Title: Not Necessarily Wanting Me

Author: Lorien_Eve

Pairings: Harry/Ron, Ron/Draco

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

Spoilers: Everything

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

Feedback: I'd love some!

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

Genre: Romance, a little angst, a little drama

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

A hissing and billowing of white smoke filled the night air, and the train gave one last great jerk before coming to a full stop. Luggage tumbled out of the overhead compartments, but Harry threw his hands up before his and Ron’s trunk could fall. They filed out behind Fred and George, who, despite Ron’s pleading attempts, wouldn’t keep their hands off each other.

“Everyone here knows,” Fred informed him. “You’re the only one who didn’t have the intelligence to see it.”

“And I’m thankful for that,” said Ron. He paused for a minute, trying to sort out whether or not he had just inadvertently insulted himself.

They shuffled their way forward, running into a clump of nervous, jittering first years.

“Be scared, ickle firsties,” Fred chanted ominously. “Be very scared.”

George laughed at him, and grabbed him by the hand to pull him away.

“We can torture them once they get sorted,” he said.

Ron was grateful when he and Harry scrambled down the steps, weaving past the groups of students, and got into a clearing. The night air was cool, but not unpleasant. The sky was clear, with a bright sprinkling of tiny, white stars.

“Alrigh’, Harry?” boomed a deep voice.

Harry turned suddenly to see Hagrid looming before him. His shiny, beetle-black eyes were beaming down at them through a mass of crinkly, dark hair.

“Doing fine,” Harry called back.

Hagrid waved in departure and motioned for the first years to follow him to the boats that would float them across the lake to the school.

“Trevor? Trevor?” said another voice behind them.

Without even turning around, Harry knew it was Neville. He lost his toad at least twenty-two times every year.

“We haven’t seen him, Neville,” said Ron.

“Well, if you do, let me know, will you?” Neville said breathlessly, taking off again to search for his pet. “Trevor? Come back!”

Harry and Ron eventually reached the carriages that would take them up to the school. They were old, eighteenth century buggies, with moldy seats. A black, dragon-like horse with leathery wings, that only Harry and a few others could see, pulled each one. He made this discovery only last year, and was still slightly unnerved about the beasts. They seemed mostly harmless, but their features were very off-putting.

He climbed in through the low, narrow carriage door and sat down, resting his head against the stiff, cracked leather behind him. Fred and George clambered in noisily after him. Ron instantly shifted to Harry’s side of the buggy.

He shouldn’t have bothered, though, because Fred resumed his place in George’s lap, and there was room to spare on the opposite cushion.

“Get a room,” Ron complained.

“Oh, we will,” murmured Fred, as he wrapped his arms around his brother’s neck.

“I can’t believe you two,” said Ron, turning away and looking out the window.

This only increased Harry’s fear of telling Ron how he really felt. Granted, he, too, was taken aback by Fred and George’s relationship-he’d never, ever thought they’d be involved with each other-but Ron had seemed incredibly defensive when Malfoy mocked his and Ron’s friendship. Ron was evidently freaked out about same-sex affairs. If he knew the truth, he would never be comfortable around Harry. Harry felt utterly foolish over thinking that Ron had attempted to kiss him the night before. That was obviously not Ron’s intention at all. It was, as he had first suspected, just a friendly attempt at encouragement, and Harry had to go messing things up again by imagining that it was more.

He felt absolutely depressed as the carriages wound their way up to the looming castle. He may as well forget about any future he had with Ron.

Passing the opened wrought iron gates that were flanked by winged boars, and jostling up the winding pathway, the carriages came to a halt before the massive double doors of Hogwarts. Harry climbed out after Ron, enjoying the view he got from Ron’s wiggling backside more than he ought to.

A huge group was already assembled in the foyer outside the Great Hall. Harry and Ron joined them, with Fred and George following behind. Fighting their way through a sea of people, Hermione and Ginny appeared soon after. Professor McGonagall opened the doors leading into the Great Hall, and motioned for them to file in.

The Great Hall looked just as magnificent as always. Hundreds of lit candles hung suspended above the four house tables and the faculty table. A few milky white ghosts floated through the walls to catch glimpses of the new students. The huge, domed ceiling that was bewitched to look like the sky presented them with a black velvet backdrop, against which countless stars shined liked small diamonds.

Harry found his familiar seat at the Gryffindor table against the far wall, past the Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin tables. Ron pulled up a chair next to him, and Hermione and Ginny sat across from them. Fred and George sat in two, too-close chairs at the far end of the table. Harry could accept their relationship, but watching them grope, paw, and almost undress each other was a little much, even for him. He had very much been looking forward to the up-coming feast, and Fred and George did very little for his appetite.

Professor McGonagall’s shoes clicked against the wooden floor as she walked in front of the teachers’ table and placed and old, tattered hat on a small stool before it. It signaled the beginning of the Sorting Ceremony. She strolled out of the Great Hall, but returned a minute later with a gosling of students.

The first years looked absolutely petrified. Harry would’ve laughed at them if he hadn’t been perfectly aware that his face had been just as pale, and his mouth just as dry on his first evening at Hogwarts.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and the buzzing of chatter ceased. “The Sorting Ceremony will now begin.”

She unrolled a long sheet of yellow parchment, and began reading from a list of names.

“Applebee, Michael,” she called.

“What, no song this year?” Ron asked Harry.

Harry shrugged. “Maybe the hat couldn’t think of anything to sing about.”

McGonagall situated the Sorting Hat on Applebee’s head, and in a few seconds he was pronounced a Slytherin.

“Too bad he didn’t come to Gryffindor,” Ron told Harry. “Look at Malfoy. He’s just gloating.”

Sure enough, Malfoy was sitting proudly at the Slytherin table, looking very pleased.

“Hickman, Shawn.”

A small, mousy-haired boy with square spectacles was shoved forward by his peers. He sat on the stool, clutching the sides so intently that his knuckles turned white. The Sorting Hat seemed to ponder for a minute before yelling out,

“Gryffindor!”

Harry’s table burst into applause.

“That’ll show Malfoy,” Ron said, glaring over at the Slytherin table.

O’Steen, Sandra became a Ravenclaw, and Watson, Megan became a Hufflepuff.

When the sorting was over, Dumbledore rose from his center chair at the faculty table.

“I know all of you are as anxious to eat as I am,” he said, patting his stomach, “but there are a few things I must go over before we can indulge in the feast. As you should know by now, the Forbidden Forest is off limits to all students-” Harry had been in the forest more times than were good for him, and he would’ve advised the other students to heed Dumbledore’s advice. “- and Hogsmeade visits are only permitted to third years and above. Please give your forms to your Heads of House. They must also be signed. Presenting the form alone will not suffice.”

This was the typical Dumbledore speech. Harry had heard it six times now. He really didn’t expect anything unusual, and neither did the others at his table. They were all chattering among themselves, waiting for the food to appear in their plates, and not fully paying attention.

Dumbledore cleared his throat dramatically. “If you all would allow me to continue, I have a few things that you might surprisingly find yourselves interested in.”

The buzzing of voices died down abruptly, and almost every head turned to face the Headmaster.

“Firstly,” Dumbledore said, “I have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to announce.”

This came as a surprise to no one but the first years. There had never been a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher that lasted for more than one year. Harry was prepared for another quack to join the fellowship of Hogwarts teachers.

The door off to the side of the teachers’ table swung open, and to Harry’s great surprise, Remus Lupin walked through and stood at Dumbledore’s side.

Excepting the Slytherins, the whole Hall erupted into a tumultuous applause. The Gryffindor table was by far the loudest, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione clapping with fervor until their palms were red and stinging. There were even a few catcalls, though Harry wasn’t sure where they had come from. The older students remembered Lupin fondly, and often claimed that he was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher they’d ever had. None of them seemed concerned that he was a werewolf.

“Some of you will recognize Remus Lupin,” Dumbledore said. “For the others that do not know him, this is Professor Lupin, and he will be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year.”

Lupin smiled meekly, and sat beside Dumbledore, pushing a graying lock of hair out of his face. So this was the surprise that Sirius had hinted at, Harry thought. They finally had a competent, skilled teacher for one of their most important classes. Harry decided that he’d write to Sirius first thing in the morning and tell him how great it was to have Professor Lupin back.

When the cheering died down, Dumbledore continued. “To a lesser extent, I have one last announcement. As the older students know, we hosted a Yule Ball two year ago. Because of the success, we will have another Ball this year.”

The girls clapped excitedly, but the boys groaned. This meant getting dressed up again, and having to dance. To Harry, the Yule Ball had been a complete disaster. Out of necessity, he had danced one dance with Lavender Brown, but he had spent the rest of the evening talking with Ron.

“This will not be a formal affair,” Dumbledore told them. “It will be a Samhain Festival.” His bright blue eyes twinkled with amusement.

Harry looked around at the other students for a sign of what this meant. He had never heard of a Samhain Festival, but it sounded ominous. No one else seemed to know what it meant either, because they all conversed in low whispers with their neighbor. Hermione was the only one who didn’t look ruffled by Dumbledore’s proclamation.

“It’s a masquerade ball,” she explained to Harry and Ron. “It means we all have to wear costumes. If you would’ve read Celebrations and Rituals of the Ancient Magical World, you wouldn’t have to ask.”

“And you said we have to go in costume?” Ron asked, hoping he hadn’t heard Hermione correctly.

“Well, I don’t know, but that’s the way it was traditionally held,” said Hermione.

“It will be a masquerade party,” Dumbledore said, confirming Ron’s worst fears. “Nothing inappropriate,” he added, “and, yes, clothing will be required.” Harry noticed him smiling over at Fred and George as he said this. “I believe that concludes my agenda for the evening. If none of you have any objections, I think it is time that we move on to much more important matters-eating.”

Not one student objected, and just as Dumbledore raised his glass in a toast, their plates were magically filled with a wonderful assortment of food.

“’Bout time,” Ron said, plunging his fork deeply into a high mound of mashed potatoes.

The talking died down, and the Great Hall was filled with the sounds of clinking glasses, clanging dishes, scrapings of silverware, and the smacking of many hungry mouths. Ron’s plate was filled and emptied three times before he even got to the dessert.

“I don’t see how you do it,” Hermione said, her lip curling up in disgust.

“Like I told Harry,” Ron said through a mouthful of Yorkshire pudding, “I’m a growing boy. Now bugger off.”

When everyone’s appetites were sated, Dumbledore rose from his chair once more. “I don’t know about all of you, but I feel as though I’ve eaten more than what was good for me. A visit to Madam Pomfrey might be in order.” He chuckled at his own joke. “You are all excused, and I trust that you will go straight to your dormitories. No loitering about the castle. First years will be collected by the Prefects, and shown to your respective dorms. Classes will begin early tomorrow morning, so I suggest that each of you get a good night’s sleep. Farewell.”

“Ugh, I think I ate too much,” Ron complained as he pushed himself away from the table.

“Told you,” said Hermione. “Harry, make sure Ron gets to Gryffindor tower, alright? I’ve got to round up the first years.”

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Ron asked, turning to Harry. “Thinking I can’t find the way to Gryffindor tower by myself. It’s not like I haven’t been going there for years now.”

“She’s just joking, Ron,” said Harry.

“Why do our dorms have to be so far away, anyway? It’d be much easier if they were closer to the ground floor.”

“We don’t want any Mudblood lovers down in our dungeons,” said a drawling voice from behind them. “Get up in the belfry with all the other bats, where you belong.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” spat Ron. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Keep your voice down, then. Trust me, I don’t want any part of your conversation with Potter.” Malfoy shot Harry a revolted look.

“Get over yourself,” said Harry, returning the dark stare.

“I’ve tried,” Malfoy said languidly, “but I just couldn’t. I’m sure you don’t blame me.”

“You’re mental,” said Ron.

Malfoy ignored him, only concentrating on Harry. “I’d do something about that hair if I were you, Potter. You may have crawled out of a garbage bin, but you should at least have the decency not to look it.”

“At least I don’t have anyone’s blood on my hands,” Harry threw back.

Draco was smart. He wasn’t falling for Potter’s bait. He knew he was referring to Lucius’s antics as a Death Eater, and he wasn’t going to give the arrogant prick the satisfaction of knowing he’d struck a cord.

“My hands are just as spotless as they ever were,” he said. “And so are my arms, for that matter.”

“That’s just because you’re young. You’ll have the Voldemort’s mark on you soon enough.”

Draco didn’t flinch at the use of that name. His father had used it so much that it no longer carried a formidable connotation.

“We’ll see,” he said lazily, walking away from them and towards his own dormitory. “We’ll see.”

Potter was a fool. He knew nothing about Draco, Lucius, or the Death Eaters. Draco had no intention of ever taking the Dark Mark or joining Voldemort’s ranks. He’d seen enough of it with his father, and although he knew Lucius would be irate and probably disinherit him, he refused to take any part in the Dark Lord’s conquests. It was just like Potter to jump to conclusions and cast accusations with absolutely no proof. It was that typical Gryffindor ignorance that Draco despised so much. Weasley was just as bad. He’d listen to anything Potter said. He’d jump through hoops and turn back flips if Potter asked him to. He was just another lemming in Potter’s entourage, and Draco hated him for it.

He jerked back the green velvet drapes of his four-poster bed and laid down, not bothering to pull the covers back. Crabbe and Goyle were talking dumbly about something equally as stupid as they were. Draco tried his best to ignore them. Why he chose to lower himself in correspondence with them, he didn’t know. Probably because they were the two largest students in school and their protection was useful at times. They worshipped him, almost like Weasley did Potter. Draco was mostly talk, with very little action, and he was perfectly aware of this. It was one of his most endearing characteristics. Draco dealt with them because his mouth had gotten him in trouble in the past and he needed their services.

Despite Dumbledore’s advice, he didn’t sleep very much that night. Being away from Potter and the Weasel over the summer had almost made him forget how much he loathed the both of them. Now back at school, and seeing their grinning, sappy, witless faces, Draco only hated them more. He looked forward to Potions class. Professor Snape detested the Gryffindors almost as much as he did, and Draco knew that he could get away with far more taunts and jeering than in any other class. If he was lucky, Snape might even take points from Gryffindor merely because Potter and Weasley were breathing. Yes, they would pay for their conceit. Especially that red-haired beggar, Weasley.