It had started out as a complete mistake with just one innocent night at number 12 Grimmauld Place. It was record-breakingly warm outside on that late June night, and the house had been untouched for months so the build up of humidity had proved to be almost too much. When the five students entered, each had taken their wands from their pockets and immediately tried to remedy the problem. But none had ever really had to worry about airing a house out, considering whenever they’d gone somewhere it was usually inhabited before they got there.
Hermione Granger had been the one who gave up first, to the amazement of her four friends, and instead focused on figuring out a way to tunnel the hot air out of the house. So, she demanded with a flick of her wand that every single sock in the house levitate off of the floor and spin recklessly where they were. This, of course, generated some sort of cool air movement throughout the house.
Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had just finished their seventh year at Hogwarts that day. They were excited, to say the least. Ginny had just finished her sixth, and even though her mother and father had refused her permission to accompany the trio, she had only shown them her sparkling engagement ring and had proclaimed that nothing could ever part her from her fiancé.
Mrs. Weasley had fainted on the spot. But that is an altogether separate story.
The five had entered Grimmauld place, their trunks floating along (disillusioned, of course) behind them. They knew that they had a lot of work cut out for them, but Harry was excited to be living on his own with Ginny, and had only been glad to oblige his friends to ‘Rent’ from him, (Rent being a loose term, of course, considering Harry considered most of the three that were renting from him to be family) especially with the whole ‘Horcrux’ fiasco dealt and done with. Voldemort was no more. The only threats around now were the roaming Death Eaters and the roaming Dementors(who were daily being rounded up by the dozen anyways, so they wouldn’t be a threat anymore soon enough).
Anyways, when it had happened there was only two of the five remaining on the main floor of the house. Harry and Ginny had gone to bed almost immediately after Hermione’s socks were employed with their magical spinningness, and Hermione had retired to her room on the third floor just after making sure that there actually would be food for them to eat in the morning. Ron was quite keen on this information as well, so he had followed Hermione to the kitchen only to just look at the food…but once he had seen the full peanut butter and honey containers, and Hermione had unpacked the eggs, milk and bread that they’d picked up along the way to the house, he had set about to find a knife and make himself a sandwich.
The last member of the party, after all of this, was still stuck in the front hallway. His arms were crossed over his chest, and despite the humidity his skin crawled so that his bare arms longed to be covered. The last time his skin had tingled in this horrifying way he had watched his mentor murder Headmaster Dumbledore.
And with that thought came all of the following memories of the past year of Draco Malfoy’s life. Even six months ago when most of the Order believed that Draco really wasn’t an evil guy, and had finally seen the sense in what Snape had been forced to do to Dumbledore, he would never have guessed that he would end up sharing a place with the Golden-Boy Potter and his three friends.
It had been Granger, ultimately, who had first accepted that he really was a pathetic coward who had turned on his father and followed ‘the light’. She was the first one who had approached him in his hiding spot at the Weasley house while everyone was there for Christmas Hols, and had offered her hand in friendship. Of course, she had ripped him apart for about three days before, going on and on about how much she hated him and everything he thought and everything he stood for because of all that he’d done to her and her friends…but in the end that had been a good thing. Because Weaselbee and Potter had gone with her since they feared for her safety, and after hearing her raging rationale behind her actions they had decided that she was right.
It wasn’t instant friendship with all of them. They still didn’t trust him completely, but they knew he wouldn’t hurt them or turn on them. Draco turned from looking into the living room that was off the main hallway, and walked towards the kitchen. His grey eyes found Ron just starting to open a jar of peanut butter. His eyes roamed and noticed the four pieces of bread lying on the counter to the right of the broad-shouldered red-head. Draco rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorway as he did so.
“It’s a wonder you aren’t a fat tub of lard, Weaselbee.” Draco drawled with a frown. He watched Ron’s exasperated reaction as the boy’s shoulders dropped and his head leaned back. Draco could envision the close-eyed look that Ron would be giving to the ceiling, but he was still facing away from Draco so all Draco could really see was Ron’s red hair glinting in the dimmed artificial lighting.
“Well if I were, Malfoy, would you promise to drown in it?” Ron had already gone back to opening the honey container, and though it was an insult, his voice held very little disdain.
Draco leaned his head against the doorframe as he stopped himself from smiling. Ron’s friendship was by far the weirdest. Draco still thought that Ron hated him a bit, and the boy had never stopped insulting him. Of course, Draco hadn’t stopped the insults either. There was something about Ron’s tightened jaw and reddening face that urged Draco to just keep irking the boy.
But it wasn’t just that. It was the subtle things that would happen that weren’t insulting to Draco that irked him. On Easter holiday Ron had fallen asleep on the couch that Draco always slept on, and since there was no where else to go Mrs. Weasley had sent Draco to Ron’s bed. It was the best night of sleep he’d gotten since he’d been at the Weasley’s, because the couch he usually slept on was about two feet too short to accommodate him. And the thing was, Draco had woken up thirsty two hours later and snuck down to the kitchen only to pass by the living to see that Ron was sitting up on the couch, clearly not tired, amusing himself with exploding snap cards. And then there was the string of articles in the Prophet that Percy Weasley had been writing about Draco, which had abruptly stopped fours days after they’d started. Draco had ‘accidentally’ overheard Ron’s voice bellowing from the living room fireplace to his mother about how Percy had no right to be talking about Malfoy like that, no matter how much of a git he’d been…
It was probably the letters too. Draco had to practically beg Hermione to send him weekly updates of what was going on with those he’d left behind to fend for themselves in Slytherin house. And she was faithful to it, until the middle of May when two weeks went by and no letter came. Finally, a rolled up parchment piece that was probably a foot and a half long was delivered. And Draco was surprised to note the messy handwriting. It was a letter filled with insults and gloating and rambling and…truth. And it had come from Ron. And every week after that the letters were from Ron as well.
“You know, that’s a really crude thing to say.” Draco responded to the last insult, trying to rid his mind of the many memories of Ron.
“You know what’s also crude, Malfoy? You telling a man who’s training to join the Chudley Cannons that he should be a fat tub of lard.” Ron was still facing away from Draco as he said this.
For a moment, a scene started replaying itself in Draco’s head. It was from Easter holiday, and he was watching an ongoing quidditch match at the Burrow safely from a window in the living room. It was the particular part of the game when Ron had decided that the sun was being wretched and he pulled his shirt up over his head—Draco forcefully pushed that thought out of his head, eyes narrowing.
“Do you really need two sandwiches? It’s almost two o’clock in the morning.” Draco changed the subject as he strained his neck a bit to watch Ron spread generous amounts of peanut butter onto two of the four pieces of bread.
“They aren’t both for me, git.” Ron threw a glare over his shoulder towards Draco, and then cleared his throat as he said in a noticeably quieter voice, “You like honey with peanut butter, right?”
Draco’s eyes narrowed in confusion as he openly surveyed the back of Ron’s head. He did not understand this boy. Not one bit. And he hated not understanding things. This was his excuse as to why thoughts of Ron just wouldn’t leave him be. He was just trying to figure him out, that’s all.
Draco frowned and pushed himself from the doorway, “Yeah…but I’m not hungry.”
Draco’s frown intensified as he wrenched his gaze from Ron. He pulled a chair from the table and sat down, his eyes distantly glaring at the tabletop as he scolded himself.
Ron had just finished placing the top pieces of bread on the sandwiches to complete them off, and as he turned with a plate in each hand and heard Draco’s answer his eyebrows narrowed, his teeth clenched.
“You are such an ungrateful bastard, Malfoy. So used to only getting things when you demand them, right?” Ron angrily placed one of the plates in front of Malfoy anyways.
“So…” Draco felt the sudden urge to try and change the subject. Now he just needed to think of something that Ron could go on about…Aha! “What is it, exactly, about Quidditch that makes you want to play it professionally?”
Draco almost laughed at how easily Ron’s angry facade changed into a distant, glazed over look. The redhead seemed almost wistful.
“It was the roar of the crowds that gave me heartache to play.” Ron paused after he said this, his eyes slightly unfocused still. Absently, he reached for his sandwich and took a big bite. Draco shook his head, and had to almost forcefully stop himself from rolling his eyes.
“Malfoy, eat.” Ron demanded, eyes snapping back into focus, and he glared at the untouched sandwich on the plate in front of Draco.
“I told you, I’m not hungry.” Draco was frowning again, and over pronouncing each word so that it would stick into Ron’s thick head, “why do you care, anyways?”
“I don’t! It’s just odd seeing someone I was once afraid of wasting away like this.” Ron’s answer was automatic, and as his eyes gestured to Draco’s gaunt frame both boys were sort of startled by the honesty in his answer.
“You were afraid of me?” Draco couldn’t stop this question. But it was something that really did confuse him…he remembered trying to overpower Ron, but only getting pure hate in return. He didn’t think Ron was afraid of anyone. Draco crossed his arms over his body defensively as he watched Ron’s face harden.
“You weren’t as thin as a bowtruckle back then.” Ron tried saying this while chewing, and it did come out…but the offensive tone he was trying for just made it all the more comical to hear. Draco sneered, and Ron swallowed, “Git. Anyways, I used to think you were some sort of…match for me. Now I could take you so easily.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Weaselbee.” Draco scoffed. But when Ron only sent him an almost sympathetic look Draco felt his teeth clench. No one was ever sympathetic towards a Malfoy. “I will bet you this sandwich that I can beat you in an arm wrestle.”
Ron took another bite of his sandwich before setting it down and nodding. “Alright, so when I win you’ll eat the sandwich?”
Draco’s eyes narrowed, “You aren’t going to win.”
Ron’s eyebrows raised and he only nodded. Draco could feel his blood boiling; Weasley was positively infuriating. Draco pushed his right sleeve up so that his shoulder was showing, he didn’t want any material in the way of his muscles, as Ron wiped his hands of any bread crumbs and set his elbow on the table carelessly.
The arm wrestle only lasted six seconds, at the very most. Draco’s arm gave way, and a yelp of pain involuntarily emitted from his pale lips before Ron let go of his hand and Draco clenched his jaw.
“You didn’t have to try and break my arm!” Draco accused through his clenched teeth as he slowly stretched out his arm.
“I didn’t! I just thought you’d be stronger then a five year old!” Ron glared at Draco, “You’re pitiful.”
“I haven’t been out much.” Draco was scowling now, “And Malfoys aren’t pitiful.”
“You weren’t chained down, Malfoy, you still could’ve at least walked around a bit.” Ron’s glare had softened though, and after this last insult he exhaled while shaking his head sympathetically.
“Don’t you dare shake your head like that,” Draco hissed, and stood so that he was towering threateningly over Ron. And right before he turned to leave: “I am not pathetic, I do not need your sympathy.”
“Dra—“ Ron’s voice cut out when he realized what he was saying, and instead opted for reaching out and grasping Draco’s arm so that the boy couldn’t leave. Ron cleared his throat, his mind going slightly fuzzy as he was fully aware of the warmth of Draco’s skin, “You need to eat the damn sandwich.”
“You need to stop acting like your mother!” Draco snapped, wrenching his arm from Ron’s grasp, but turning back towards him anyways.
“My mother doesn’t swear!” Ron roared, standing so fast that his chair almost tumbled backwards. Eyes narrowed, he reached for the plate that Draco’s sandwich lay on, and after grabbing it forcefully he shoved it into Draco’s chest.
And all Draco could do was laugh.
“Stop it, Malfoy.” Ron was infuriated. But for some reason, the longer Draco kept laughing the more Ron could feel his nerves loosening up. The anger in his voice had subsided noticeably when he weakly demanded again; “Stop it.”
Draco grasped Ron’s wrist while still laughing and forced Ron to put the sandwich back on the table. Draco’s laughing subsided finally when Ron let go of the plate, albeit unwillingly, and they turned their heads to each other only to find that they were now standing pretty close together. Draco would have sworn that he could feel Ron’s breath on his cheek.
“No.” Draco forced another laugh as he felt himself slowly leaning towards Ron. What was he doing? He wasn’t thinking straight…this house was still too damn hot. “I’m not going to eat the bloody sandwich, Weaselbee.”
Draco mildly and uninterestedly noticed a confused look on Ron’s face before his eyes closed and turned his face up to reach Ron’s lips. His brain shut down immediately, he could only feel.
The kiss lasted for a long moment before Ron decided to kiss back. Their kiss was hot, moist, soft, and tantalizingly slow. It was something new, but they had no time to think about it. Their breath mingled as this kiss lazed on. Until finally it registered that there was stubble on the face that Draco’s hand was caressing.
They came to their senses at the same time; Ron stumbled back, only catching himself on the counter while Draco backed up until he was up against the door frame that leads into the hallway. Grey eyes stared right into brown ones, which stared back. Both chests were heaving, hearts pounding, minds not working.
“Wrong.” Ron finally got out. Draco nodded, steel-faced.
There was another long moment of intense staring. Neither moved from their place, and the sandwiches lay forgotten on their plates.
“I’m going to bed.” Ron cleared his throat before he said this, and Draco nodded again. Not taking his eyes off the lips of the boy he’d just kissed.
…the boy he’d just kissed.
Things were just wrong with that sentence. With that whole Idea. Both of the boys knew it.
And yet, when Ron had crossed the room and had tried to pass Draco(as it was the only way to get out of the kitchen), one look and their lips met again. It was Ron this time, one hand lightly touching the back of Draco’s arm, the other at the base of Draco’s neck.
The kisses were quicker, faster, harder this time as tongues teased each other. Draco moaned, and he hoped it was because his back was hurting since it was being pressed into the door frame, but he wasn’t quite sure.
Hands started roaming tentatively, until finally Draco pushed Ron away from him; “This is wrong.”
“You started it, git.” Ron’s arms had dropped to his sides. His eyes had a sort of glazed over look, and his breathing had quickened. He glared at Draco while sucking on his bottom lip and then stormed through the doorway and into the hall.
But the damage had been done, and there was no going back.
Author's Note: ...Well, let's see how this goes. I've never written slash before and I want to prove to myself that I can write anything if I want. lol