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. 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. : )

One More Note: Draco finally shows up in this chapter, for those of you who are wondering. There’s no Ron/Draco yet (sorry!), but there will be in a few more chapters. There are a few mentions of twincest, though, so if that squicks you, don’t read it.

Fred and George woke them far too early for Ron’s liking. They were the ones who slept in for half the day. What business did they have waking him and Harry up at such an ungodly hour?

“The Ministry cars’ll be here in fifteen minutes,” Fred told them. “If you’re not up, we’re leaving your arses here.”

Harry scrambled out from under his blankets, rubbing the crusty sleep out of his eyes. Groping blindly for his glasses, he found them on the corner of the bedside table. He put them on and gave his eyes a minute to adjust. It was a little chilly in the room, and he immediately wished that he were back under the covers. A quick look over at Ron made Harry retract that last thought. He wished he was back under the covers with Ron. His friend was curled up into a tight ball, buried beneath several layers, and looking like a complete temptation.

Harry had had trouble sleeping the night before because of what had almost happened between them before they had been inconveniently disrupted by George. He had honestly never thought Ron would be interested in him that way, but because of his actions the previous night, Harry was starting to rethink things. It truly felt like Ron was going to kiss him. Ron was the one who had put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and soon moved closer than was necessary. Harry, to his knowledge, hadn’t done anything to precipitate matters. Ron was going to do it of his own will.

Still, though, that seemed awfully far-fetched. Ron was as heterosexual as they came. A boiling, red-blooded male. He couldn’t possibly have an interest in Harry. Harry was a guy, for one thing, and not even a very attractive guy at that. He was skinny and shorter than average. His clothes were plain, and his hair was a dark, frustrating, unruly mess. There was really nothing appealing about him, not for girls or guys. Though the thought of girls not being attracted to him wasn’t that disappointing.

He removed his pajamas and changed into his regular clothes while Ron was still fast asleep.

“Ron, you’d better get up,” Harry said a few minutes later. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

Ron grumbled something about it being too early, but he peeled the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“I’m taking my stuff down,”said Harry. “Meet you there.”

****

They didn’t have time for breakfast, although a dish of drenched pancakes and French toast would’ve been ideal. They were running late as it was, and even though Mr. Weasley was the Minister of Magic, Harry doubted that the drivers would want to wait on the unprepared students to finish breakfast.

Fred, George, Ginny, and Hermione were waiting by the door when Harry arrived downstairs.

“Is Ron coming?” Ginny asked anxiously.

“Yeah, I think so,” said Harry.

“The cars will be here any time,” Hermione added nervously.

“Relax, Hermione,” said Fred. “Our dad’s the Minister of Magic. He can fire these wankers if they leave without us.”

Hermione didn’t argue, but she didn’t look pleased. Gratefully, Ron arrived at the top of the stairs shortly after, dragging Pig’s cage and his heavy trunk behind him.

“It’s about damn time,” said George.

“If it wasn’t for your arse,” Ron hissed, “I might have gotten in bed earlier.”

“I highly doubt I was the one keeping you out of bed,” he replied, looking over at Harry.

They were so retarded, Ron thought.

“Hey, the Ministry cars are here,” said Ginny, as she opened the door to the inn and pulled her trunk out onto the pavement. Hermione followed suit, and so did Fred and George.

“Ready?” Harry asked Ron over his shoulder.

“Sure,” said Ron.

The Ministry cars were the same ones that had picked Harry up at the Leaky Cauldron three years ago. They were old-fashioned, dark green cars. The chauffeur was a young man, probably in his early twenties. He wore a somber green velvet suit, and a hat that caused his dark hair to fringe out around the rim. He waved his wand, and each of their trunks were lifted into the boot of the car. They all climbed into the back seat, which was much larger than it looked. Harry sat on one end with Ron next to him, Fred and George in the middle, and Ginny and Hermione next to them. They were far more comfortable than anyone would’ve suspected.

“To King’s Cross, Jeeves,” Fred commanded pompously.

“My name isn’t Jeeves,” said the driver slowly. “It’s Scott.”

“Oh…well, to King’s Cross, Scott.”

“I know perfectly well where to drop you off,” Scott informed him.

****

The drive to King’s Cross took awhile, as Diagon Alley was on the opposite side of London. It wasn’t unpleasant, though. Harry enjoyed having Ron’s shoulder mushed up against his without having to provide an explanation for it. Fred and George were pestering them, as they often had over the summer, about volunteering to sample some of their newest creations. Harry and Ron both stoutly refused. Hermione was also questioning them about how much studying they had done over the summer. Harry had done more than Ron, who had done almost none, but neither were as far ahead as Hermione. How she managed to fit that much studying in between vacationing and Viktor Krum, Harry would never know.

When they arrived at King’s Cross station, the chauffer got out and opened the door for them.

“This is something I can get used to,” said Ron.

Once they had all existed the car, the driver went inside to get the trolleys. He placed each trunk, along with a couple of owl cages on each one, and directed them expertly through the crowded train station. He stopped before the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten.

“Here you are,” he said, bowing at the waist and presenting them with the trolleys.

“Thank you,” said George, bowing back and laughing. “I will send my highest regards to my father for your duties.”

Scott bowed again and walked off.

“Ok, who wants to go first?” asked Fred.

“Hermione and I will,” said Ginny.

She and Hermione each grabbed one side of the trolley and drove it between the seemingly solid brick wall. They disappeared the second they made contact.

“We’ll go next,” Ron said, gesturing to Harry.

They each grabbed their trolleys and took the barrier at a run. Harry felt himself being sucked through the barrier and being thrust onto the other side. A bright red steam engine stood proudly before him, puffing gray smoke into the sky.

A crowd of students and parents were congregating all along the platform. Owls hooted indignantly, cats hissed angrily, and mothers and fathers sobbed and hugged their children.

“I hope you get into Ravenclaw,” cried one mum. “It was my old house.”

“I don’t want you getting into one spot of trouble,” a father said, pointing his finger at his son.

Harry and Ron fought their way through the crowd and boarded the train. They loaded their trunks onto a top shelf above an empty compartment at the end.

“Let’s go find Hermione and Ginny,” said Harry.

Pushing their way through a sea of people, they spotted the two girls in a corner not far from the solid brick barrier.

“We’ve already put our stuff up,” said Ron. “It’s in one of the compartments at the very end.”

“If you’d be gentlemen, you’d help us with these,” Hermione said, as she tugged unsuccessfully at her trunk.

Ron sighed. “Can’t you women do anything for yourselves?”

“Ron Weasley, I’ll have you know that I can do far more than you can,” Hermione hissed through her gritted teeth.

Harry lifted Ginny’s trunk and followed after Ron. He couldn’t help but laugh at Ron and Hermione. Hermione was right, though-she really could do a lot more than Ron could.

They sat down in the rigid navy seats of the compartment, waiting on their departure.

“It should be any time now,” said Hermione, checking her watch.

As if on cue, the train gave a great lurch and issued a massive plume of smoke from its stack. After a few more jerks, Harry could tell they were moving away from King’s Cross, and on to their destination at Hogsmeade. Fred and George joined them in the already crowded compartment.

“We knew you wouldn’t mind,” Fred explained, as he ushered Ginny over so that he could sit in the same booth as she and Hermione. George joined Harry and Ron on the opposite side.

“You guys are in for a real treat,” said Fred. “Sixth year was a complete nightmare, wasn’t it, George?”

“Complete.” George agreed. “Be ready to study your arses off, because that’s the only way you’ll get through it.”

“I’m not worried about it,” said Hermione confidently. “I’ve studied a little ahead in my books. Most of it is all common sense.”

“That’s because you’re a geek, Hermione,” said George.

Hermione looked hurt. “I’m not” she said. “I just want to be prepared. How did you and George pass?”

Fred gave a deep grunt in his throat, and looked at his twin with deep interest.

“We helped each other out a lot, let’s just say. With studying and…stuff,” George explained.

“Should we tell them?” Fred asked.

“They’re old enough, I think,” said George.

“Ha, ha,” Fred chuckled. “Let the sparks fly.”

“Come here, brother,” George grinned, curling his index finger up slowly.

“At your command, brother,” said Fred, as he jumped over into George’s lap.

“Is that a wand in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” Fred asked, placing his hand between George’s legs. “I thought I took care of that before we left.”

“Oh, God!” Ron exclaimed. “You’re not…the two of you…you can’t be…”

“But we are, dear brother,” Fred told him. “Don’t knock in until you try it.”

Ron winced and placed his head back against the padding on the wall. He looked a bit green, like he was going to be sick any moment.

“I think it’s sweet,” Hermione commented. Ginny sat to Hermione’s left, looking just as shocked, confused, and disturbed as Ron.

“You what?” asked Ron, recovering suddenly from his bout with nausea.

“Sweet,” Hermione repeated herself. “I think it’s sweet.”

“You’re mental,” said Ron in a disgusted sort of voice.

“Oh, like you’ve never thought about it,” George said, lacing his fingers between Fred’s.

“Not with you,” he said, his lips crinkling up.

“But maybe with…” George didn’t finish, but he looked deliberately over at Harry.

Ron pretended to ignore him, but his face went scarlet.

“Getting in on with Potter?” asked a cold, drawling voice from outside their compartment.

Draco Malfoy, flanked by his faithful cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, presented himself regally in the doorway.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Ron spat. “This conversation doesn’t concern you.”

“Oh, but it does,” said Malfoy. “It’s my right to know if I’m attending school with some…queers.”

“None of us are queer,” said Ron, getting up in Malfoy’s face and trying to shield Fred and George, who seemed oblivious to everything except each other.

“I’m glad you think so,” Malfoy said slowly. “Too bad the rest of us know otherwise.”

“I’m warning you, Malfoy,” Ron hissed, “if you don’t get out of here right now, you’ll be sorry.” His fists were clutched angrily at his sides.

“Sorry?” asked Malfoy in a mocking tone. “Sorry that I didn’t get in on the big Gryffindor orgy?”

Malfoy had barely finished his retort when Ron swung. He managed to duck just before the fist went whizzing across his head.

“Temper, temper,” said Malfoy, composing himself and slicking back his hair. “Those reflexes must come in handy in the bedroom.”

Ron’s face had gone a complete shade of red. Harry jumped to his defense.

“If you know what’s best for you, you’ll tuck your tail between your legs and slither off,” Harry said, brandishing his wand and pointing it at Malfoy’s throat.

Malfoy seemed to take the threat seriously. His demeanor changed into a defensive one. “Fine. But if I see any groping in class, I’ll be sure to inform Professor Snape.”

He sauntered off with his robes swaying behind him.

“He’s such a fucking bloody git,” Ron said, as he returned to his seat. “I hate him.”

****

Draco walked back to the compartment that he, Crabbe, and Goyle had previously occupied. Who did Weasley think he was? Just because his dad was the Minister of Magic didn’t give him the right to talk to a Malfoy that way. Cornelius Fudge had barely been capable of stringing two words together. Being the Minister of Magic really didn’t mean all that much. The only reason Weasley’s dad got the job was because no one else was imbecilic enough to take it. Malfoys were so far above any Minister. They were one of the oldest, and purest, Wizarding families. Arthur Weasley wasn’t fit to clean his father’s shoes. Lucius was still in Azkaban, and had been for over a year, but Draco had complete faith that his father would escape. Death Eaters escaped all the time. The Dementors were no match for powerful Dark Wizards. His father held a very important position in the Death Eater ranks, and it was just a matter of time before he broke out.

Weasley had been hanging around Potter too long. He had become just as arrogant and self-centered. Potter was rubbing off on him. In probably more ways than one, Draco thought with disgust. He’d wipe that smirk off Weasley’s face if it was the last thing he did. He’d show him where a Weasley’s proper position was-groveling at the feet of more powerful and more prominent families such as the Malfoys.

“What do we do now?” asked Crabbe stupidly, sitting down opposite of Draco.

“We wait.”

Draco had a plan. He was as shrewd as Potter, and even quicker. He’d get back at the Weasel, and he’d pay. No one, especially a dirty, unwanted, vagrant Weasley, ever talked down to a Malfoy. If it took the last breath in his body, he’d bring Weasley to his knees.

****

“Malfoy is such a bloody git,” Ron said again, as he sat back down next to Harry.

The provocative conversation with Fred and George was completely forgotten.

“Yeah, he is,” Harry agreed. “Maybe Hagrid’ll have some horrendous creature who’ll take him out for us.”

“I can only wish,” said Ron. “If not, I’ll have to hex him myself. Hermione, know any good killing hexes?”

Hermione looked at him sternly. “I know plenty of them, but they’re all illegal and I’m not teaching them to you.”

“Come on, you want Malfoy dead just as much as we do,” Ron protested.

“Leave her alone,” Fred interjected. “By now you ought to know that a woman will never do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Ron. “And get out of George’s lap. You two are making me sick.”

“Do you hear anyone talking?” George asked his twin, completely ignoring any other conversations.

“Not one soul,” said Fred, nuzzling his face in his brother’s neck.

“Ick,” said Ron, crossing his arms and directing his eyes anywhere but at his brothers.

The sky had become a deep inky color. The blurred countryside visible from outside the train windows was becoming less wild, with small cottages and shops dotting the landscape. Ron knew they’d be arriving at Hogsmeade shortly.

The door to their compartment opened again, and Ron bolted up, expecting to see Malfoy, and readying himself for another altercation.

“Wait a minute,” said Dean Thomas, catching himself in the doorway, “Don’t curse us, we just stopped in to say hi.”

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled, “I thought you were someone else.”

A second later, a sandy-haired, bright-eyed boy pushed his way past Dean and came bounding in the compartment.

“You know no ride to Hogwarts is complete with out us,” said Seamus.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Ron said grumpily.

“What’s gotten into him?” Seamus asked, looking over at Harry.

“Dunno,” Harry answered, shrugging his shoulders.

“Nothing’s gotten into me,” Ron pouted. “It’s just that between Malfoy and those two,” he pointed over at a copulating Fred and George, “my life is a living hell.”

“Oh, Ron,” said Hermione, “don’t be so melodramatic. Fred and George aren’t hurting anybody.”

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but before there could be any further arguments, the train started slowing down.

“We should be stopping any minute,” said Hermione, checking her watch.

Harry and Ron threw their black school robes quickly over their heads. Hermione had changed into hers long ago, and Fred and George looked like the last thing they were interested in was more clothing.