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.

Additional A/N: As much as I would love to take credit for the idea for Harry’s costume, my feeble mind couldn’t come up with anything. What does a writer do when she’s out of ideas? She asks her beta! So, full and complete credit for Harry’s adorable costume goes to Lena.

For the next week, the entire school buzzed with excitement over the up-coming festival. There was almost as much anticipation for it has there had been for the Yule Ball. Groups of students were seen in Hogsmeade, scanning stores and rummaging through racks in an attempt to find the perfect costume. The girls showed off their new purchases in the Gryffindor common room almost each night. They giggled loudly, and offered suggestions, accessories, and compliments. In typical male fashion, Harry and Ron waited until the night before the ball to find their costumes. The selection was dismal, and they both came away with things they weren’t entirely happy with. After that draining task was accomplished, Harry went to see Sirius. He’d only been by once this week, and although he missed the evenings when he sat for hours with his godfather, he was doing much better in his studies and getting several extra hours of sleep each night.

“So what did you and Ron finally end up with?” Sirius asked. He was reclined happily on the plush sofa, his crossed ankles resting in Remus’s lap.

Harry sighed. “Ron got a court jester’s outfit.” He was careful to leave out the detail of the English schoolgirl outfit that he had mentally suggested.

Sirius snorted. “I think that’s perfect. What did you get?”

“Charlie Chaplin.”

“Who?”

“He’s some Muggle actor from the silent movies in the 1920’s.”

“Oh. Never heard of him.”

“I guess most wizards haven’t, that’s why the costume store still had it. It’s not bad, really. A black suit and bowler hat. Ron’ll look much worse than I will.”

“Drop by and see us before the festival, will you?” Sirius chuckled. “I could use a good laugh.”

“You’re not going?” Harry asked. “You’ll have the best disguise there.”

Remus laughed. “That’s what I told him, but he wanted to stay here.”

“I wanted to stay here with you. Alone,” Sirius said, raising Remus’s hand to his lips.

“Sounds promising,” Remus said, a sly grin curling around his mouth.

“Are you two always like this?” Harry asked, finding himself greatly amused by the two grown men who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other.

“Yes,” Sirius and Remus said in unison.

“How did my dad ever put up with you?”

“By ignoring us mostly. When he wasn’t throwing pillows or the occasional book at us, that is,” Sirius said.

“Sometimes I think he would’ve moved in with the Ravenclaws if they would’ve let him,” Remus said.

****

The evening of the festival arrived before Harry and Ron knew it, or were even fully prepared for it. They dressed in their dorm with the other three boys. Neville was busy climbing into a brown, fuzzy, full-bodied suit that neither one of them could quite figure out. Seamus was sitting on his bed, waiting for Dean to adjust the patch on his pirate costume. He had on a long, tan jacket, and wore sneakers with no socks.

“So you’re a Private Eye, or something?” Ron asked.

“Nope,” said Seamus with an evil grin. He threw open his coat and stood there in his full glory. “I’m a flasher.”

“Gods, Seamus, cover that up!”

Seamus laughed madly and left for the common room with Dean.

Ron pulled on the red and yellow checked pants of his jester’s suit. Lying on the bed in a plush heap were a pair of large, curly-toed shoes, each with a gold bell on the end, and a floppy-eared hat, also with bells.

“I’m going to look ridiculous,” he said miserably.

“You’ll be alright,” Harry said, unsuccessfully hiding his laughter. He had tried to be sympathetic, but Ron was right-the costume was really, really bad.

Harry put his black coat and tails on and looked in the mirror. He didn’t look bad, not really. Another glance over at Ron reminded him how much worse it could be. He grabbed his bowler hat and cane, and went down to the common room, with Ron jingling along behind him.

Hermione had promised to draw his moustache for him, and he scanned the extremely colorful, extremely crowded, and extremely loud room for her. She saw them first and came over. She was wearing plaid tweed robes, her hair was back in a tight bun, and small, wire-rimmed spectacles sat perched on her nose.

“You look like Professor McGonagall,” Ron said.

“Good. I wanted to look authentic,” Hermione said satisfactorily.

“You mean you’re really going as Professor McGonagall?” Harry asked.

“Sure. Now come sit down and let me do your moustache.”

Harry sat very still in a chair next to the fire while Hermione drew a small, black square right underneath his nose. Neville joined them, dressed from head to toe in brown velvet, with a long tail that dragged the floor.

“Will you do mine next, Hermione?” he asked, adjusting the small, tan ears on his headpiece. He sat down next to Harry, and Hermione drew a perfect black nose and whiskers.

“You two look great,” she said, standing back to admire her work.

Ginny bounded over in a bright red flapper’s dress, which was just the right color to complimented her vibrant hair rather than clashing with it. “You look,” she coughed, “nice, Ron.”

“Come off it, will you?” Ron said crossly. “I look perfectly absurd, and I know it.” He crossed his arms over his chest in a huff, and one side of his hat fell down into his eyes.

“Are we all ready then?” Hermione asked.

The group nodded and filed out together, parading down to the Great Hall.

****

Draco admired his reflection in the mirror one last time. He looked good. No wait…he looked damn good. He’d have the best costume at the whole cursed party. He had ingeniously designed his own ensemble, which the Malfoy house elves had magicked together for him. It was loosely based on the Red Death, a character from a Muggle book that he was very fond of. Draco had never been overindulgent when it came to literature, but any individual that caused panic, death, and destruction, held his interest long enough to not only flip through pages, but enjoy himself as well.

He wore an all-black suit and tie, a black silk cape with red lining, and a red satin eye mask. His blonde hair was slicked back and even smoother than usual. He had used extra amounts of Easy E’s Effortless Hair Cream so that the undeniable humidity in the Great Hall wouldn’t cause his otherwise perfect hair to frizz.

In the Common Room, Crabbe and Goyle sat mutely on a stiff, green leather sofa. They were dressed as monks. How fitting, Draco thought. They were just as celibate, though not of their own choosing.

“Who are you?” Blaise asked, as Draco swept down the staircase. Blaise wore a priest’s robe, but his face was white and he had painted his eyes and lips black.

“It’s from the Masque of the Red Death,” Draco said, not offering any more information, and feeling superior at knowing something he was sure no one else would.

“I thought he looked like a corpse,” Blaise said.

Leave it to Zambini to actually have read something.

“I know that, you idiot,” Draco said, shortly, “but I’m not wearing some old, tattered robe. Who do you think I am? Professor Lupin?”

“No, but I was just saying…”

“I’m symbolic. Now leave me alone.”

Honestly, some of these Slytherins were as stupid as Weasley. Most of them, actually.

So that his grand entrance into the Great Hall wouldn’t be tarnished by the sub-standard getups of his fellow housemates, Draco waited until the rest of them had left the common room.

What a bunch of losers they are, he thought. They don’t even know the proper way to dress up.

****

Ron’s bells announced his, Harry’s, Hermione’s, Ginny’s, and Neville’s arrivals into the Great Hall. Far above their heads swung black wrought iron lanterns, glowing orange, and being held by invisible hands. Just below the lanterns was a thick, stringy net of spider web, draped dramatically, stretching from one end of the massive room to the other. There were countless tables, each dressed with a black and orange tablecloth. Dispersed randomly among the tables were the biggest pumpkins Harry had ever seen. Definitely something grown in Hagrid’s garden. They were large enough for two or even three people to stand in, and each was hollowed out and carved with a different face.

More than half the students were already assembled, and Harry’s group had to fight their way through several large crowds to find an empty table. Several people trod on Neville’s tail, and at last he had to pick it up and carry it the rest of the way. They settled on a table next to a pumpkin with slanted eyes and crooked teeth.

“Looks a bit like Filch, don’t you think?” Ron asked.

“Filch never looked that good. Or that clean,” Harry said.

“This place looks great,” Ginny commented. “The house elves must’ve killed themselves on it.”

Hermione shot her a severe look. “It was just fine the way it was before. All these decorations are really unnecessary.” She talked a good game, but Harry knew that she appreciated the enhancements as much as the rest of them.

They watched as more and more students filed in. There were bunnies and cats, angels and devils, flowers and faeries, gladiators and knights. Most costumes were the normal fare-things Harry had seen in Muggle stores, or on Halloween night with the Dursleys when he was drug along with his greedy cousin and not allowed to have a single piece of candy. Some of the costumes, though, were very creative and distinctly unusual. Someone, though he wasn’t quite sure who it was, wore a coat of real bark that had to weigh at as much as a small child. The limbs stretched up a few feet over the student’s head, and real tree nymphs fluttered in the leaves.

“Why don’t you get us some drinks?” Hermione asked Ron.

“No way, I make too much noise.” He shook his head in demonstration. “Harry, why don’t you go?”

“Thanks for volunteering me,” Harry said sarcastically. “C’mon Neville, you can help.”

Neville looked terrified at the thought of sacrificing his tail once more by walking back through the crowd, but he got up from his chair, and clutching his extension tightly, he followed after Harry.

“That’s a good look for you, Ron,” Fred said, walking up to their table and pulling up a seat for him and George.

“Stuff it,” Ron said sharply. “It was the last one they had. What the hell are you two doing in kilts? We’re not Scottish.”

“Easy access,” George said, scooting closer to his brother.

Ron looked confused as usual. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s tradition not to wear anything under kilts,” Hermione informed him.

“Gods, do you two ever stop?” he asked in disgust. They were making him nauseous, and he was sick enough already.

“If we’ve got to spend an evening with you wet blankets, we may as well enjoy ourselves,” Fred told him.

Ron put his head down. The floppy ends of his hat fell on the table and the bells on each end jingled. He didn’t notice when Harry and Neville returned a few minutes later with their drinks.

“Here, Ron,” Harry said, sitting a bottle down in front of him. “You look like you could use this, even though it’s just butterbeer.

“Look at Professor Dumbledore,” Ginny said. She put her red feather boa up to her mouth to hide her laughter.

Dumbledore stood by the staff table, talking with Snape. He looked more eccentric than Harry had ever seen him, and that was saying something. Instead of his usual colorful robes, he was wearing a purple crushed velvet suit with leopard trim around the lapel and matching leopard print platform boots. A tall, pointed hat, also with a leopard print, sat on his head, cocked to one side. There were piles of gaudy gold necklaces hung around his throat. Not only was the costume outrageous, but Harry just realized that he’d never seen Dumbledore in pants before.

“He goes all out, doesn’t he?” Ron laughed, temporarily forgetting about his own fashion plight.

“I think it’s a good look for him,” Fred said.

“Did Snape even dress up at all?” Hermione asked.

“Maybe he’s supposed to be a vampire,” George offered.

“I don’t think he looks any different,” Fred said.

“He’s scary either way,” Neville said in a small voice.

“Ugh, here come the Slytherins,” Harry said, looking over at the newest group entering the Great Hall.

“If Malfoy sees me in this thing, he’ll never let me live it down,” Ron said with a groan. Malfoy had enough ammunition for cracking jokes, and Ron didn’t want to give him even more reason to taunt him.

“Stay in the corner. Maybe he won’t notice,” Hermione said.

“He’s dressed up, too, Ron,” Ginny said, trying to help. “He probably doesn’t look any better.”

“Where is the slimy git, anyway? I didn’t see him come in with the rest of them.” Ron would’ve been happy to hear that Malfoy was sick, or better yet, that he had been beheaded by an escaped manticore. He wanted to keep an eye on him though, just in case he used this opportunity to make Ron’s life even more miserable.

As if on cue, Draco strolled through the large double doors and stood smugly, surveying the juvenile spectacle. He could be doing much more productive things with his time. Like reorganizing his plot to torture Weasley. Unexpectedly, and very out of character for him, he had deviated from his original plan, and hadn’t yet devised a new one. Speaking of Weasley, where was the beggar? Up Potter’s arse, no doubt. Draco threw his cape over his shoulder theatrically, straightened his back, and walked proudly to the Slytherin tables.

“Look at Malfoy, would you,” Harry said. “He acts like he owns the place.”

“He probably could, with all of Lucius’s donations,” Hermione said.

“Whose side are you on here?” Ron asked, growing testy.

“I’m on your side, of course. I was just saying that Lucius has contributed vast amounts of money to the school, and without some of his funding, we wouldn’t have the ample library-”

Ron cut her off. “So you’d sell your soul to the Malfoys for some good reading material?”

“No, I didn’t mean that at all!”

“Ron, let it go,” Harry said. “You know she didn’t mean it.”

Ron shut up and took a long swig from his butterbeer. He didn’t want Harry mad at him. It was bad enough that he was forced to wear this horrid costume. He didn’t need gratuitous facts about the Malfoys thrown in his face, too. He would’ve been so much happier sitting in the common room with Harry, talking about Quidditch or how particularly terrible Snape had been to them that day.

Dumbledore stood in front of his chair in the center of the staff table. He hit the side of his goblet with a fork, signaling the beginning of his speech. The noisy conversing and emphatic laughter died down slowly and Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“I do not wish to detain the festivities, so I will keep this brief. I think all of you look fantastic!” His blue eyes glittered as he scanned the crowd, and several people applauded. “I’m pleased to see that you followed the guidelines, though I would ask Mr. Finnigan to please keep his coat buttoned.” There were a few catcalls at that remark. “I do hope you will enjoy yourselves as much as I am sure I will. I bid you all a delightful Samhain.” He bowed to them and took his seat.

The discussions resumed immediately, and seemed even louder than before. A few minutes later, a song started playing, though there was no band this time, and no visible sound system or speakers.

“Dance with me,” George said, pulling Fred up by his hand.

“Good riddance,” Ron muttered.

“You and me, Neville. Let’s go,” Ginny said. Neville looked scared and started to open his mouth. “I’ll hold your tail for you. Come on.”

“Neville looks cute, don’t you think?” Hermione said, watching Ginny lead him to an open area on the floor.

“Uh, I never really thought about it, to be honest,” Harry said.

“Why don’t you ask Luna Lovegood to dance, Ron?” Hermione asked, ignoring Harry’s remark. “I bet she’d say yes.”

“No way. I’m not going anywhere dressed this way.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Justin Finch-Fletchley approached their table and asked her to dance. She accepted, and left Harry and Ron alone at the table.

They looked like the last students to be picked for sports teams. Almost everyone was dancing but them.

“So…” Harry said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“Yeah…” Ron agreed.

Although Draco was sitting with a table full of Slytherins, he was successfully avoiding conversations with any of them. Some giggled like small children, some mocked the other students’ disguises, and some even got up to dance. This was an utter waste of Draco’s precious time. He was so far above these absurd school functions. He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, careful to keep his nose poised at just the right height so that he looked indifferent.

“Draco, wanna dance?” Millicent Bulstrode asked him, shuffling nervously on her feet.

“Not in a million years,” he replied smoothly. What a cow. No way would he ever allow her to touch him. She was substantially larger than he was, and could’ve easily pulled him from his seat and onto the dance floor. Like Crabbe and Goyle, though, she was too dense to use it to her size to her advantage. And she calls herself a Slytherin, he thought. A disgrace was more accurate.

Speaking of disgraces, where was Weasley? Draco hadn’t seen him since he entered this blasted place. His eyes roamed over the dancing forms in front of him, but he couldn’t find him. He shouldn’t be hard to spot, what with that tawdry orange hair.

“Would you dance with me?” Pansy Parkinson asked.

“I’m busy,” Draco said, not taking his eyes off the dance floor.

“You look like you’re just sitting there to me.”

“Yes, you would think that. Now get lost.”

Did he look approachable or something? He’d have to remedy that. He wasn’t here to dance or socialize. He was here because that mad Headmaster thought dressing up like ten-year-olds was a fun way to spend an evening. Back to Weasley. If Draco had to put in an appearance at this mind-numbing event, the least he could do to amuse himself was ridicule Weasley. If I were a Weasel, where would I be? Draco thought.

Draco spotted him at last in an opposite corner, sitting at vacated table with Potter. Draco should’ve known. You couldn’t have one without the other. He took great delight in Weasley’s costume. How flawlessly appropriate. He had to hand it to Weasley. At least he knew he was a fool. Draco had no idea who the hell Potter was supposed to be. He watched them for a while, though hiding safely behind a veil of disinterest.

Ron fidgeted his feet under the table. Not only was he bored out of his mind, he felt unexpectedly nervous sitting alone with Harry. Everyone was coupled up and dancing except for the two of them. Any possibility of a conversation had left with Hermione. He didn’t know why, but suddenly his mind was blank, and he couldn’t think of one thing to say to Harry.

“Could you be still?” asked Harry. “Those bells are annoying.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

That wasn’t exactly the conversation Ron was hoping for. He should’ve played sick or something. Anything was better than sitting here in a silly costume, watching everyone else having a good time. The music stopped for a minute, and Ron hoped that meant the end of the evening, or at least the end of the dancing, and the others would come and join him and Harry so that they didn’t look like such losers. In a testament to Ron’s bad luck, the music started up again, but this time it was a slow song.

Partavi Patil walked up behind them and tapped Harry on the shoulder. “Would you like to dance?”

Please say no, please say no, Ron thought.

“I guess,” said Harry.

Great. Just fucking great. Now he was sitting here, all alone, looking like an even bigger loser than he had just minutes before. Why did Parvati have all the luck, anyway? She got to go with Harry to the Yule Ball, and now she was dancing with him again. Ron would’ve loved to dance with Harry. Admittedly, he would have preferred to be in normal clothes, but at this point he’d take what he could get.

He looked over at Harry and Parvati. In his mind, they were dancing way too close. Harry wasn’t supposed to be that close to anyone but him. But what would Harry have done if Ron had asked him to dance? Laugh his arse off like it was some big joke? Swap seats with Neville so that he wouldn’t have to sit so close? And even if he’d said yes, what would the rest of the school think? Most of them seemed to accept Fred and George, but that was different. They were funny and cool, and everyone liked them. He and Harry wouldn’t be that lucky. Harry had been through enough harassment already, and Ron wasn’t going to ask him to face anymore. It’s not like any of it mattered, anyway. Harry seemed content dancing with Parvati. He would never be that comfortable around Ron. Ron took another gulp of butterbeer, and watched Parvati enviously.

Draco saw some dark haired wench ask Potter to dance. She must be desperate, he thought. Potter couldn’t dance if his life depended on it. Dancing was much too refined for a commoner like him. Now Weasley was alone. He deserved it. It was amazing that he could even breathe without Potter by his side, telling him how to do it.

Ron was truly depressed. He thought he had been miserable all evening, but the previous feelings of gloom were nothing compared to the distress he felt now. No one would ever want him. Especially not Harry-the one person that he, Ron, wanted more than anyone else. Even Hermione had someone, and though she was just his friend, Ron could always count on her love life to be worse than his. There’s always Malfoy, a small voice in the back of his head whispered. No way, not Malfoy. Malfoy was just fucking with his mind, anyway. But still…was even Malfoy better than sitting here by himself, watching Harry with someone else? Ron didn’t like the answer to that. The entire evening was a bust. There wasn’t a lot more he could do to make a total fool of himself. He was already dressed for the part.

Ron took one last look at Harry and pushed himself away from the table angrily. Here goes nothing, he thought.

Malfoy was sitting at a Slytherin table, but except for him and Crabbe and Goyle, it was empty. Good. Less people to see what was sure to be the most embarrassing moment in Ron’s life. He pulled the hat off his head. He felt foolish enough already.

“M-Malfoy?” He couldn’t believe he was doing this.

Draco turned abruptly at the voice. He’d know that accent anywhere. Draco spoke as arrogantly as he could, accentuating the last word. “What is it, Weasley?”

Ron twisted the hat in his hands until the bells started to jingle. “I, uh…well…about…”

“Spit it out. I didn’t come here to listen to your incoherencies.”

“It’s about…that…the other…” He couldn’t do it, he just couldn’t. He’d rather be lonely and alone than come crawling to Malfoy.

“I thought we were supposed to be in costume,” said Draco smoothly, his eyes moving from Ron’s feet to his head. “Playing the fool is an everyday event for you, isn’t it?”

Ron’s eyes narrowed in fury, and his face went so red that his freckles were no longer distinguishable.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” he hissed between his teeth. He stormed off out of the Great Hall, his shoes announcing his retreat.

Draco’s evening had just gotten a lot more interesting. Weasley was a highly amusing source of entertainment, and Draco owed him for making what started out as a tiresome gathering, something much more fun. Why had he left so soon? Draco was just getting started. Realizing that his new, light-hearted mood would dwindle without Weasley, Draco went looking for him. He wasn’t doing anything else. Why not go and see what the Weasel wanted?