, prolonging the contact between their fingers. Weasley didn’t seem to notice, or he chose to ignore it. Draco had expected this. Of course Weasley wouldn’t acknowledge his taunts at first. No problem, he had several more tricks up his sleeve.

When he passed the next bottle to Weasley, he held onto it firmly, making Weasley tug at it a few times before actually releasing it.

“Just give it to me, will you? I don’t know why you keep holding on to them.”

So he had noticed Draco’s hesitation in letting go. Draco would give it to him, alright. It just wouldn’t be what the Weasel expected.

It was the third time that Draco held the glass bottle tighter and longer than was necessary. He’s going to work for this one, Draco thought. Weasley gripped at it, but Draco held on tight. Weasly’s face was red. Draco could tell he was mad. Everything was going according to his plans.

Draco jerked the vial back suddenly. Ron fell forward off the chair he had been using for a stool. He collided with Draco, and sent them both tumbling to the floor. Draco’s back hit the cold stone with a dull thud. Ron landed on top of him before he could even catch his breath.

Ron glared at Malfoy. It was the obstinate prick’s fault that they were in this mess, and he had to make things even worse by being difficult. It was just like him to cause more trouble than was needed. Ron could’ve been warming himself by the fire in Gryffindor Tower. Or doing homework in the Common Room with Hermione. Or being close to Harry, like he had found himself wishing much too often lately.

Malfoy had completely ruined his evening. He ought to punch the bloody wanker right in his bloody nose. He was close enough to accomplish it easily. One small swing would do the trick. Malfoy was in a breathing heap underneath him, and all Ron had to do was swing. He could see the hatred illuminating Malfoy’s already iridescent eyes. Ron stared into them, never giving Malfoy the satisfaction of mistakenly thinking he had the upper hand. Their faces were so close, and Ron wondered what level of damage he could inflict in such near proximity.

Then Malfoy did the last thing Ron expected him to do. He kissed him.

Ron was so shocked that he couldn’t pull back at the first contact. Adrenaline flooded his body. Lips were pressing against his. They were warm and soft, and Ron felt his mouth being drawn downwards. He wanted to suck in the room, suck in every movable air around him, and suck in the swollen lips that were beneath his own. He wanted to remind himself that it was Malfoy. It was Malfoy who was kissing him, and Malfoy who wanted to take away his reservations.

Once the initial rush faded from his body, all his mind could register was that Malfoy’s lips were a lot warmer than he’d ever imagined. It spread through his own mouth, snaking around his face, and distributing itself neatly into the veins of his arms. It wasn’t until Malfoy’s tongue licked against his upper lip that he pulled away. He was thoroughly disgusted with himself. He should’ve never allowed the contact to linger as long as it did. Malfoy was clearly up to something, and he saw the mischief in those gray eyes when he pulled away.

“What are you after, Malfoy?”

“You.”