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 R.

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.

To Ron’s great relief, the festival was still going on in the Great Hall when he emerged from the dark corridor leading down to the dungeons. He’d be able to get back into Gryffindor Tower without anyone asking him where he’d been, and hopefully be fast asleep before his roommates came up.

He gave the password to the Fat Lady, who was dressed like a showgirl, complete with sequins and large, fluffy feathers. Add that sight to the growing list of things he wanted to forget about tonight.

Ron changed quickly into his pajamas, thankful to be out of that dreadful costume at last. He climbed into bed and stuffed his pillow over his face, hoping that by eliminating his vision, he would prevent the scenes playing over and over again in his mind. Once again, no such luck. He could still see Malfoy, undressed, surrounded by the plush, moss colored duvet. He could still feel that heated body hovering over him, and the pleasures it elicited from his own body. He could still picture the amused expression on Malfoy’s face when he, Ron, gave into him.

The new sound of voices from down below told him that the party was over and his housemates were back. A moment later, footsteps sounded on the staircase and the door opened.

“Ron?”

It was Harry. Shit.

“What?” Ron asked through the stuffing in his pillow.

“I just wondered where you were. I couldn’t find you in the Great Hall. Where did you disappear to?”

Mentally kicking himself for not pretending to be asleep, Ron said, “I went outside.”

“I looked there, too.”

Ron groaned. “Then I came up here.”

“Oh.”

“Did you and Parvati have a good time?” Ron hoped the sarcasm in his voice wasn’t too obvious.

“Alright, I guess. I just danced with her once.”

That made Ron feel a little better. Maybe Harry had gone looking for him afterward, and when he couldn’t find him, he had to sit alone and dejected. Ron felt guilty for wishing it, but he wanted to know. “So what did you do the rest of the evening?”

“I danced with a few other people.”

A few? Not one or two, but a few? “Yeah? Like who?”

“Let’s see…Parvati, Lavender, your sister, Hermione because she tricked me, Cho, Hannah Abbot, and Mandy Brocklehurst. I think that’s it.”

Seven people. Seven wasn’t a few. Seven was, well…seven. And Cho? What the hell was Harry doing with her again? Ron’s heart sank. Harry had spent the evening with pretty, popular girls, and who had Ron been with? Bloody Malfoy. Fighting the urge to push the pillow so far down over his face that he might die from asphyxiation rather than dejection, Ron listened as Harry climbed into his own bed, then resigned himself to a sleepless night.

****

Ron was thankful that the following day was Saturday. Not only did he not feel like getting out of bed or being around anyone, he hadn’t gotten any sleep at all, and he knew he never would’ve made it through a full day of classes. His body was sore, worse than it had been last night, and he grimaced every time he moved.

It was around noon when Harry pulled back the hangings on Ron’s bed for the fourth time that day.

“Are you ever going to get up?” he asked.

“No.”

“So you’re going to lay there all day?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sick?”

“No.” Mentally.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re not a very good conversationalist.”

“That’s because I’m hoping you’ll take the hint and bugger off.” It came out a lot harsher than Ron had meant for it to. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay,” Harry shrugged. “I wish you’d get out of bed, though. I’m tired of beating Hermione at chess. Winning gets boring after awhile.”

Ron laughed. Maybe he should get up after all. Lying in bed, still in his pajamas, wasn’t making him feel any better. Besides, Harry seemed to have missed him, even if it was just a little bit.

“Okay, okay, I’m up.” He hoped Harry didn’t notice the careful way in which he swung his legs over the side of the bed, or the wince on his face when he pushed himself up.

****

Ron beat Harry at chess ten times in a row, and despite what Harry had said, Ron never got tired of winning. Slowly, very slowly, he started to feel better. About himself, and about his serious lack in judgment the previous night. He hadn’t forgotten about it, not by a long shot, but he tried categorizing it into one of those stupid, regretful things that boys his age were so often doing. When his knight took Harry’s king and scored him his eleventh win, Harry stood up and stretched.

“Winning’s not so bad after all,” Harry said with a smile. “It’s almost time for supper. Come on.”

Ron stayed firmly planted in his chair. No way was he going anywhere where he might run into Malfoy. He couldn’t stand to see that arrogant, knowing look he knew he’d receive. Monday would come soon enough, and though Ron knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid Malfoy forever, he wasn’t ready for it just yet. He may have been hungry, but he wasn’t that hungry.

“Just bring me up something, will you? I don’t feel like going down.”

Harry looked worried. “Are you sure you’re not sick?”

“Nah, just tired,” Ron said.

“I don’t see how you can be tired. You slept all day.”

As promised, Harry returned from the Great Hall an hour or so later with portions of the meal. Ron ate in a comfy chair by the fireplace, safely hidden from Malfoy. He purposefully overslept on Sunday to avoid breakfast. When he and Harry surrendered to Hermione’s pleas about finishing their homework, he used that as a reason not to go down for lunch, and at suppertime, he complained of a headache because of all the homework. He knew Harry was getting suspicious, but he continued to make up any sort of excuses he could think of.

****

Monday morning came much, much sooner than he had been prepared for. There was no getting out of it now. Not only would he have to face Malfoy over breakfast, but the Gryffindors had Potions with the Slytherins first thing that morning.

Ron followed closely behind Harry when they went entered the Great Hall for breakfast. It was futile, really, because Ron was much taller than Harry and did a very poor job at his attempt to hide. He didn’t chance a look over at the Slytherin table until he was safely sitting at his own. Quickly scanning over the faces, it was with relief that he realized Malfoy hadn’t come down yet. He kept an eye on the double doors, not wanting to be caught off guard in case the slimy git tried anything stupid. It was several minutes later when he saw the pale, pointed face appear and take a seat next to Goyle and another boy that Ron had seen before, but didn’t know.

Draco waited to find Weasley until he had sat down. It wouldn’t do for a Malfoy to look anxious, and he always took pride in his impressive entrances. He spotted Weasley sitting with Potter, naturally, and that Irish twit, Finnegan. Weasley was looking at him, too, a spoon of porridge half way to his mouth. Draco gave the trademark smirk that he had brought to perfection over the years. He watched as Weasley dropped the spoon, causing the porridge to splatter on his robes.

“Damn!” Ron yelled, looking down at the mess he’d made. It was all Malfoy’s fault. Ron was only trying to eat in peace, and then Malfoy comes a long with that damn smirk of his.

“Here, Ron,” Hermione said, handing him some napkins from across the table. “Wipe it off quickly before it dries.”

Ron rubbed at the gooey mess, deliberately keeping his eyes down so as not to see the undoubtedly pleased look on Malfoy’s face.

“I may as well change,” he said, looking down at the dark stain.

“There’s no time now,” Hermione said, picking up her bag. “Class starts in ten minutes.”

Being in an even worse mood than he had been in earlier, Ron grabbed his own bag and followed Harry and Hermione out of the Great Hall and down to the dungeons to Potions.

Snape had them pair up again to make their Deflating Draught, the antidote to the Swelling Solutions they had been brewing the previous week. Ron seemed very distracted, chopping the nettles instead of slicing them. After Harry replenished their supplies for the third time, he spoke up.

“What’s with you?” he asked. “This potion’s not that difficult.”

Ron continued dicing the nettles, not even looking at what he was doing. Harry traced Ron’s line of sight and saw that he was staring at the back of Malfoy’s head.

“Ron? Ron? Ron!”

Ron finally turned to Harry. “What?”

“Why are you glaring at Malfoy? He hasn’t done anything yet.”

Ron didn’t answer. He returned to his nettles, seemingly concentrating on them, though his mind was still somewhere else. Harry let it go. He knew Ron had been acting strange lately, and he knew it had something to do with Malfoy, but Ron wasn’t talking and Harry was tired of asking. He figured that Ron would tell him what was bothering him when he was ready.

Harry bottled a sample of their poorly prepared potion and presented it to Ron.

“Take this up to Snape’s desk. I’ll finish cleaning up.”

Ron would’ve much rather been the one to clean up, but he knew Harry was already irritated with him, so he didn’t complain about taking the vial to Snape.

“Good morning, Weasley,” came a voice from behind him, though from the tone of it, he knew the greeting wasn’t sincere.

He tried to ignore it. Just place the sample on Snape’s desk and walk away, he told himself.

Draco wasn’t going to make it that easy on him.

“I said ‘Good morning, Weasley,’” Draco repeated in a slow, mocking tone.

“I heard you the first time,” Ron hissed, spinning around to face him.

“Then why didn’t you say so? I’m hurt. After what happened-”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Ron said.

There was a warning in his voice that Draco didn’t mistake. Deciding to pick his battles wisely, he backed off, though not without furnishing an evil grin to let Weasley know that this was far from over.

****

Ron fought so much with himself over the next few days that he was completely exhausted by the end of the week. Part of him, the biggest part, hated Malfoy just as much as he ever had. Malfoy taunted him almost each chance he got, whether it was in the hallways, during class, or out on the grounds. If it hadn’t been for Harry holding him back, Ron would’ve beaten Malfoy within an inch of his life. He was sick of the laughing, sick of the jeering, and sick of the innuendos. If Malfoy’s goal in life was to make Ron miserable, he had succeeded admirably.

Another part of him, more basic and less intelligent part, enjoyed what had happened between them that night and hoped it would happen again. It was almost impossible for him to go to sleep at night without thinking about it. Inevitably, he’d end up with a lingering erection that prevented him from what little sleep he normally got. He’d take matters into his own hands, literally, but after experiencing what it was like with another person, doing it alone wasn’t what it used to be.

****

Ron was leaving the owlery one evening after sending a letter to his parents. Mrs. Weasley expected a correspondence once a week, but she was lucky if she got one a month. He had lied and told her that his classes were going okay, that Ginny had been in her room directly following the Samhain Festival, and that Harry wasn’t having any nightmares. He was in a hurry to get back to Gryffindor Tower, as he and Harry had planned another chess tournament. Ron rounded a corner and was hurrying past a statue of Edred the Eager when Malfoy stepped out in front of him, blocking his path.

“Get out of the way,” Ron said, too tired to fight with him right now.

“Make me,” Draco dared, taking a step forward.

“I don’t feel like dealing with you,” said Ron.

“I don’t recall asking what you felt like,” said Draco. “Although if I remember correctly, you feel-”

“Shut up, will you?” Ron hissed. There didn’t seem to be anyone around, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Draco moved forward again. “Miss me yet?”

“You wish.”

“No, Weasley, I think you’re mistaken.”

Draco was just inches away. Ron closed his eyes almost hopefully, but Draco moved around to his side, “You’re the one wishing,” behind him, “You want me,” around to his other side, “You think about me when you touch yourself,” making a perfect circle as he spoke. Ron was shaking, though not from anger, and breathing much heavier than he wanted to.

“There’s an empty classroom on the left,” Draco said, coming back around to face him again.

Ron cleared his throat nervously, but didn’t speak. When Draco started walking away, he followed.

“You’re so obedient,” Draco said over his shoulder.

The classroom had evidently not been used in some time. The chairs were sitting on top of the desks, and there was a thin layer of dust over everything.

“Not ideal conditions,” Draco said with a sneer.

Ron stood in the doorway, his mind still trying to comprehend where he was and exactly what he was doing there.

“Take your robe off,” Draco said.

Ron did as he was told, still not fully comprehending his current situation.

“Bring it to me.”

Ron walked slowly over to Draco, his robe clutched in his outstretched hand. Draco spread it out in the large teacher’s desk.

“Now sit.”

Ron hopped on the desk and Draco spread his knees before stepping between them.

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

Ron gulped, trying to keep his mind focused in the musty atmosphere.

“Yes, I forgot about that stuttering problem you have,” Draco said, sounding perturbed.

Ron tried to protest, but before he could form the words, Draco’s mouth was on his. He felt the ache in his chest grow to exhilaration at the contact. He lowered his hands to Draco’s waist and pulled him closer. Without breaking the kiss, Draco jerked him off the table, and quickly unbuttoning his pants, shoved them down to his ankles. Draco ran a finger up Ron’s cock before removing his lips.

“Turn around.”

Ron shuffled around so that his back was to Draco. He felt hands on his shoulders, forcing him to lean over the desk. Draco grabbed his hips and pushed forward, not penetrating but teasing. Ron pushed back, wanting more.

“Patience,” Draco whispered, reaching in his pockets for the convenient tube he started carrying with him regularly. He lifted his robes and released himself, rubbing against Ron’s backside, tempting him without giving him what he really wanted.

“Just do it already,” Ron muttered impatiently.

“I don’t think you really want it,” Draco mocked. He flicked the top off the tube and squeezed some on his fingers.

“Show me how bad you want it,” he said, rubbing the liquid between Ron’s arse cheeks.

Ron moved backwards again, hoping to feel a finger nudging him.

“You’re about to get more than that,” Draco said, reading his mind.

Draco spread Ron’s cheeks and pushed himself in, though he wasn’t forceful. Ron gasped and tried to relax himself as the pain dissipated. It was incredible, that pressure and fire and near-pain, flooding his senses with an acute perception. The images he’d seen each night before going to bed didn’t come close to the actual experience.

Draco drove into him hard and fast this time, not wasting time with worthless talk or futile foreplay. Ron grabbed his own pulsing cock, looking forward to the wonderful, fulfilling release he’d been waiting for over the past week. A few strokes, synchronized with Malfoy’s thrusts, had him coming so hard that he had to grab the edge of the desk with his free hand in order to stop his knees from buckling.

“Oh…God…” he breathed, not wanting to give Malfoy the satisfaction of being too vocal.

He could feel Malfoy’s thrusts quicken and his breathing coming rapidly. Draco came a few seconds later, resting his forearms on Ron’s back and laying his head against them in a mixture of exhaustion and pleasure.

“I have to go,” Ron said suddenly, sitting up and forcing Draco to do the same. Harry would be wondering where he was, and he was running out of excuses.

Draco zipped his trousers and readjusted his robes. “Late for your date with Potter?”

“Leave Harry out of this.”

“I have every intention of doing just that,” said Draco. Weasley was his, not Potter’s, and he wasn’t giving him up. He only mentioned the brainless Gryffindor because he liked the way Weasley’s eyes flashed when he was angry.

Draco joined Ron at the door, standing so close and staring so directly at him with those gray eyes, that Ron looked away and focused his attention on the very uninteresting doorknob.

“Let’s do this again sometime, shall we?”

Ron tried to agree, but all that came out was a tiny squeak. Draco laughed quietly and sauntered out of the room, leaving Ron alone, desperately searching for composure before meeting up with Harry.

****

“I didn’t know the owlery was a two-day journey,” Harry said irritably when Ron sat down opposite him.

“I had to wait on Pig,” Ron said, thinking quickly. “He wasn’t there when I first showed up.”

“You could’ve used Hedwig,” said Harry.

“Uh,” Damn. “She was still asleep.”

“So? Wake her up.”

“Just drop it, will you?” Ron said, growing angry. “The letter’s sent, and I’m here now.”

“Fine. Your move.”

Harry didn’t feel like arguing with Ron. They had done enough of that over the past few weeks. He didn’t know what had happened between them. They had gotten along so well over the summer, and even during the first part of the school year. Lately, though, Ron snapped at him for every little thing, and Harry found himself spending more time with Hermione, or even by himself, in order to avoid any more fights.

As was usually the case whenever Harry played Ron at chess, Harry lost spectacularly. He pulled off a couple of close wins, but that only made Ron more determined, as he went on to win the next four consecutive games. Harry didn’t mind losing. Not to Ron, anyway, but tonight there seemed to be a more competitive tension between them that had never been there before.

“Okay, you win,” Harry sighed several hours later. “I give up.”

Ron sat back in his chair, feeling more triumphant than usual over a small thing like a chess game. God, he hoped Malfoy wasn’t rubbing off on him.

Harry got up and started up the stairs to the dorms.

“Where are you going?” Ron asked. He assumed that their chess tournament was over with, but it was still early and he and Harry could hang out a while longer.

“To bed. What does it look like?” Harry said crossly.

“Blimey, I was just asking,” Ron said, almost feeling hurt.

He listened as Harry’s footsteps carried him up the stairs, and then heard the door to their dorms shut. He slouched down in his chair and propped his head on his fist. He didn’t know what he’d done to make Harry so mad at him. He missed the way things used to be between them, when they spent almost every spare moment together, joking about Hermione, and laughing over Seamus’ newest attempt at getting Dean into bed with him. He wished he could go back to the summer, when it was just the two of them.

Before Malfoy had come along and changed things.

He blamed Malfoy for everything, naturally, though deep down, very deep down, he knew it wasn’t completely Malfoy’s fault. It was his own fault. If he’d had the courage to talk to Harry, to tell him how he really felt, he never would’ve gone to Malfoy in the first place. But it was no use. Harry could have anyone in the whole school. He’d danced with the prettiest and most popular girls at Hogwarts, and Ron was sure there had been a bevy of others lining up for the chance. Ron was the last person Harry would ever want.