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, but not until the end.

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 you see. 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.

“Harry, wake up,” whispered a voice.

Harry felt a gentle prodding against his shoulder. Opening his eyes slowly, he could see Mrs. Weasley’s kind face peering down at him through the dimly lit room. It couldn’t be time to get up already, he thought. It seemed just minutes ago he had laid down.

Mrs. Weasley’s form shifted, and a patch of pale dawn deposited itself on his blanket. Grumbling sleepily, he threw his covers back and propped himself up on his elbows. A similar stirring in the other bed told him that Ron was awake, too.

In an attempt to escape any strained glances from Ron, Harry scrambled out of bed, grabbed a change of clothes, and took off to the loo. He hadn’t forgotten what had happened last night. It would be best to postpone any one-on-one encounters with Ron.

He quickly changed out of his pajamas and into his t-shirt and jeans. Though he knew it wouldn’t do any good, he ran a comb through his hair. He was right-it did no good at all. His hair stood out in all directions, just the way it had when he first woke up. He knew Ron would be wanting the bathroom soon, and to avoid a repeat performance of earlier this week, Harry hurried downstairs and into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley cheerily.

“’Morning,” mumbled Harry in response.

“I hope you’re all packed and ready to go.”

“Mostly,” replied Harry, helping himself to some eggs and bacon.

Nearly all of his things were still in his trunk. He had taken out a quill and a couple of pieces of parchment, and of course there was Hedwig’s cage, but all in all, he was prepared.

“What time are we leaving, Dad?” asked Ginny.

“In about an hour, so make sure you’ve got all your things together. Your mother and I will be in a hurry, and we won’t have time to wait.”

Ginny let her fork fall to her plate with a clatter. She sprinted through the kitchen and up the stairs. Obviously, she didn’t have all of her stuff in order.

Ron came down the stairs just a few minutes later. Damn, Harry thought. Avoiding Ron completely was going to be impossible, he knew, but he had still hoped for a few more tension-free moments. He concentrated on the breakfast in front of him, making it seem much more interesting that a plate of bacon and eggs actually were.

“And there’s ickle Ronniekins,” cheered George when Ron walked past him.

“Sod off, George,” said Ron irritably.

He was not in the mood for George or Fred’s, chiding this morning. Fred, showing more intelligence than Ron thought was possible, seemed to notice his bad mood, and kept his mouth shut.

Though he had squinted his eyes tightly and crossed his fingers so hard that they ached, he had not succeeded in making himself invisible. His mum had found him just as easily this morning as she had every other morning this summer. Harry was completely avoiding him. I hate today, he thought, sitting down miserably at the table and scooting his food around with his fork.

They were just finishing up their breakfast when Mrs. Weasley came bustling in, her swinging hands clutching several pieces of parchment.

“These are your school lists,” she panted, setting each list down in front of the corresponding student. “Be sure you get everything that’s on them. And nothing that’s not on them,” she added, casting a dark look over at the twins.

“What was that for, Mum?” asked Fred, looking wounded. “We haven’t done anything.”

“Yet,” George finished under his breath.

Harry, Ron, Fred, and George went up to their rooms to collect their things and bring them down to the living room. To Harry’s great dislike, they were traveling to the Leaky Cauldron by Floo Powder. Harry hated using Floo Powder, as it never failed to get into his eyes and nose, causing him to cough and sputter. He couldn’t wait until he was old enough to Apparate. He knew it had to be done carefully so that he wouldn’t splinch himself, but to him, it couldn’t be any worse than Floo Powder.

Harry drug his luggage down the stairs, successfully avoiding any real interaction with Ron, as Ron was busy throwing a few last minute items into his trunk. Fred, George, and Ginny were evidently faster than Harry, since they, along with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were gathered around the fireplace, waiting on him and Ron.

Mrs. Weasley was holding a terra cotta flowerpot, offering its contents to Ginny.

“Ron will go first,” she explained to Harry, “and you can go after him. Fred and George will follow next.”

“Right,” Harry nodded.

A thump, thump, thump announced Ron’s arrival. He was puffing along as well as he could, dragging his trunk behind him.

“I’m,” he breathed in, “…ready.”

Mrs. Weasley held out the flowerpot to him. “You go first, dear. Harry will go right behind you.”

Stepping into the fireplace with his trunk in tow, Ron yelled, “The Leaky Cauldron!”

A burst of green flames went up, Ron’s form being completely encompassed by them. With a loud rush of air, he disappeared.

Harry was next. He stepped towards Mrs. Weasley and took a pinch of the powder. Tugging his trunk in after him, he walked into the fireplace and called, “The Leaky Cauldron!”

In an instant, he felt the same green fire flame up around him, and a warm tingling sensation spreading over his limbs. He hardly had time to register the pleasant feeling before he was swept off in a whirlwind of shapes and blurred colors. His previous experiences with Floo Powder had taught him to keep his elbows tucked tight against his side, no matter how much he wanted to raise them to wipe the ashes from his eyes.

His feet found firm ground so suddenly that it jarred him from his ankles up to his knees, and he had to place his hands on either side of the brick fireplace to prevent himself from falling forward. Once he found his bearings, he jerked his trunk free from the grate in case Fred’s arrival caught him unaware. Ron was standing just off to the side. Harry evaded his eyes, scooting his trunk a favorable distance away, and plopping down on the lid to wait for the rest of the Weasleys.

Several minutes later, the whole of the Weasley clan, and Harry, were standing in the Leaky Cauldron.

“Have you got your lists?” asked Mrs. Weasley.

They each held their supply sheets high in the air.

“The Ministry cars will be by early tomorrow morning, so mind that you don’t oversleep,” advised Mr. Weasley.

Mrs. Weasley, her eyes looking slightly red, bid each of them good-bye, hugging them tightly, telling them to be careful, and warning Fred and George to stay out of trouble if they knew what was good for them.

“You’re father’s position is very important,” she said. “I don’t want you two making us look bad.”

“I think Percy’s already done that,” said George.

Mrs. Weasley threw him a severe look. “I don’t ever want to hear you talk that way about your brother again.”

“Molly, we’re due in Birmingham in fifteen minutes,” said Mr. Weasley.

“Yes, Arthur, I know. I’m coming.” Dabbing the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief, she hugged them all once more. “If you need anything, just send Pig. He’ll know where to find us.”

Mr. Weasley led her by the elbow back to the fireplace, where they both promptly vanished.

“It’s about time they left,” said Fred.

“Yeah, they’re always holding us back,” agreed George.

“C’mon, let’s find our rooms and drop off our bags,” said Ginny.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny followed Fred and George up to the counter where Tom, the toothless innkeeper, stood. They signed in, and Tom handed them three keys.

“Let me know if yeh’ll be wantin’ anythin’,” he spluttered.

Fred handed one key to Ginny, and threw the other one to Ron.

“See you,” they chimed, heading off up the handsome wooden staircase.

Ginny trailed after them, leaving Harry and Ron standing alone in the pub.

****

It wasn’t as though Harry hadn’t expected to room with Ron. Any other time, he wouldn’t have given in a second thought. After the events of last night, though, he surmised that he, and more importantly, Ron, would be much less uncomfortable if they had separate rooms.

At the top of the dark, glossy staircase, they took a left, and at the end of the hallway, they found a door with a brass number 22 on it. Ron pushed the door open. It was almost exactly like the room Harry had stayed in during the summer before his third year when he had run way from Privet Drive. There was a highly polished oak wardrobe with a matching bureau, two comfy looking chairs, a cheerfully crackling fire going in the grate, and to Harry’s immense relief-two comfortable looking beds.

The room in which he had stayed during his previous visit only had one bed, and Harry was prepared to sleep in Hedwig’s cage rather than force his company on Ron in a tiny, cramped bed. He had surely made him uncomfortable enough last night, and he had no plans on doing it again.

Harry forced his trunk over to the foot of his bed. Just as he moved to place Hedwig’s cage on top of the bureau, Ron spoke. It was the first time he had talked to Harry all morning.

“Let’s…let’s just go get our supplies and…not worry about stuff, ok?”

“Sounds good,” Harry said, smiling, and feeling better than he had felt all morning.

He was grateful to Ron for forgetting his folly from the night before and trying to repair their friendship. He’s a much better friend than I am, Harry thought guiltily. He resolved not to let his unrequited feelings disrupt their proper friendship again. Ron had overlooked his mistake once, but Harry might not be so lucky if he slipped up a second time.

“Grab your list and let’s get out of here,” said Ron, heading out the door.

Their first stop was Gringotts. Harry had several galleons in a pouch at the bottom of his trunk, but not nearly enough for all of his books, quills, parchment, and other materials. A goblin bowed them through the large, looming double doors, and into the marble covered foyer. Walking up to another goblin stationed behind a long, high counter, they inquired about taking out some money.

“Have you got your keys?” he growled, eying them carefully.

They each presented him with their golden keys, and he beckoned them to follow him into a room off from the main one. They stood in a narrow stone passageway lit by flaming torches. The goblin hopped into an old, rusty mine cart, and hinted that they join him. Harry climbed in behind Ron, clutching the sides tightly, though the cart was still stationary.

Before he could fully brace himself, the cart jerked to a start. They bumped and jerked, going miles underground. Without warning, the cart would often dart over to the left or the right, nearly throwing Harry over the edge. He would’ve very much liked to grab onto Ron, but thought better of it, and increased his grip on the cart. Not a moment too soon, they jerked to a halt.

“Vault six hundred eighty-seven,” the goblin announced.

Harry pried himself out of seat, and with his legs wobbling, walked over to unlock the door to his vault. Ron knew Harry’s parents had left him a small fortune, but Harry still didn’t want to open the door any wider than he had to. Dipping his pouch into the mounds of gold, he scooped up what he estimated would be enough for the rest of the year.

All too soon, he was back in the cart and it was hurtling even farther downward towards Ron’s vault. Harry had never been to the Weasley’s vault before. He wondered if they’d even had one until now. Fortunately, it wasn’t a very long way from Harry’s vault to Ron’s, and in just a few minutes, the goblin had exited the cart again.

“Vault seven hundred twenty-two,” he proclaimed.

Ron climbed shakily out of the cart. He seemed to be even queasier than Harry was. Even in the dim torchlight, Harry could tell his face was a pale shade of green. With a twist of the key, the door creaked open. Harry gasped audibly when he saw the stacks of galleons, sickles, and knuts. It wasn’t quite as much as he had in his own vault, but it was still a considerable amount, and probably ten times more than the Weasleys used to have. Ron grabbed several handfuls and stuffed them into the pockets of his robes.

Once again they were back in the mine cart, but this time they were ascending. Harry felt the change in temperature rising sharply around him. Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes, he told himself that he’d soon be back in daylight and on solid ground.

****

After retrieving their money, Harry and Ron walked to Flourish and Blotts for their schoolbooks. The store was so packed with people, that they often had to turn sideways to sandwich themselves through the crowd. They saw children a few years younger than themselves, who no doubt attended Hogwarts as well.

“Ok, what’s the first book?” asked Ron, not bothering to get out his own list.

Harry fished into the pockets of his robes. “Advanced Transfiguration.”

They scanned the headings on the end of each self until they finally found one that said ‘Transformation Information.’

“Here we are,” said Ron. “Should be somewhere down here.”

Harry followed, looking for titles beginning with ‘A.’

“Found it,” he said a few minutes later.

He pulled out a copy for himself, and handed another one over to Ron.

“Next one?”

“Standard Book of-” Harry started, but he was cut off. Ron grabbed him by the elbow and nearly slung him back down the isle.

“What was that for?” asked Harry, irritated at the sudden interruption.

“Didn’t you see him?” hissed Ron.

“Who?”

“Snape!”

Harry had definitely not see Professor Snape, but he was glad Ron had. He would be spending enough time with Snape in the upcoming year, and he had no desire to spend any longer than was strictly necessary in the Potion Master’s company.

“Let’s go this way so that he doesn’t see us. I don’t know if he can deduct points before the school year starts, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see him try,” said Ron, leading Harry around the long shelves in the opposite direction of Snape.

They had a lot of difficulty finding the remaining books on their list. They went to extreme lengths to avoid getting anywhere near Snape, but the large crowd made navigation tricky.

All of their books were collected at last, and with their arms heavily laden, they pushed their way out of the shop.

“What do you say we drop these off at the Leaky Cauldron?” Ron wheezed over the tower of books.

“Good idea,” said Harry.

Retracing their steps back to the inn and dumping the novels unceremoniously on the bed, they set out down the cluttered cobblestone street once again.

****

Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions was the first store they came to. It was centered between an ominous looking apothecary and what Harry could only guess was the Wizarding version of a delicatessen.

“Mind if we go here first?” asked Ron.

“No,” said Harry, entering the shop behind Ron.

Madam Malkin was a squat, pleasant witch who Harry had only meet once, just before his first year at Hogwarts.

“Anything I can help you with today, my dears?” she asked Harry and Ron.

“I, uh, I need some new robes,” stuttered Ron. It was quite plain that he hadn’t yet gotten accustomed to being able to buy new things whenever he needed them.

“We have the largest selection in Britain. Just find some that you like, and I’ll be happy to do your measurements,” she beamed.

They walked past her into a larger room filled with countless rows of robes in every style, color, and cut imaginable.

“I just needed some school robes,” said Ron, his eyes gazing over the masses of fabric before him.

“There’s some racks of plain black ones over in the corner,” Harry pointed out.

Ron took off in the direction Harry had mentioned. Harry, however, took his time looking around the store. He’d seen Dumbledore in some unique raiment before, but he never really thought about where he had purchased them. Harry spotted some deep ruby red ones with dark purple stars splattered across them, which he thought were ideal for Professor Trelawney. Another set of vividly plaid robes caught his eye, and he was reminded of Professor McGonagall. If Harry wasn’t mistaken, she had that exact ones.

“These are a little short, but I’m sure Madam Malkin can lengthen them for me.” Ron had a few plain black robes draped over his arm. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Finding a specialized section reading, ‘Dress Robes,’ Harry strolled over, trying to kill time until Ron’s measurements were taken. Most of these robes were deep, jeweled tones, appropriate for formal gatherings and events, and something that Harry hoped he’d never find himself in again. He much preferred to wear his slouchy jeans and t-shirt, thank you very much.

Browsing through them, he flicked past a dark blue pair. He glanced over at Ron, who was perched on a raised platform in front of a three-way mirror. A witch stooped at his ankles, tugging at the hem of the cloth. It was a shame there wouldn’t be another Tri-Wizard Tournament this year, he thought. Ron would look perfectly fetching in navy. He didn’t dare mutter one word of this out loud. Ron had seemingly forgotten, or at least forgiven, Harry’s actions the night before and their friendship appeared just as intact as it always had. Harry was grateful to Ron for overlooking his foolishness, and would undoubtedly go to great lengths to make sure their friendship stayed strong.

****

“I’m glad that’s over with,” Ron said as they left Madam Malkin’s. He was carrying a brown paper parcel under his arm. “I don’t know why women like shopping so much. I think it’s a drag.”

A few doors down, and on the opposite side of the street, was Quality Quidditch Supplies. It was, without a doubt, Harry’s favorite shop in Diagon Alley. He could spend hours in there, and if he allowed himself, he could’ve spent a large portion of the gold in his vault. He swerved around a cluster of witches strolling along and entered the store with Ron right on his heels.

It was crowded, but not as bad as Flourish and Blotts. A display in the center of the store employed a large congregation of witches and wizards. His curiosity peaking, Harry went over for a closer look. It was the newest broom from Shiner and Stygian. Harry’s mouth dropped open, and a gasp next to him told him that Ron had done the same.

The handle was a sleek, slippery platinum, which reflected the distorted faces of the onlookers. The tail was a rounded, glazed mass of iron twigs that looked sharp enough to puncture if someone got too close. On the handle, in bold industrial letters, sat the word ‘Moonwaker.’

“Wow,” Ron drooled.

“I didn’t know they had a new model out,” said Harry, finally managing to pick his chin up off the floor.

“Thinking about getting one?” an Irish accent asked over his shoulder.

Harry turned around and saw Seamus Finnegan, joined by Dean Thomas, standing behind him.

“I wish,” he said. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Same as you,” said Dean, stepping from behind Seamus. “Looking at things we know we’ll never have.”

“Have you bought all your stuff for school?” asked Seamus.

“Just about,” said Ron.

Dean eyed Ron carefully. “So your dad’s the new Minister.”

Ron blushed from his neck up to the roots of his hair. He had never been recognized as anything but just another Weasley.

“That’s right,” he said.

“Me mam was happy to see Fudge replaced,” said Seamus approvingly. “She’s been on about your dad all summer.”

Ron didn’t know how to react. Up until now, he hadn’t been faced with someone commenting on his father’s new position.

“Um, thanks,” was all he could think of.

“We’d best be off,” said Dean. “We haven’t even started on our lists yet.”

“See you at school,” Harry and Ron called, as the two other boys waved themselves out of the store.

The isles and shelves of Quality Quidditch Supplies were stocked with everything imaginable relating to the most-followed sport in the Wizarding World. They offered broom accessories that Harry had never heard of before, including a Self-Plucking spell for the tail twigs, and an Instant Lubrication charm that Harry didn’t fully understand.

Against one wall ran an assortment of uniforms in the various colors of every team in England. Ron took a particular interest in the gaudy orange uniforms of the Chudley Cannons. Harry browsed through an array of protection devices, like arm guards that deflected Bludgers and shin pads that vibrated when an opponent came within two feet of you. If Hogwarts didn’t provide adequate armament, Harry would have seriously considered purchasing these.

Ron came running up to Harry. “If you don’t get me out of here now, I’m going to buy the whole store.”

As much as Harry would’ve loved to see Ron throw down enough galleons to buy every item in the place, he saved his friend from certain financial death by grabbing his wrist and pulling him outside.

“Thanks, mate,” said Ron. “Mum would’ve killed me. There’s nothing in there that’s on our lists.”

A few stores down was the Magical Menagerie, a place that Harry had only visited once three years ago. Hermione, to Ron’s appall, had bought Crookshanks there. Though Ron had received Pig from Sirius, Harry thought he might want a proper owl, since he almost never stopped complaining about the small, spastic bird.

A pungent odor met them with they opened the door. It may have been a magical shop, but there were still some things that magic couldn’t remove. Ron’s face pinched up in a disagreeable expression.

A long line of domed cages hung from the ceiling, each containing a different species of owl. There were tawny owls and barn owls, screech owls and eagle owls, and snowy owls and pigmy owls. Ron looked up, surveying each one.

“If Hedwig’s any kind of example, snowy owls are really good,” said Harry.

“I don’t know…” said Ron.

“The school uses a lot of tawny owls and barn owls.”

Ron didn’t answer, but twisted his lips in concentration.

“I think I’ll keep Pig,” he said at last, “Mum might not want me to get another owl when I’ve got a perfectly good one already.”

In Ron’s estimation, Pig was anything but a perfectly good owl. His most affectionate term for the bird was ‘that stupid feathery git.’ But Harry was inclined to believe that maybe Ron had gotten attached to Pig over the years, even though he’d rather claim Snape as his favorite teacher than admit it. Plus, Harry added to himself, Pig really did grow on you once you got past his dense, erratic, moronic, fluttery nature.

On the way out of the store, they encountered a large cage, probably four foot high, which housed a number of shiny black rats.

“Ugh,” Ron grunted as he walked away.

A few years ago, Ron would’ve jumped at the chance to own a good-looking rat like that. His experience with Scabbers had obviously scarred him, though, and he didn’t want anything to do with another rat ever again. Harry really couldn’t blame him.

“Hey, let’s go to Fortescue’s,” suggested Ron. “I want some ice cream.”

“Yeah, good idea,” said Harry.

He hadn’t been to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor in years, but he had never forgotten the sundaes.

“I’m buying,” said Ron happily, as the approached the bright striped umbrellas of the ice cream parlor.

“Ok,” Harry said, smiling. “Get me a sundae. With extra syrup.”

Normally, he would’ve demanded that he pay for it, but he knew that Ron took great delight in being able to afford things for other people.

He sat down in a shaded chair, and watched the other witches and wizards passing by. Again, he saw children that he was sure would be attending Hogwarts this year. Their parents carried an assortment of packages, robes, owls, cauldrons, and books. He wondered if those children were as nervous as he had been before his first year at school.

“There you go,” said Ron, sitting down a towering ice cream concoction in front of Harry. “Extra syrup and everything.”

Ron had a banana split with at least five different ice creams scooped colorfully on top of it. Harry spooned the first bite into his mouth, rubbing it against the roof with his tongue until it was almost melted. It was just as good as he remembered it.

Ron copied Harry’s actions, as he ran his spoon across the top of the banana split, trying to catch a taste of each different flavor in one bite. The spoon was dangerously full, but he skillfully aimed it at his mouth and devoured the icy mound in seconds.

“You’ll get a headache doing that, you know,” said Harry.

This warning didn’t seem to phase Ron, because he repeated the same motion and dunked the mountain of ice cream into his mouth again. Rolling his eyes, Harry took another, smaller, bite of his sundae.

Ron noticed an obstinate dollop of syrup drip from Harry’s mouth. He halted his spoon in mid air, watching as the dark liquid prolonged its trail down Harry’s chin. Harry didn’t seem to notice it, though, as he sucked satisfactorily on the ice cream he had just placed in his warm mouth. Ron’s spoon fell unconsciously from his hand. He stared at Harry, and licked his own dry, desperate lips. Surely Harry was aware of the enticing sugary path leading from his lips to the dip in his chin. He just had to ask for extra syrup, didn’t he?

Harry lifted his spoon again, but this time he turned it vertical, and lapped at the thick, white cream that hung suspended in the concave. In his haste to catch it before it dribbled down onto his fingers, he had managed to decorate his upper lip in a thin, pale coat.

Ron’s completely forgotten ice cream was melting in the warm sun. All he could focus on was the slippery, white substance around Harry’s mouth. Without even realizing where it had come from, he paused to envision what another form of white stuff would look like surrounding Harry’s mouth. Would Harry lick at that the way he was licking at the spoon? Would it look so deliciously fitting dripping from his lips?

Whoa! Where had that image come from? That was inappropriate, even for Ron’s standards. But since when had he devised standards when it came to Harry? Their boundaries stopped at friendship, and had nothing to do with long, stiff objects in each other’s mouths.

Ron was just repeating that mantra feverishly to himself when Harry let his spoon fall into his empty bowl with a clank. Thank God that was over with. Ron could feel the undeniable sensitivity of an erection forming between his legs. At least ice cream was cold. It would cool him off.

At almost the exact same time that hope found its way into Ron’s delirious brain, Harry raised a sticky, coated finger into his own mouth. He sucked it gently, and even though Ron couldn’t see, he knew Harry’s tongue was busy tasting the bitterness of his finger mixed with the sweetness of the ice cream.

Ron’s throat gave a low moan at the thought of that warm, wet mouth attacking sticky, body parts. He would’ve gladly licked every inch of Harry’s finger. And up his arm, and around his neck. And down his chest, tweaking his nipples. And lower to his navel and the fine trail of hair he would find there. And even lower to the pulsating prize he would find growing up from between his legs.

Suddenly, he heard Harry’s jovial laugh.

“What?” asked Ron, jerking himself back to disappointing reality.

“I asked if you were done with that,” said Harry, gesturing to the melted, oozing mess that had been Ron’s ice cream.

There was no sense in trying to finish it now. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Ok, good,” said Harry, getting up from the table.

Oh, this is just great, Ron thought. He would have to push his chair back and stand up with this raging hard on he had. Why did Harry have to be such a tease? Why couldn’t he have just crouched under the table and sucked Ron off? Things would be so much easier.

Pressing his undeniable erection back down between his legs, Ron collected his discarded parcel and rose from the table.