Clueless But Still Destined for Hell

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LAVVYAN!

hull1984 — Wed, 27 Nov 2013 09:11:10 GMT

Happy Birthday lavvyan! Hope you have a lovely day :)

Ron/Draco Fest

hull1984 — Sat, 30 Mar 2013 08:51:12 GMT

The reveals are up over at ron_draco_fest so I can no longer claim ignorance ;)

Title: Do I Dare Disturb The Universe?
Author/Artist: hull1984
Beta(s): wwmrsweasleydo
Pairing(s): Ron/Draco, hinted Ron/Harry, Ron/Viktor, Harry/Seamus
Summary: Ron meets tight-laced ad executive Draco at the Driving Test Centre. Draco wants only to be left alone to continue on the fast track of his career, but Ron is drawn to him. He makes him an offer: to be his September, the man who will live with him for one month only, during which he will "help" him. Not sure why, Draco accepts, finding that Ron appeals to something he didn't even know was inside him. But just as he begins to reach out to him, Draco finds that Ron has secrets of his own...
Prompt Number : Used own prompt
Word count 32,535
Rating: PG13
Warnings: None
The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to the wonderful mind of Ms JK Rowling, we make no profit from playing within it.
Author's notes: A non-magical AU based on the film Sweet November. THIS IS NOT A DEATH FIC! I promise a happier ending than the film. I have taken great liberties with the British driving test (I know you have to take the theory test before applying for the practical and the tests are individual so no cheating can take place) but it was integral to the plot, so please forgive me. Title and quote from The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock by T.S.Eliot.

Do I Dare Disturb the Universe?

Such sad news

hull1984 — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 15:09:27 GMT

I've just heard the sad news about Gary Speed. He was a great favourite when he played for Everton. My thoughts go out to his family and friends at such a tragic loss.

Ron Big Bang Fic

hull1984 — Fri, 01 Apr 2011 20:54:59 GMT

Title: Go the Distance
Author: hull1984
Pairing: Ron/Draco, Ron/Hermione (minor)
Rating: PG13
Genre: Mystery, Angst, Humour
Warnings: None
Beta: Thank you to the kind and generous ratherbesailing
Word Count: 26,500
Disclaimer: I own nothing but a vague sense of unease and a wistful longing for Cheetos.
Summary: Fred's death has had a devastating and lasting affect on those that had loved him. Ron doesn't know how to make things right. Until he hears a voice...

Author's Note: This is based on the film Field of Dreams and is my attempt to deal with the aftermath of Fred's death. I originally set out to just write a Ron/Draco fic but it quickly became as much a story about Ron and Harry's friendship. The Ron/Draco story is told mostly in the form of flashbacks which are marked by italics.

Finally, thank you to the amazingly talented glockgal who created the art for this story.

Go the Distance

Ron/Draco fic I forgot to post here

hull1984 — Sun, 21 Nov 2010 22:31:16 GMT

It has recently been brought to my attention that I missed off a story from my masterlist of fic, and that I never posted it on here either. The reason being - I had actually completely forgotten about it! Which is a bit silly when you consider I still have four more parts in a semi-finished state left to post. This first part I posted on a Ron/Draco fest but I felt pretty mortified about it, because it turned out to be just one part of a longer fic, which was probably against the rules and not what the mods were expecting (the mods were actually very kind and understanding and seemed happy enough to allow it but I felt a bit of a fraud nonetheless).

It's an AU, the title says it all really. There's a few bandom cameos because I just can't stop myself. Any R/D people on my flist have probably seen it before so I don't expect any interest now, but I have to post it here inorder to have a link for the fic list - I can't link to the fest because I can't remember the name of it - I swear it's my age!

The Inevitable College AU

Part 1

Ron blinked several times.

The bloke behind the desk should have been wearing a long dress and terrorising Hobbits into undertaking strange and dangerous quests. Not heading up the American Studies Department of a small English University.

Ten further minutes in the man's company did not lessen the impression. Half-moon glasses. Seriously?

"So, Mr Weasley, there you have it," Professor Dumbledore smiled kindly as he sat back in his chair. "The choice is yours." He held up a key ring holding two keys.

Ron fought the urge to roll his eyes; the old geezer had been very apologetic after all. But it really was a shitty choice. Take the room he was being offered in one of the university's many student houses, or spend the last week before term searching for alternative accommodation. He would have been happy to take the room if its apparent crappiness hadn't been such, that even the Housing Office had felt compelled to request he check it out before accepting it. Sure, he had yet to set eyes on it, but they'd summoned him there for a personal apology from the Head of the Department. How fucking good could it be?

Of course, there was no way he was going to be able to find anything else this close to term, which the bastards must have known; so much for returning exchange students being given priority.

At least they'd had the decency to offer him a discounted rent.

//////

Which was nowhere near enough.

Ron looked around the room.

It was a cupboard. He was going to spend his fourth and final year as a student living in a fucking cupboard.

It didn't even have any of his stuff in it yet and it was already cramped. And that bloody wardrobe would have to go.

//////

A week later, with his books and files lining the one shelf, and his kettle and music system (thank Christ it was a compact) squeezed onto the desk, it didn't seem quite so bad. The wardrobe was now out on the landing, so at least Ron could actually get into the room. It wasn't ideal, but he really didn't think his new housemates would be interested in stealing any of his shabby clothes, and none of the ones Ron had met so far had objected to the wardrobe's new location (it was in the farthest corner of the landing, so it's not as though it was going to be in anyone's way).

Ron's grudging acceptance of his sorry lot probably owed much to the fact that he was just so glad to be back. And well, with five older brothers and a younger sister, space had always been at a premium; it wasn't as if he wasn't used to squeezing in.

He was even coming to terms with the location. Marlborough was a wide, tree lined avenue about a mile from campus. Yeh. Not actually one of the tree lined avenues adjacent to the campus (Ron probably should have done more research before filling out the form). He had hoped for a house that was maybe a five minute roll out of bed from the Arts Building, or a short, steady stagger perhaps from the Union Bar (Ron had really been looking forward to that; being naturally lazy, having to catch the last bus back to the halls - or worse, having to drunkenly cycle the four miles home - the first two years of his student life had been a major downer). He was still trying to not feel overly bitter that Harry had scored a house on the closest avenue to the university.

“Three minutes, Ron, I timed it.”

Git.

Well, Ron sincerely hoped that his friend's room was bigger than his - Ron planned on spending a lot of nights crashing on Harry's floor. It was the least Harry could do, the jammy git. Speaking of Harry, now would probably be a good time to check out that room.

Ron got up from where he was lying on the bed (he may have been mostly resigned to the size of his room, but there was no denying that being able to touch the opposite wall with his outstretched arm was unsettling) and pushed open his door.

As he walked onto the landing, the door at the other end of the hallway opened. Ron paused; he knew this was the only other single in the house and he was curious to see who had managed to nab it (especially as he'd already been told by a gleeful first year that it was about three times the size of Ron's own cubby hole).

Ron watched as the figure across the landing looked up. And time seemed to stand still.

(No, seriously, Ron hated clichés but it really did).

Ron found his voice first. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

The boy that had come out of the other room, narrowed his eyes at Ron before turning on his heel, and walking right back in again, letting the door close behind him with a loud slam.

Well, bugger.

Back in his own room, Ron got out his phone and called Harry.

"Oh my God, you won't believe who's still here!"

Ron looked balefully at his phone; shouldn't that have been his opening sentence?

Harry continued undaunted. "And you definitely won't believe where he's living!"

Ron resisted the urge to throw his phone at the wall - he really couldn't afford to replace it - and threw it down on the bed instead.

Well, shit.

Okay, if he was honest, or forced to be honest (strung out on a rack while some sadistic bastard stretched him into unbearable agony type honest), then Ron might, just might mind, admit that he used to have the teeniest, tiniest, blink and you'd miss it, crush on Draco Malfoy (but it would have to be a very, very stretchy rack and a very sadistic bastard indeed).

It hadn't gone well.

And now, it seemed, he'd be spending the rest of the year sharing a house with the arsehole.

Well, bugger, shit.

//////

3 Years Ago

Ron pulled the sliding door to the balcony open, enjoying the satisfying whoosh it made, and stepped out into the fresh air. He was relieved to be on the first floor. He had no head for heights and had been a little wary that he would find himself three floors up and gripping the ground for the next year. As it was even Ron's wobbly relationship with gravity could cope with the four foot drop to the ground below – in fact it would probably be a handy short-cut come dinner time.

Ron smiled as he took in his surroundings. So far, he couldn’t have wished for a better location. He was in the hall closest to the Resident Centre and about ten feet from the shop. Ron allowed his gaze to drift along the path that ran below his window taking in the five other halls that lined the route. He’d read that the student village had won an architectural award and he could see why. The university had resisted the urge to build on every square inch of land, so that the majority of rooms overlooked a vast expanse of sloping green field, dotted here and there with a variety of small trees.

Ron grinned as he remembered the sign that someone had hung over the entrance to his block – “PONTINS”. Yeh, he could see how this place could possibly be mistaken for a holiday camp. Bill had exchanged a wry look with him as they’d walked under the sign. “Remember, Ron, you are here to work as well as get pissed,” and he’d winked at his little brother.

Ron stepped back into the room, leaving the door open to let in some air. He couldn’t quite believe the size of his room. It seemed huge after sharing with Fred and George for so long; having just one room-mate was going to be awesome. Unless he turned out to be an axe-murderer (or worse, an Oasis fan; but then surely that’s why God had created iPods). Laughing quietly at his own thoughts Ron began to unpack.

He’d barely had time to open his suitcase, when the door was kicked open and a whirlwind of hair and teeth blew into the room. For a moment Ron was blinded – my God, how could one mouth contain so many white, white teeth? – then, slowly, the hair and teeth resolved themselves into a short, dark-haired boy, wearing the biggest shit-eating grin Ron had ever seen.

“Er.” Okay, so it wasn’t the coolest opening Ron had ever come up with, but he was still reeling from the abrupt entry. He was also a little put out by the other boy’s appearance – was that eye-liner?

The sudden suspicion that this might well be Ron's new room-mate was a sobering one. Ron prided himself on his ability to get on with most people, but this guy’s manic grin was definitely unnerving (even if he was so short that Ron could probably fit him in his pocket - you didn’t have to be tall to wield an axe).

“Hey.” The boy nodded at Ron. “’Trick here yet?”

“Huh?” Clearly, Ron wasn’t going to be winning any awards for his oratory skills anytime soon. But really what trick?

The other boy finally stopped grinning and frowned. “Hey man, you retarded or what?”

“What?” Ron resisted the urge to bang his head on the desk and sighed instead. “I mean, sorry, who are you?”

“Oh.” The grin was back and just as blinding (Ron automatically patted his pockets for his sunglasses). “Sorry.” The boy stepped forward holding out his hand. “Pete.”

Ron shook his hand. “Hi. I’m Ron.”

Pete held on to his hand, taking a step closer. “Yes,” he waggled his eyebrows at Ron. “Yes, you are.” Then to Ron’s chagrin, he gave him a very thorough, clearly appreciative, once over.

And Ron did not squeak and drop his hand in girlish fear for his virtue (whatever Pete would later maintain). He simply chose that moment to continue his unpacking. This necessarily required him to let go of Pete’s hand and take several steps back to his suitcase on the bed, naturally keeping the other boy in his sight as he did so, it would simply have been rude to turn his back on his guest...(oh, shut up).

“So,” Possibly-Serial-Killer Pete continued. “Patrick, not here yet?”

Ron looked up from his unpacking. “Patrick?”

If possible the other boy’s grin grew even wider. “Yeh.” He flopped down on the bed across the room. “Patrick Stump, your room-mate and my best friend.”

Ah. Well, now things made more sense.

Ron shook his head. “No. No Patrick.” He looked around the room pointedly.

"Sooo," Pete grinned, clearly he was oblivious to sarcasm. “Ron, tell me all about yourself.” And, oh God, he waggled the eyebrows again. “You can start with letting me know if that glorious hair colour is completely natural and if those delicious freckles cover all your body...”

Ron was saved from answering by the sudden opening – again – of the door.

The boy in the baseball cap that walked into the room this time, took one look at Ron’s red face and Pete sprawled, grinning on the bed and rolled his eyes.

“You,” he said, pointing at Pete. “Fuck off back to your own room.” At the dark haired boy’s attempted protest he raised his finger. “No, Pete. Go. Now.”

And to Ron’s amazement – and awe – Pete actually stood up and headed towards the door. Ron didn’t know who this other kid was, but he was already a little in love with him.

Pete paused at the door. “Later.” And the git actually winked at Ron, before disappearing out of the room.

“Right.” The new arrival shook his head, before walking up to Ron and holding out his hand. “Hi, I’m Patrick and apparently we’re room-mates for the next year.”

Ron looked hesitantly at his hand.

Patrick sighed. “Look, I beg you not to judge me by Pete.”

When Ron continued to look wary, he went on. “My biggest fear is that aliens will somehow happen on Pete one day and judge all humanity accordingly. Before you know it ID4 .”

Ron couldn’t argue with that. And he couldn’t resist Patrick’s smile either; grinning he took the other boy’s hand. “He is something.”

Patrick nodded in agreement. “Oh, he is. He really, really is.”

Ron learnt later, that Pete and Patrick had known each other since they were four years old. They’d met in Reception class, and had been pretty much inseparable since. The thought of going to different universities had never occurred to either of them.

So, now Pete was just down the stairs sharing a room with an Irish boy called Seamus. Ron met Seamus later that evening over at the Centre Bar. The fact that he had to wait for the other boy to come down from the ceiling light to do so, led Ron to believe that he and Pete had been well matched (although Ron also suspected that the authorities might well come to rue the day that they had ever paired the two up).

Ron was also introduced to the boy in the single room next to Pete and Seamus. Harry was such a relief after The Ritalin Brothers. He was quiet, unassuming and above all, didn’t leer at Ron. Ron pretty much loved him on sight. He’d never had a best friend – five older brothers had seemed to negate the need – but talking to Harry that night, Ron thought he might well have found one.

Even so, he didn’t tell Harry everything. Not right away.

No, Ron kept Draco Malfoy to himself for a few weeks more.

/////

Ron waited five weeks before telling Harry.

“Well, now that’s what I call dinner with a view.”

Ron sighed contentedly and sat back in his chair, dreamy smile playing across his lips. Secretly, he was feeling a little pleased with himself. Ron was obviously about to astound Harry with his revelation.

Harry looked up from his chocolate cake and shrugged. “Oh, you mean that blond bloke you’ve spent the last five weeks ogling.”

Ron sat back up and gaped at him. “How the fuck...?”

Harry gave him a look that screamed duh. “Duh.” Then, at Ron's continuing look of consternation. “Oh, come on, Ron you’re not exactly subtle.”

Ron pouted.

(He would later forgive Harry for his insensitivity. Mainly because Harry would spend the next three years patiently listening to him going on about what an arsehole Draco Malfoy was. And never once call him on it).

Back in Harry’s room, Ron listed the blond boy’s many attributes, and the exact moment that he had noticed each of them. Harry pretended not to have noticed Ron's noticing. Harry was a brilliant best friend.

It started at The Freshers Ball (Ron chose to ignore Harry’s comment about bad 60’s ballads, the screech of tyres and probable fireballs; Harry wasn’t always brilliant).

Ron still didn’t get it; how he hadn’t seen him before that night. Not when afterwards Ron seemed to see him everywhere. But yeh, somehow it had taken Ron a full week.

Ron had spotted the blond boy in the bar, standing next to the wall. He had a grey jumper draped across his shoulders, looking for all the world like some sort of bloody Evelyn Waugh reject. Ron had rolled his eyes; good to know he wasn’t the least cool person there. The blond had been standing next to a tall, dark haired boy. Both had been ridiculously hot, and the contrast between light and dark was so striking that Ron couldn't understand how everyone wasn’t looking at them.

Unfortunately, Ron had been distracted a minute later, when some prat had chosen that moment to knock Ron's beer out of his hand. Ron had just finished wringing the last of it out of his shirt, when Pete had walked over and dragged him off to where The Bootleg Beatles had been fooling no one.

That night Ron had dreamed of pale boys, white teeth and long fingers.

That had been Saturday.

Monday, Ron had been standing in line for dinner with Harry, when the blond kid had strolled up and stood behind him. And between the Oh, God if I take a step back I’ll touch him and the bloody hell, he lives here, Ron had been relieved to know that at least he had managed to retain his composure, and Harry still knew nothing of his crush (oh, shut up, Harry).

/////

The next few weeks were taken up with some serious investigative work (and the occasional lecture and essay).

It only took a couple of days for Ron and Harry to discover that the blond boy lived in the last hall on the path.

By the end of the week they even knew which room. It had been a sudden and unexpected discovery, and it still made Harry giggle when he thought about it. It had happened like this:

Friday afternoon, Ron had arrived back from campus early, and decided it was the ideal time for a quick reconnaissance mission. He'd been strolling casually along the path, surreptiously glancing into the ground floor windows, when he'd nearly had a heart-attack. There, bold as day, was the very same boy he was on the look out for, smirking right back at him.

In typical Weasley fashion, Ron had immediately tripped over his own feet, feeling the ensuing blush starting somewhere around his knees. Having regained his footing, Ron had turned on his heel and headed back in the direction he'd just come (apparently oblivious to exactly how odd that might look).

A few steps later, Ron's brain had finally caught up with his feet, and he'd been unable to resist a last look back. He'd felt sure that the blond would have looked away by now (if he wasn't too busy laughing himself sick at Ron's expense), so he was in no way prepared for the soft smile on the boy's face. Ron was still staring, immobile, when the boy waved. And Ron was completely undone. Feeling unequal to anything else, he'd lowered his burning face and hurried back to Harry's room, where he had proceeded to collapse on the bed with a loud, pitiful groan.

Of course, Harry had thought the whole thing hilarious. Bloody git.

Shortly following this incident (and several nonchalent walks past the window later), Harry had recognised the blond's room-mate as somebody on his course. Ron had instantly set Harry the task of cultivating this Blaise Zabini ("seriously, Harry - Blaise? What sort of fucking name is that?") as a friend, in the hope that Harry could, thereby, cunningly find out the name of Ron's future husband (and, maybe, befriend someone who would be able to introduce Ron to his future husband).

Harry, being the best friend a man could have, set seriously about his task (and if Harry was spurred on by no little attraction of his own to the dark-haired room-mate, then surely that was nobody's business but his own).

Time moved on, and before long Harry and Blaise were on nodding terms (their friends exchanging awkward smiles in turn whenever the four passed each other).

Then, one night it happened.

They were in the Centre Bar, when Zabini and the blond boy (really, Harry, should at least had a name by now) walked in. Of course, Ron's eyes were immediately drawn to them.

He watched as they ordered their drinks, fully expecting them to move to their usual place at one of the tables in the corner. But to his surprise, they turned and leaned against the bar, eyes sweeping the rest of the room. Ron looked away quickly, afraid to be caught looking.

When Ron dared to look back, the two boys were still at the bar and appeared to be having an intense conversation. The blond was shaking his head, while Zabini was gesticulating enthusiastically.

Ron watched in fascination as something that the dark-haired boy said caused his friend to blush so deeply, that even from where he was sitting, Ron was able to make out the dark flush of colour as it spread rapidly across the boy's features. Then the blond shook his head again, but slower this time, and there was no mistaking the smirk on his face as he did so. Suddenly, he held up a finger, and Zabini laughed and shook his own head, before turning back to the bar and flagging down the barman.

Ron glanced down at his pint. They were certainly putting them away quicker than he and Harry if they were already on their second round.

When he looked back to the bar, Zabini had been served and he was just handing what looked like a large something-and-coke to his friend. Who proceeded to down it in one gulp. Ron was torn between admiration and horror. Had he fallen for a lush?

Before he could speculate further, however, Ron was forced to look hurriedly away as the boys moved from the bar and headed in his direction. Suddenly feeling panicked, Ron looked at Harry and squeaked, "Harry, I think Zabini's coming this way."

Harry's head shot up from where he'd been trying to flip a beer mat off the edge of the table. Ron felt a bit confused by the blush that began to spread across his friend's face. What was Harry blushing about? Surely, it was Ron that needed a hole to crawl into, and oh God, they really were heading this way.

"Harry, talk to me. For God's sake, talk to me."

Harry looked at him with wide eyes before nodding. "What do you want me to say?"

"Any fucking thing!"

Luckily, Harry was saved from having to think of anything, by the arrival of Zabini and his friend at their table. Ron stared intently at his pint while Harry looked up and nodded at the dark-haired boy.

"Hi, Blaise."

"Hi, Harry."

Ron risked a quick glance. Zabini was smiling at Harry. Smiling coyly at Harry. Huh?

But, Ron got no further in his thoughts, as Harry chose that moment to introduce him.

"Er, Blaise, this is Ron."

Ron looked frantically between Harry and Zabini, almost as if he expected to be called on it.

Zabini grinned. "Hi, Ron." He turned to the blond boy. "This is Draco. Say hello to Ron, Draco." And he waggled his eyebrows at his friend in a manner very reminiscent of Pete.

Draco?

Seriously?

"Draco? What the fuck sort of name is that?"

The blond's smile froze, to be replaced a moment later by a contemptuous curl of the lips.

Ron wanted to die. Why the hell had he said that? Oh God, why couldn't he have kept his big mouth shut?

Draco (but no, really?) looked pointedly at Zabini for a moment, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Zabini shrugged helplessly at Harry, threw Ron a look of disgust, and followed his friend.

And, of course, Pete chose that moment to make an appearance.

"Whoa. Way to charm that fucker into bed, Ron."

Ron slumped head first onto the table.

Fuck.

/////

Ron didn't know why Harry was so cross with him.

Okay, so he'd fucked up. Ron wasn't a complete idiot, he got that. If he could have taken back those words he would have. But he also thought that a) he should have had some kind of warning about that name (you didn't just spring things like that on poor unsuspecting people; in days gone by Malfoy probably would have had to carry a bell); and b) Harry, as Ron's best friend, should have been a little more supportive.

It's not as if it had effected Harry in any way.

Harry kept complaining that Zabini wouldn't speak to him anymore. So what? Harry had only talked to the bloke in the first place, so Ron could get to know Zabini's friend. If that wasn't going to happen now, then what was the point anyway?

And, that definitely wasn't going to happen now.

Ron slumped in his seat and sighed.

Draco Malfoy.

Seriously though, who names their child Draco? Especially if their last name is Malfoy?

But, yeh. Okay, Ron accepted that he had maybe screwed up, and probably had some ground to make up.

//////

Harry was going out with Zabini.

It was probably the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, but Ron was trying his hardest not to be bitter about it.

But God, it was hard.

Ron just didn't get why it had all fallen so easily into place for Harry, but not for him.

God knows, Zabini's name was almost as ridiculous as Malfoy's. Yeh, okay, so Harry hadn't insulted the bloke over it, but still. It wasn't Ron's fault. At least Harry had had some warning first; he'd had Blaise's name introduced gently to him, no doubt first hearing it spoken by their mutual lecturer, or seeing it listed on class lists etc; Harry hadn't had it thrust suddenly onto his consciousness, with only the cushioning effect of three-quarters of a pint of beer to lessen the blow.

The worse thing is, Ron actually liked the name Draco. Now.

(Now, Ron had spent time practising saying it breathlessly into this pillow as he came all over his fist).

On the up side,Ron supposed Harry seeing Zabini would mean he and Malfoy inevitably being thrown into each other's paths. In fact, this weekend the four of them were meant to be going on a pub crawl around York together. Ron just hoped that Malfoy would perhaps stop scowling at him long enough for him to apologise.

//////

Pansy Parkinson was an evil bitch fiend from hell.

Which was rather unfortunate for several reasons.

First off, she was on the same course as Ron, and, therefore, in most of his lectures and a fair few of his tutorials.

This wouldn't have been too bad; he soon learnt to sit as far away from her as possible and never, ever, under any circumstances, make direct eye contact (rumour was that that was how the statue of the last Vice-Chancellor had come about). In fact, he could probably have quite easily avoided having much to do with her at all (after all, it's not as if he'd have to persuade her to have nothing to do with him).

Of course, avoidance became harder when one also took into account the fact that she lived in his hall. Just down the stairs in fact. In the room on the other side of Pete and Seamus. Next to the kitchen. And the bathroom.

Yeh.

Interestingly, in spite of all this obvious temptation, she still managed to resist actually speaking to Ron until half way through the year.

The timing wasn't great.

"Oh, my God, Weasley, do you even know where he's been?"

Ron pulled away from Pete's mouth (what could he say? The boy had been very, very persistant) and turned to face an extremely pissed-off looking Pansy Parkinson. It was quite an awkward maneouver given that Ron was sitting on the table outside her room, with an enthusiastic Pete standing between his legs, pressing himself as tightly up against Ron as he could; Ron was actually quietly impressed with himself that he had even managed it at all.

Pansy on the other hand was clearly not impressed.

"Do you think you could move your little porn party elsewhere," she sneered. "Only some of us are trying to sleep, and your pathetic make out noises are giving me a migraine."

She began to close her door, then suddenly opened it again. "Oh, and Weasley, please get your skinny arse off the table. We have to eat off that."

And the door was slammed shut.

Ron turned back to Pete and frowned. "My arse isn't skinny. Do you think my arse is skinny?"

Pete giggled into his shoulder.

A sudden terrible thought wiped the smile from Ron's face. Pushing Pete away, he gripped the shorter boy by the shoulders and asked, "Oh God, you don't think she'll mention this to Malfoy do you?"

Pete laughed so hard that he ended up on the floor. "Oh, Ron," he gasped out between giggles. "You are so fucked!"

Of course, the thing that perhaps made it most difficult to avoid Pansy, was the fact that she was one of Malfoy's oldest, closest friends.

//////

Any hope that Ron still had that Pansy hadn't told Malfoy, disappeared when Zabini turned up at Harry's room the next night, and informed them both, rather icily, that Malfoy had decided to meet them at the station.

Harry had immediately sent Ron a sympathetic smile, but Zabini had looked at him like Ron was something unpleasant he'd found on the bottom of his expensive shoe (Pansy clearly had a big mouth).

Ron spent the walk down to the railway station trying to convince himself that the fact that Malfoy was still willing to go out surely meant something. Maybe Pansy hadn't even said anything and Ron was just being over-sensitive. They would all go out and probably have a lovely evening (Pete Wenzt and his Marvellous Magical Tongue - it really was - never intruding on any of their thoughts). Well, he could hope.

As they walked onto the platform, the first thing Ron noticed was the blue bracelet around Pansy's right wrist. The second thing he noticed was the scowl on Malfoy's face.

Hope disappeared in a firey ball.

It rapidly became one of the worst evenings of Ron's life.

Ron sat by himself on the train. Harry and Zabini were in the seats in front, and spent the entire journey doing the sort of obscene things to each other, that surely would have earned them a hefty fine, and possibly a life-time ban, had the conductor actually been rash enough to enter a compartment filled with rowdy students.

Behind him, Ron had Malfoy and Pansy. For the entire journey, he had to endure a litany of snide comments and remarks concerning the slutty behaviour of certain persons, who really needed to learn to keep it in their pants, or, at the very least, do it where others weren't forced to witness it. And so on. And on. And on.

Ron didn't even have the energy to turn around and argue the point. Instead, he looked out the window and longed for his ipod.

Things only got worse once they got off the train.

Pansy immediately dragged Malfoy off by the hand, leaving Ron to make up a very awkward threesome with Harry and Zabini. Harry, made a valiant effort to start up a conversation, but as Ron really wasn't in the mood to respond, and Zabini clearly had no intention of acknowleging Ron's presence, it really didn't go anywhere.

By the time they reached the first pub, Pansy already had Malfoy tucked into a dark corner, at a cosy table for two. Bitch, obviously wasn't going to let the fact that the boy was gayer than a John Barrowman concert, interfere with her attempts to get her claws into him. Ron balled his fists at his side and tried to ignore the surge of jealously he felt as he watched her stroking the back of Malfoy's hand. Forcing his eyes away, he told Harry that he'd get the first round and headed for the bar.

After a couple of hours, Ron thought about slipping away and catching the next train home. It's not as though anyone would notice. Although Pansy and Malfoy had continued with them from pub to pub, they were usually way ahead or lagging far behind, and always found a way to stand apart from the others when they arrived at each pub.

Even Harry had eventually given up on trying to include Ron in any conversation, and so, now, Ron was left to stand in gloomy silence sipping his orange juice (he'd switched from beer after the first pub; although the temptation to get shit-faced was very strong, he also had a horrible feeling that he might start crying if he carried on drinking).

It probably wouldn't have been so bad if Malfoy had followed his friends' lead and totally ignored Ron, but Ron kept catching glimpses of the blond giving him fleeting looks, which instead of being filled with the contempt Ron expected, were coming off more as wounded betrayal. It was weird.

Ron could understand the boy thinking he was a bit of a slut, especially as he was sure that Pansy would have put her own sleazy spin on what, after all, had only been an innocent snog (fuelled by too much alcohol and too many stray thoughts about Malfoy himself). What Ron didn't get, was why this would lead to Malfoy treating it like some sort of personal insult.

Ron may well have been hoping that something would develop between them, but it's not as if anything had happened yet. He didn't even know if the other boy liked him, but if he did, then Ron had been merely worried that the thing with Pete may have put him off; that Malfoy may have thought him too easy or worse, already taken. That was the reason why Ron had been so horrified by Pansy's discovery. He certainly hadn't expected Malfoy to act as though Ron had actually cheated on him. And yet, Ron couldn't shake the feeling that that was exactly what Malfoy was doing, at least if all the hurt looks were anything to go by.

Frankly, the whole thing was doing Ron's head in, and he just wanted to go home and hide under his covers. It felt like the mature thing to do.

Which of course, was the exact moment that Pete, Patrick and Seamus walked in.

Ron had no opportunity to see what Malfoy's reaction was to this development, as by the time he'd managed to remove Pete from around his neck, there was no sign of Pansy or Malfoy.

Ron turned to ask Harry where they had gone, and was met instead by Zabini shaking his head at him, a look of clear disgust written across his dark features. A moment later, Harry threw Ron an apologetic smile before allowing himself to be led out of the pub by Zabini.

Great.

//////

Things pretty much went down hill from there.

For the rest of the year, if Ron ever came across Malfoy alone, the other boy would either cut Ron dead and walk straight on past or else curl his lip in a vicious sneer before turning around and walking in the opposite direction.

If Malfoy was with others, he would immediately turn to his companions and make some sort of cutting remark clearly aimed at Ron, smirking in Ron's direction as his friends laughed.

It should have made Ron hate him. It really should have.

It should have at least stopped the dreams.

Ron decided that the best defence was an offence (because that had always worked so well).

So, Ron began to make his own cutting remarks and throw his own dirty looks. And whether in a group or just with Harry, Ron never tired of listing the many ways he would love to see Draco Malfoy die horribly. Horribly.

Most of Ron's friends humoured him, although he did catch the occasional roll of the eyes.

Thus was the state of play between the two a week before the end of term.

Ron wasn't looking forward to the end of the year. While it would be nice to get away from all the tension and sniping with Malfoy, he wasn't looking forward to spending a summer at home. He'd made some great friends and the thought of spending thirteen weeks away from them all - and the subsidised bar - filled him with dismay.

He might even miss the food at the Centre. Ron looked down at the congealed mess on his plate. Or maybe not. Sighing heavily, Ron picked up his tray and followed Harry to a table.

They were almost finished eating when Pete and Seamus joined them.

"Draco Malfoy is a complete bastard," Seamus declared as he sat down.

Ron and Harry both looked at the Irish boy in surprise.

"Erm," Ron turned back to Harry, "isn't that my line?"

Harry shrugged, looking equally perplexed.

Pete grinned. "Haven't you heard?" He asked gleefully.

Ron and Harry exchanged further confused looks.

Pete started to laugh. "See, Seamus, I told you Ron hadn't pushed him."

Seamus grunted moodily into his dinner.

Before Harry or Ron could say anything in response, Patrick came running up to their table, wearing a huge grin.

"Oh my God," he said. "I've just heard what happened to Malfoy."

Then, seeming to suddenly notice Ron, Patrick stopped smiling and said, "oh, sorry Ron."

Ron couldn't take it any more. "Will someone please tell me what the fuck has happened to Malfoy?" He shouted.

"You don't know?" Patrick asked, looking vaguely horrified.

And Ron started to feel queasy. Shit. What had happened to the annoying little Ferret? (Malfoy had recently taken to calling Ron "Weasel," and Ron was damned if he was going to be outdone).

Thankfully, Pete had recovered enough to tell them what had happened.

"Last night Crabbe and Goyle threw a little party, " he said. "You must have heard the music."

Harry and Ron nodded; Crabbe and Goyle shared a room on the next landing up from Ron.

"Well," Pete paused to grin at Patrick. "Malfoy was invited. From what I've heard, a lot of weed was being passed around and by all accounts Malfoy's a bit of a lightweight. He was sitting on their balcony wall when he apparently forgot where he was and leant back and --"

Seamus jumped in with, "and the selfish bastard fell arse about tip off the fucking balcony, hitting every bush on the way down and making an unholy racket about it." He scooped another forkful of beans into his mouth.

Ron couldn't speak. Malfoy was dead. The love of his life had thrown himself off a balcony and... and all Seamus could do was eat beans and call him selfish. Oh God.

Harry looked wildly between Ron and Seamus before finally finding his voice. "Fuck, is he alright?"

"Alright?" Seamus all but shouted, "Alright? Of course the little fucker's alright. Did he have a fucking exam at 9 o'clock this morning? Of course he didn't! Otherwise the selfish little shite wouldn't have been getting wasted and waking other people up with his late night shenanigans." And with that he stood up and strode out of the hall.

Pete grinned. "Seamus is a little pissed off. When Malfoy landed on the bush outside our window, it woke Seamus up, and he struggled to get back to sleep after the ambulance left."

Oh God, he was alive. Ron suddenly felt dizzy, he rested his head on the table. He pretended not to notice the exchange of knowing looks between the other three boys. Or Pete laughing his arse off.

That night over at the bar, Pete and Seamus were only too glad to re-live the drama of the previous night and Ron began to see the funny side (this may have had something to do with the fact, that he had heard earlier that Malfoy was back from hospital, and although a bit battered and bruised, would make a full recovery).

He was a little surprised that he hadn't been woken up by all the obvious commotion, but his mother always did say Ron slept like the dead, and Harry hadn't heard anything either, and his window was right next door to Pete and Seamus'.

Pete wiped away another tear of laughter. "Oh God, it was so funny. He bounced from bush to bush, letting out a scream each time he did." He turned to grin at Ron. "You'd have loved it, Ron." (Ron ignored the wink Pete gave the others at the table; Ron was getting very, very good at ignoring his friends odd little looks and ticks).

Ron smiled back at him, then closed his eyes and sighed, "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret..."

When he opened his eyes, Ron was surprised to see his friends looking suddenly serious. "What --"

Then, he realised that they were all looking over his shoulder. Ron whipped his head around just in time to see Malfoy limping out the door, his progress probably slower than Malfoy would have liked due to the large, uncomfortable neck brace he was wearing.

"Fuck." Ron turned back to his friends. "Do you think he heard me?"

Pete laughed himself off his chair and under the table.

tbc

Masterlist

hull1984 — Sat, 21 Aug 2010 16:04:16 GMT

HARRY POTTER

All have Ron/Draco as the main pairing.

COMPLETED STORIES

Do I Dare Disturb the Universe? PG13
Another non-magical AU, this time written for ron_draco_fest 2013

Ron meets tight-laced ad executive Draco at the Driving Test Centre. Draco wants only to be left alone to continue on the fast track of his career, but Ron is drawn to him. He makes him an offer: to be his September, the man who will live with him for one month only, during which he will "help" him. Not sure why, Draco accepts, finding that Ron appeals to something he didn't even know was inside him. But just as he begins to reach out to him, Draco finds that Ron has secrets of his own...

Do I Dare Disturb the Universe?

Go the Distance, PG13
Post DH Epilogue. Written for ronbigbang 2011

Fred's death has had a devastating and lasting affect on those that had loved him. Ron doesn't know how to make things right. Until he hears a voice.

Go the Distance

Nothing Ever Lasts Forever, PG13
A non-magical AU. Written for ginger_lust 2010.

Ron's really not enjoying his exchange year in the States.

Nothing Ever Lasts Forever

Easier to Run, PG
Post-Hogwarts AU. Pinch hit for ficadron. My prompt was 'puzzle'.

The secret I've kept locked away no one can ever see

Early Sunsets, PG13
Post-Howarts AU. Written for ficadron. My prompt was 'flying'.

Draco pisses off a very old, very powerful vampire. Ron pays the price.

Part 1
Part 2

The Heart Remains a Child, PG
Hogwarts fic. Written for the 2008 ron_draco Fic Exchange

Just how did Ron and Draco end up in a tree together?

The Heart Remains a Child

Bouncy Castles Don't Count, PG
A non-magical AU

Draco has been banished to the park for the summer.

Bouncy Castles Don't Count

Suedehead, PG13
Hogwarts fic

Pansy's been sneaky. Ron's been doing some reading. And Draco may be in for the surprise of his life.

Suedehead

Relax Upon Your Rules, PG13
Hogwarts fic. Written for the fire_and_ice Song Challenge

Ron's being watched and Harry's not the only one who's noticed.

Prologue
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7

The How Trilogy, PG
Hogwarts fic

Ron's lost in the Forbidden Forest. He's not alone.

How Ron Learned to Love Crookshanks

How Draco Learned to Love Ugly Cats, Huge Spiders and Fog

How Hagrid Learned Never To Go Walking In The Forbidden Forest After Dark, In The Fog. Ever Again. Ever. No Really. Just No

There Is a Light, PG13
Post-Hogwarts AU

Harry is gone and Ron's not coping. Draco's really not happy about that.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

FICLETS

Finding Home, PG
Deathly Hallow's Epilogue AU

Ron finds his way home

All I Want For Christmas is You, PG
Howarts Christmas fic.

Never issue an ultimatum to a Slytherin

DRABBLES

Miss Brightside
Hogwarts AU. Written for the 2011 ronbigbang drabble challenge. An art inspired round this time.

Link to art by ineslee

She's just so tired of watching

Nice Guys Finish Last
Post-Hogwarts non magical AU. Written for the 2011 ronbigbang drabble challenge. The prompt was '...the right one this time...'

"You won't be needing this," he tells Ron

For Them
Deathly Hallow's Epilogue AU

When the why screams too loud in his head this is where he comes

I Win
Hogwarts setting. Written for the 2011 ronbigbang drabble challenge.

White hair spread out on dark walnut

WIPs

The Inevitable College AU, PG13
University AU. Written for a R/D challenge but due to lack of time had to post it incomplete. Still have four further parts half-written and would love to finish it. Several bandom cameos.

Part 1

The Smiths Mix, PG13
Post-Hogwarts AU. As the title would suggest this takes it's inspiration from the lyrics of The Smiths songs.

1. I was looking for a job...

2. I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour...

3. I won't share you...

4. I know it's over, still I cling, I don't know where else I can go...

5. And everything depends upon how near you stand to me...

Why Parvati Patil Must Die, PG13
Goblet of Fire AU.

Why Parvati Patil Must Die

Really, How Bad Could it Be?

An Interesting Chapter in Dumbledore's Memoirs

Dumbledore, Pitchforks and Red Hot Pokers

The Reminiscences of Pansy Parkinson

Dishevelled Friends and More Reminiscences

Death Threats and Christmas Correspondence

Fights, Chocolate Frogs and Suggestion Boxes

Tell Me Why I Don't Like Mondays

Boys Really Need to Learn to Share Their (Boy)Toys

STARGATE ATLANTIS

All McShep.

It Was...(PG)

John keeps getting distracted. Carson's not impressed.

All I Want For Christmas is You, PG

Never issue an ultimatum to a Lieutenant Colonel in the USAF

Mistletoe, PG

Rodney gets into trouble explaining one of Earth's Christmas traditions

WIP

You've Been Talking in Your Sleep, PG13

Rodney's been talking in his sleep and it's driving John a little nuts.

Part 1

Part 2

TORCHWOOD

All Ianto/Jack

Unexpected,PG

The team are forced to witness a PDA between Ianto and Jack. It gets mixed reviews.

"I mean, it's just crying out to be sucked."

Judas Kiss, PG13

An AU on how Dead Man Walking might have gone if Tosh was a little unhinged.

He'd said yes.

hull1984 — Sat, 14 Aug 2010 17:20:06 GMT

I wrote this for the first ronbigbang drabble challenge but forgot to post it here (which would be fine but I've been asked to post it elsewhere and can't figure out how unless I first post it here inorder to link to it!). I am so lame.

The prompt was "...the right one this time..."

Nice Guys Finish Last

Fuck it.

Ron is so dumb. So, so dumb. What was he thinking?

He looks around the room, feeling queasy.

Why had he let Hermione drag him here?

He looks down at the paper on the table in front of him. Oh God. So many boxes so little time. And suddenly he’s giggling. He stuffs his fist into his mouth. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck.

He risks a look across the room to where Hermione is standing. She catches his eye immediately and waves. He doesn’t wave back, and not only because his hand is still pressed to his mouth. But he does hope she can see his raised eyebrows. Because really, Speed Dating?

He looks down at the table again and wonders how it will feel against his head.

Someone sits down in the seat opposite and snatches up the sheet of paper from under his nose. Ron raises his head just in time to see a skinny, blond bloke tearing up the sheet. He has long, pale fingers.

“You won’t be needing this,” he tells Ron with a tilt of his head.

Ron looks into piercing grey eyes, spares a quick glance down at pouty red lips, and thinks, yeh okay. He manages to drag his eyes away from the intense gaze long enough to look over at Hermione again. She doesn’t look happy. Ron grins and gives her a thumbs up, before returning his attention to the boy on the other side of the table.

“So,” he says, smiling slowly. “Speed Dating.”

The blond smiles back.

Well, I didn't see that coming!

hull1984 — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 15:32:57 GMT

I'm frankly astonished. First time I've won anything. Clearly ineslee's lovely manip worked its' magic and thanks again to her for allowing me to link to it :)

Title:Miss Brightside
Art:Jealousy by ineslee
Words: 434
Rating: PG
Warnings: none

Miss Brightside

Hermione bites her lip and forces her eyes down, searching the grain of wood on the table, looking for a knot to climb into, to swallow her up and take her away.

She’s just so tired of watching. It’s been a long time.

She remembers back to the beginning, watching an eleven year old Malfoy snarl his anger at a small boy’s harmless snigger. Watching in fascination as the fury grew and grew, twisting itself into something else, just as irrational, just as out of control.

It’s funny really, everyone thinks it's Harry that Malfoy obsesses over. And well, Malfoy hates Harry alright. But Hermione also knows that Voldemort and Death Eaters have nothing to do with it.

Malfoy hates Harry for one thing, and one thing only. He hates Harry for being the one who got Ron. And, over the years, Hermione’s watched him growing ever more fearful of that, so afraid of what that friendship might become. She’s seen the moments of panic, watched with morbid curiosity as his jealousy took on a different shade, darker and more desperate (she’d almost pitied him then).

Oh yes, she’s watched.

Draco Malfoy, good little Slytherin, with eyes for no one but the pureblood Gryffindor.

The Death Eater-In-Training screaming out for the Muggle Lover’s attention.

Such irony.

And how she revelled in every flinch when he inevitably got what he wanted, sometimes with fists, sometimes with malicious words, but always with venom.

She looks up now, glances out the corner of her eye at Malfoy (seems she’s been watching too long, has lost the knack of looking away). Something’s changed. Malfoy’s come out of hiding. She doesn't know why but she thinks it has something to do with his father.

Every one has heard the rumours - howlers in the dungeon, late-night visits, raised voices and bruises. There’s been talk, whispers of -- disown - punish - weak - traitor -- heard echoing down corridors. Word is Malfoy is making a stand, has reached a decision, made a choice. They all think it's Dumbledore.

Hermione knows better.

She catches a flash of red as Ron turns his head to face Malfoy. She knows she shouldn’t look, that it will only make the hurt worse, but she can't seem to help herself.

Malfoy smiles, and suddenly it's all there, written clear across his face. She sees Ron’s astonishment, the moment when he finally gets it.

She stands up then and walks away. She doesn't need to see the returned smile. She’s known all along how it would end.

After all, she's been watching Ron too.

ficadron submissions

hull1984 — Sun, 25 Apr 2010 11:36:22 GMT

I am embarrassed to admit that I've only just replied to comments left for my two ficadron submissions. I had decided to wait until the end of the fest to reply - I didn't trust my ability to reply anonymously until voting was over! - but it went on for a lot longer than I thought it would, and by the time it was done and dusted I'd quite forgotten that I hadn't replied over there. To be completely truthful, it also wasn't the best experience I've ever had with a fest and I didn't care to revisit it for awhile (this had nothing to do with how either submission was received, people were very kind about both, but more to do with other issues).

Anyway, I have now replied to the lovely comments that were left and I thought it was probably also time I posted the entries over here.

These were both huge departures for me - the first, an angst-filled vampire story (Gerard Way has a lot to answer for!); the second, a story told in the form of ten 100 word drabbles (those of you who have been around here for awhile will know all about my unhappy history with drabbles, and therefore will understand my terror when this one was finally posted).

Early Sunsets

Easier to Run

Nothing Ever Lasts Forever, Part Two

hull1984 — Wed, 07 Apr 2010 20:38:44 GMT

A few days later, Harry stepped out of the lift and instead of turning right to go to his own room, he turned left and walked over to Ron’s room.

He knew Ron had met Viktor (and Poliakoff - “the bastard tags along like a bad smell, Harry!”) for coffee a few times since the party, and that the previous night Viktor had invited Ron over to his room to watch a dvd. Harry, was not a thirteen year old girl, and therefore was definitely not making his way to Ron’s room to find out how it had gone.

Not at all.

But, he had suddenly realised, that they hadn’t yet decided what they were going to wear for Halloween, and now seemed as good a time as any to discuss it, and oh God, he really was a thirteen old girl…

He was just about to turn the corner onto Ron’s side of the building, when he heard voices in the hall ahead.

“Take the coffee, Draco, and stop being a prick.”

That was Blaise’s voice.

“Oh well, as you put it so nicely.”

And that, that was definitely Malfoy.

Harry didn’t even know those two knew each other. Huh.

Harry pressed himself up against the wall and peeked around the corner.

The fuck. Malfoy had no clothes on. Well, no outer clothes. He was sitting in his boxer shorts and a white t-shirt, propped up against the wall right next to Ron’s room. He had a cup in his hand and by the looks of things was sipping sullenly from it. Blaise was standing in the doorway to the room, drinking from his own cup.

Well, there’s something you didn’t see every day.

Harry ducked back, not wanting to be seen, and decided to just listen. It wasn’t eavesdropping, it was intelligence gathering. Which yes, granted, probably made more sense in a war situation, but well, Harry had recently began to suspect Malfoy of harbouring certain feelings for Ron. That meant anything Malfoy said, or did, could directly effect Harry’s best friend. So fuck it. Call it what you liked, but he was listening.

“I’ve already told you, Draco. Ron has a class now. He won’t be back for at least another hour.”

Malfoy didn’t reply.

“I don’t know why you’re even here.” Blaise’s voice had taken on a teasing tone. “I would have thought that by now you would know his timetable inside out.”

There was a pfft of disgust, that Harry assumed had come from Malfoy.

“I’m admitting nothing. But if you think me ingenious enough to know his timetable, Blaise, then perhaps, I’m also ingenious enough to know when certain classes have been cancelled.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open just as he heard Blaise snort out a laugh.

Bloody hell.

He crept back along the hall to his own room.

~~~

“So, I figured you’d be back early, you know, after your text this morning saying your history class had been cancelled.” Harry had decided that subtle was the way to go.

Ron looked up from his sandwich (they were eating lunch in Ron’s kitchen). “Oh, I decided to stay behind after my Literature and Psyche class to talk to Professor Toro.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “How’d that go?”

Ron popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth and wiped his hands on his napkin. Harry waited patiently for him to finish eating (it gave him longer to come up with a way to introduce Malfoy into the conversation).

“It was good,” Ron finally answered. “Toro’s a nice bloke and he didn’t laugh at me when I told him I didn’t understand a fucking word he said.”

Harry laughed. “I hope you worded it slightly differently,” he said.

Ron grinned, “I may have left out the swearing, but I also left him in no doubt that I am completely and utterly lost.”

He sighed and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Take today, there I was nodding along happily, agreeing with what he was saying and feeling pretty good for actually knowing what he was talking about for once.”

Ron slumped back in his seat. “Then he suddenly says ‘oh, and of course, you all got that it was a dream.’ And I’m sitting there thinking what the fuck? No, I did not bloody get that it was a fucking dream! Why would I? There was no mention of anyone being asleep for a fucking start!”

(Harry was relieved that Ron had chosen to leave out all the swearing when he’d talked with Toro; the guy might have been laidback, but there were limits).

Ron brushed his hands through his hair and sighed. “I swear, Harry, some of that stuff is just wrong.”

Harry nodded sympathetically. “What did Toro say?” He asked.

Ron looked up and smiled. “He was great,” he said, sounding happier. “Told me not to sweat it so much. He said the reason why the rest of the class seemed to know so much about the psychological angle, was that most of them had been in therapy for years.”

Harry laughed.

“I know,” Ron said, grinning. “How cool is that? He’s probably right too. I’m easily the youngest in the class, all the others have a least ten/fifteen years on me. He lent me this as well.” And he reached into his messenger bag and brought out a thin paperback book.

Harry took it from him and looked at the front cover. “Freud For Beginners,” he read out loud.

“Yeh,” Ron said, nodding. “He said not to take most of the stuff in it too seriously - he reckons Freud had some serious issues of his own - but that it would help explain some of the basic principles and terminology.”

“Have you read any of it yet?” Harry asked, flipping through the pages.

“Nah, I’ll do it later,” Ron replied, taking the book from Harry and putting it back in his messenger bag. “You want another coffee, Harry?” He asked, as he got up from the table to re-fill his own cup from Blaise’s machine.

“No, I’m fine,” Harry answered, absently. He was thinking of Malfoy again, unsure of how much to tell Ron. He waited for Ron to sit back down before asking, as casually as he could, “so, um, did you let anyone else know that your class was cancelled this morning?”

Ron immediately turned bright red and ducked his head.

Ha ha.

Ron took a sip of his coffee, before mumbling softly, “ I may have texted Viktor.”

Oh. Well then. That was to be expected, Harry supposed. The two of them were practically dating. Or, well, they would be if Poliakoff ever left them alone long enough.

Ron had told Harry earlier, that the cosy evening he had hoped for the previous night, had been ruined, yet again, by the unwanted presence of Viktor’s horribly annoying room-mate. The freak just seemed unwilling to leave Viktor’s side, at least if Ron was anywhere in sight.

Maybe he was gay after all, and hopelessly in love with Viktor (despite Poliakoff’s constant assertions, that he had a girlfriend waiting for him back in Bulgaria). Maybe he was just jealous of anyone else getting laid, while his girlfriend was stuck on the other side of the world (or wherever Bulgaria was, Harry sucked at Geography).

Whatever the reason for Poliakoff’s behaviour, Harry found himself getting angry with Viktor. Seriously, why didn’t he just tell the bloke to fuck off. Or surely, he could ditch him for a few hours, if he really wanted to. Harry was starting to feel worried for Ron; what if Viktor was just stringing him along, and actually had no intention of seeing this thing through? He swore, if Viktor hurt Ron, then, Harry would just have to break him (which given the bloke’s size, might prove problematic, but Harry was willing to give it a try).

“So, why didn’t you guys go for coffee or something?” He asked Ron now. It seemed like the perfect opportunity for Ron and Viktor to finally have spent some time together; Poliakoff almost certainly would have had a class of his own to attend. Why hadn’t Viktor seized the chance?

“Oh,” Ron shrugged, “Viktor had an Engineering class.”

Right. Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He would need to get a hold of Viktor’s timetable to check that out. Perhaps, he could ask Malfoy how one went about obtaining copies of other people’s timetables…which reminded him.

“So you didn’t text Malfoy then?” He blurted, wincing almost immediately after the words were out of his mouth (so much for subtle).

Ron looked up from his coffee and cocked his head to one side. “Well, yeh, I think I did text him now that you mention it. Why?”

“Um,” Harry tried to look nonchalant. “No reason. I, erm, just might have overheard him discussing your cancelled class with Blaise.” So Ron and Malfoy texted now. Huh. Harry hadn’t even been sure that they’d exchanged numbers.

“Oh, okay.” Ron didn’t sound surprised in the least, either at Malfoy and Blaise knowing each other, or the fact that they might have been talking about him. Now, Harry was really intrigued.

“I didn’t know Blaise even knew Malfoy,” he said, trying for casual but probably sounding closer to annoyed.

Ron frowned at him. “They’re actually really good friends, Harry. They’ve known each other for years.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ve said this before, but I really don’t understand what your problem is with Malfoy. He’s a good bloke, Harry. I don’t get why you don’t like him.”

Harry sighed too. This was an old argument. The Draco Malfoy Harry knew, seemed so completely different to the Draco Malfoy Ron knew. Harry had stopped even trying to convince Ron that Malfoy was an obnoxious git, but sometimes, like now, he just couldn’t seem to hide his own dislike for the bloke.

“It’s not that I don’t like him (well, that was true, the feeling was much more akin to hate), so much that he doesn’t like me.” Harry felt that he was making a fair point, lord knows, Malfoy had made no attempt to be nice to him.

Ron shook his head and stood up. “You’re just being paranoid, Harry. You think everyone dislikes you.” He put his cup in the sink and turned to start cleaning out the coffee machine (Blaise was very clear about that; they were allowed to use it, as long as they cleaned it afterward).

Harry pouted at Ron’s back. That was unfair. Harry didn’t think everyone disliked him, some people just ignored him.

“Well, I still think it’s odd that he sits outside your door in just his underwear,” he said in a rush (once again, missing subtle by a country mile. Harry was about ready to concede that he probably wasn’t very good at subtle).

“What?” Ron turned around, slowly, looking slightly horrified and Harry finally felt vindicated. At last, he’d got through to the stupid git. Finally, Ron was going to realise what a freak Malfoy was, and admit that Harry’s instincts had been right all along. Harry felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Exactly.” Harry said, with a self-satisfied smile. “I saw him,” he went on. “He was sitting right next to your door, wearing only his boxer shorts and a t-shirt. In the middle of the day.” He nodded his head as if to underline the point.

Ron started to laugh. “Oh, Harry, you freak.”

What. How was Harry the freak? But before he could get a word of protest out, Ron continued with, “Harry, he was only doing his laundry.”

Huh.

Ron shook his head, still chuckling. “Or have you forgotten that my room is right opposite the laundry room? Malfoy always sits outside while his clothes are in the machine. He told me that he doesn’t trust people not to steal them, so he prefers to wait for them to be done, rather than going back to his room.”

Harry pouted again (he did that a lot where Malfoy was involved). Okay, so that was one explanation that he hadn’t considered. He paused thinking for a minute. But that didn’t explain the underwear.

“But that doesn’t explain the underwear!” Harry shouted.

Ron stopped laughing and looked slightly hurt all of a sudden. “I really wish you weren’t so determined to think badly of him, Harry,” he said, softly.

And Harry suddenly felt guilty. And confused; he wasn’t even sure what he was trying to accomplish anymore. What did it matter if Malfoy liked Ron? Or if Ron never figured out that he was being stalked?

“Did it ever occur to you, that Malfoy might have been down to his last clean t-shirt and boxers, Harry?” Ron asked, before walking out of the kitchen.

And well, while Harry might have been feeling slightly bad for only thinking the worst of Malfoy, he definitely called bullshit on that one. Malfoy certainly had his reasons for sitting half-naked outside Ron’s door, but running out of clean clothes definitely wasn’t fucking one of them.

~~~

The next day was Saturday and Harry was planning on sleeping all day, or until his stomach told him to get up. So it was a bit of a shock when he was woken up by the sound of someone slamming open his door and shouting his name loudly into his ear.

Fuck.

Harry sat up and squinted blearily at the figure looming menacingly over his bed. Was that Ron?

“Harry fucking Potter,” he screamed into Harry’s confused face. “I am going to fucking kill you.”

Harry scratched his head and frowned. “Um. Why?” He asked, plaintively. He felt he at least deserved an explanation.

“This!” Ron cried.

And Harry suddenly noticed that he had a book in his hand, that he proceeded to wave in Harry’s face. Harry grimaced and glanced at his clock - 9.20am - urgh, it was definitely too early for this.

“Ron,” he said, in the most reasonable voice he could muster. “What the fuck are you talking about? Or no, sorry. Actually, what I meant to say there was - fuck off and let me sleep, you selfish git.”

“Selfish, Harry?” Ron’s voice had grown rather strident. “Selfish? I’ll give you fucking selfish you complete and utter tosser!”

Something was definitely up.

Harry sighed, as he watched Ron pace up and down in front of his bed. He had a funny feeling his sleep was over for the day.

~~~

When Jon walked in half an hour later, Harry was lying on his bed hugging his pillow, giggling hysterically, while Ron was sitting on the floor, propped up against Jon’s bed, laughing like a donkey.

Jon raised both eyebrows. “Did I miss something?” he asked, with a grin.

When he had finally recovered enough to talk, Ron took a deep breath and announced, “I need chocolate.” He stood up. “And Dr Pepper.”

Harry nodded his agreement between sniggers.

Jon shrugged, “I could handle some chocolate.”

They headed out the door and took the lift down to the ground floor, where they raided the vending machines that lined one wall of the T.V. lounge. When they were satisfied with their purchases, they slumped into the nearest chairs.

“Okay,” Jon said, once they had all popped cans and opened packets. “Which one of you is going to explain the giggle fit I just witnessed?”

Harry and Ron exchanged smirks. Ron threw a peanut M&M at Harry’s head. “That,” he said, “was caused by Harry’s total disregard for my pain.”

“Fuck off,” Harry replied, picking up the sweet from his lap and throwing it at Ron’s nose. “I was embracing your pain, particularly the more comedic aspects.”

They both started giggling again.

“Yeh,” Jon said. “I’m really going to need more than that.”

Ron stopped laughing and looked at Harry pointedly.

Harry sighed. “Okay, I guess it’s down to me. Jon, remember when I told you about The Big Gay Journal Freak Out Of Last Week, and how I had to jump in and save Ron’s ass, whilst also managing to make him look cool and interesting to Professor Toro,” he paused to place his hand to the side of his mouth and stage whispered, “that’s the one he’s got the big gay crush on.”

“Hey!” Ron sounded ridiculously offended. Harry ignored him.

“Well, Toro recently lent Ron a book to help him with his class.” Harry started to snigger. “Only the dream interpretation chapter proved a bit of an eye-opener to our Ron here.”

“That’s a fucking understatement,” Ron blurted out, sitting forward in his chair. “Jon, do you know what Freud thought knives represented in dreams?”

Jon was already laughing, so Ron guessed he probably had a pretty good idea.

“Right. And did you also know, that Harry apparently spent his entire teenage years dreaming about grabbing hold of, or poking other people with his ‘knife’? Bloody pervert!” He threw another M&M at Harry, who caught it this time and popped it in his mouth with a wink.

“In fairness, Ron,” Jon said, still laughing. “I think most teenaged boys spend their entire time dreaming about their ‘knives’ and exactly where they’d like to poke them.”

“Yeh?” Ron said, clearly warming to his subject. “Do they also dream about crashing through windows on a regular basis? Because according to Freud that means that Harry is not only a sex fiend, but also a lesbian!”

Harry’s grin fell away and he started to frown. “Hey, that’s not fair. Like a lot of teenagers I was confused about my sexuality. I thought I was straight, so couldn’t understand why I kept wanting to, you know,” he blushed, “play with other people’s ‘knives’.” (He honestly had no idea where the window jumping came into it).

Jon threw his empty can at Harry’s head. “Okay, seriously guys. I really need you to both stop talking about people’s knives and what they do, or don’t, want to do with them.”

All three started to giggle again. Harry felt comforted; at least he wasn’t the only thirteen year old girl there.

“So okay,” Jon said, a moment later, still grinning. “I get how hilarious it is that Harry is quite probably a lesbian, but what I don’t understand, is why you’re so pissed about it, Ron? Well, unless you’re harbouring certain feelings towards him…” He smirked evilly.

“Urgh, Jon, you sick fuck. That would be like committing incest.” Ron’s face was screwed up in disgust.

Harry was torn between feeling deeply offended that Ron found the thought of being with him so abhorrent, and strangely touched that Ron had also just implied, that he now looked upon Harry as a brother (or possibly a sister, given recent revelations).

“No,” Ron continued, looking sourly over at Harry. “The reason I want to hit Harry in the head. Repeatedly. With a spade. Is the fact that the dumb fuck wrote the details of all his freaky teenage dreams in my journal. The journal that is currently in the hands of Professor Toro. A man, whom I would like to point out, is more than a little conversant with Sigmund Freud’s theories on such matters. I will never be able to look him in the eye again.”

Jon burst out laughing again. “Oops,” he gasped out, looking over at Harry.

Of course, that set Harry off again.

“Never mind, Ron,” Jon said later, when they’d all recovered some modicum of control. “Perhaps, Toro will offer to personally help you resolve your sexual conflict.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Ron had no more M&Ms left, so he threw the empty packet instead. It just wasn’t the same.

~~~

Harry peered through the haze that hung in the air between them. “Jon, shouldn’t you be gone by now?”

Jon pouted from where he lay on his bed. “Harry, are you trying to get rid of me?” he asked, sounding hurt.

Harry shook his head, fervently. “No, no, mate. Honestly.   It’s been brilliant hanging out with you. We should do it more often.” He nodded emphatically.

Jon smiled widely. “Why, thank you, Harry. I, too, have enjoyed hanging with you guys. And yes, we should do it more often.” He lit the freshly rolled joint in his hand and took a hit.

Jon was great. Harry knew this to be true. He used to think most of Jon’s awesomeness came from the fact that he was hardly ever there - what else could one wish for from a room-mate (ask Ron) - but now he was beginning to think that perhaps it went deeper than that. Harry drew in a deep hit from the joint Jon had just handed to him, and nodded slowly. Much deeper.

“I’ve got it!” Ron sat up suddenly from where he’d been lying on the floor. He turned to look at Harry. “I’ve got it, Harry. What we can wear for Halloween.” His eyes were shining with inspiration (or it could have been the weed).

Harry wasn’t even aware they’d been trying to think of something to wear for Halloween, so Ron’s announcement came as a bit of a surprise. Personally he’d have probably just gone with the tried and tested white sheet with eye holes. But then there was that thing were they didn’t always follow the whole scary theme here. Harry had found that very odd. Wasn’t that the whole point of Halloween? But no, so far he’d been told by various people that they were going as a surgeon, a cop, Zorro, Marilyn Monroe (he thought Mike was very brave) and a hobo. Where were the witches? Where were the ghouls?

Ron was standing up now, flapping his arms about in his enthusiasm. “We’ll go as loud American tourists. We’ll wear dreadful checked jackets over obnoxious shirts, gaudy Bermuda shorts and white socks with open-toed sandals. We’ll carry cameras around our necks and smoke cigars. And. And. We’ll keep pointing at everything and saying how much bigger they are at home.” He looked up triumphantly. “It will be hilarious, Harry.”

Harry stared at him wide eyed and speechless.

THEY. WERE. GOING. TO. DIE.

He dared a glance in Jon’s direction. Jon stood up, a little unsteadily, and walked over to Ron. Harry watched in morbid fascination and thought about closing his eyes. And to think it had all been going so well.

“Dude,” Jon said to Ron, “that is a fucking awesome idea.” And his face broke into a huge grin as he patted Ron on the back.

Oh, well. That was unexpected.

Forty minutes later, they were in a thrift store down town. For the princely sum of $12.80, Harry had purchased a jacket that hurt his eyes, shorts that would scare Chuck Norris, and a shirt that would probably scar him for life. He and Jon were currently trying to persuade Ron to buy a pair of Jesus sandals. Ron was being a total princess about it, complaining about his precious feet having to wear second-hand shoes (Harry was very grateful that they had no shoes in his size).

In the end, they all agreed to chip in and buy Ron some insoles from the pharmacy next door, and, assured that his toes wouldn’t be turning green and dropping off anytime soon, Ron finally bought the bloody sandals.

By mutual agreement they decided to go to Port of Subs afterward. It was weird. For lunch they’d eaten a huge frozen pizza each, washed down with several bags of cheetos, and yet, apparently, they were all starving again. Must have been all the fresh air or something.

They ordered huge sandwiches stuffed with everything and still managed a couple of enormous cookies each for dessert. That was definitely some good fucking fresh air.

When they got back to the dorm, Ron and Harry collapsed tiredly on Harry’s bed. Jon had headed back to his friends’ apartment after dinner.

They spent the rest of the evening worrying about exactly how many people were going to want to kill them come Halloween.

With the judicious application of beer, it didn’t take them too long to come to the conclusion that it was all Jon’s fault.

~~~

The next day, Viktor invited Ron to a Halloween party.

“You’re coming too.” Ron had informed Harry later, in a no nonsense voice.

“But -” Harry had started to say.

Ron had held up a hand, then waved the second-hand sandals in Harry’s face. And well, Harry really had nowhere to go with that.

Jon tried to reassure them several times over the next few days, that their outfits wouldn’t offend people. “They’re ironic, Harry. Would you be offended if someone turned up dressed in a suit and wearing a bowler hat?” Harry of course had said no, but he also thought that Jon probably needed lessons in how to effectively insult a whole nation (Mike Myers could probably help him out with that).

Halloween arrived and Harry still wasn’t convinced. He was still pretty sure they were going to die. It was just a case of when, and by the hand of how many. Personally, Harry didn’t fancy their chances of making it as far as the lift.

Of course, the real irony about the whole thing, was that for once, Ron was actually in a great mood. He’d finally got his journal back the day before from Toro and had got an A- (Toro had also winked at him and asked him out on a date, but Ron said he was fairly sure he’d been joking). He was also hoping that Viktor might finally make a move at the party and had made Harry promise to keep Poliakoff out of the way.

Harry was pleased for him. Really. But Harry also felt he would have been better able to convey all this happiness, had he not been edging his way towards the lift, dressed as a potential punching bag. When they actually did make it to the lift without anyone attacking them, Harry couldn’t quite believe their luck. His panicked jabbing of the lift call button was interrupted by a breathy voice behind him.

“Wow.”

Harry turned to see Malfoy standing next to Ron, staring at him in awe.

Ron turned to face Malfoy. “Oh, hey, Malfoy,” he smiled, brightly at the other boy. Then his eyes bugged out and he gulped. “Erm,” he added, unhelpfully.

He had a point.

Bloody hell.

“Um, Malfoy,” Harry said, trying not to stare. “What -?” He gestured wildly, trying to convey something. He owed it to Ron. Who had clearly lost the ability to talk.

“Oh,” Malfoy glanced down at himself and shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Yeh, it was Blaise’s idea. Apparently,” he blushed, “this is what The Chippendales wear.” He blushed even deeper. “Well, erm, at least before they -” Malfoy waved his hands around and looked very uncomfortable.

Ron just looked stunned. There was a lot of leather. And skin.

Harry bit his lip and tried not to laugh. Oh dear. He had a feeling his friend may have just been run over by the clue bus. Harry started sniggering, he couldn’t help it. Luckily neither Ron or Malfoy noticed.

“But you,” Malfoy, paused, gazing at Ron in wonder. “You look amazing.”

Harry looked at Ron. He was wearing a jacket that looked like someone had thrown up on it; a shirt that they could probably hear in Mexico; the silliest shorts Harry had ever seen (apart from his own); a tatty pair of Jesus sandals and white socks.

And Malfoy was looking at him with heart eyes.

Shit.

Harry was relieved when the lift arrived. He pushed Ron into it, giving Malfoy an apologetic shrug as the doors closed. Suddenly being hunted down by a rabid mob of patriotic Americans seemed the least of his worries.

Thankfully, by the time they got to Viktor’s door, Ron seemed to have recovered the power of speech. Granted it mostly consisted of “Whoa,” “Did you - ?” and “Meep.” But at least he’d stopped gaping like a deranged fish.

Things pretty much went downhill from there.

~~~

As Harry and Ron had made their way over to Viktor’s side of the building, it would be fair to say that Harry had expected some dissent to come their way (and possibly a goodly amount of violence).

What he hadn’t expected were backslaps, thumbs up, good-natured laughter and a whole new appreciation for self-deprecating humour. And yet, that was exactly what they had got. It seemed Jon had been right after all; Harry had been extremely relieved to have been proven wrong and for the first time that night, he’d actually began to relax.

When they arrived at Viktor’s door they knocked and waited. It was opened a moment later by Viktor, dressed as a Blues Brother. He immediately smiled goofily at Ron, who smiled goofily back. Harry rolled his eyes behind Ron’s back. Idiots. Not that he had room to talk of course; Harry was starting to feel a bit of a prat himself, what with making all that fuss about their costumes. Really, what had he been worried about?

And, then, Poliakoff happened.

And Poliakoff’s friends.

~~~

When they got back to the dorm a couple of hours later, the party on their block was in full force.

Harry couldn’t help but notice Malfoy’s hopeful look when Ron walked towards him in the hall; anymore than he could fail to see Malfoy’s disappointment when Ron continued right on past him, without so much as casting him a sideways glance.

Harry actually felt sorry for Malfoy. Which was a bit of a revelation. Seemed it was impossible to carry on hating someone who clearly thought your best friend had hung the moon. Especially when your best friend had just had his heart trampled all over.

Viktor Krum was a complete shit.

And a coward.

Because there was no way Viktor didn’t want Ron. It was fucking obvious. And maybe, that was the problem.

Viktor had driven them to the party, Ron riding shotgun next to him. Harry had been stuck in the back with Poliakoff, who had spent the entire ride criticising their choice of costume and accusing them of disrespect to their host country. Which would have been slightly less ridiculous if Poliakoff hadn’t slagged off all things Western, and everything American in particular, pretty much constantly since they’d met him.

Unfortunately, the hosts of the party and every other guest there, seemed to share Poliakoff’s opinion. Harry and Ron had been greeted with wide-eyed stares of horror on their arrival, and had swiftly been given the cold shoulder by everyone. Harry would have preferred a few snotty comments to be honest, at least then he could have responded, but no one had caused a scene or made a fuss, he and Ron had just found themselves completely shut out. Ignored.

If Viktor hadn’t been there, then, it would have been funny; they probably would have just laughed the whole thing off and made their way home. But Viktor had been there. Harry had silently vowed to kill Jon (in very slow and specific ways).

And then, Harry had thought perhaps it might not be such a bad thing after all. In fact, this could be the perfect opportunity for Viktor to prove himself to Ron; all he had to do was stand by him and support him through this awkward moment. So, Harry had ignored all the sour looks they had been getting from everyone else, and had turned hopeful eyes to Viktor.

Viktor had looked around the room at his scowling friends, and without a word or a glance at Ron, had walked away to stand on the other side of the room, turning his back on Ron and Harry. Harry had seen the confused look Ron had thrown at the other boy, a look that had soon turned to hurt.

Harry had quickly grabbed a couple of beers, clearly no one else was going to offer them one, and had tried desperately to distract Ron from Viktor’s desertion and all the other cold looks they were getting. Frankly, he would have preferred to just get out of there as quickly as possible, but he was damned if he was going to give the fuckers the satisfaction of thinking they’d scared them off.

Unfortunately, things hadn’t improved after that. Ron, clearly upset by Viktor’s behaviour had been miserable, so it had been left to Harry to carry the conversation between them.
Occasionally, Viktor had cast them a pained look, but the bastard had remained steadfastly on the other side of the room. After an hour, Harry had had enough, he had called a cab and got Ron out of there.

Ron hadn’t said a word on the way back in the car, and when Harry had tried to talk to him as they got into the lift, he’d just raised his hand in silent supplication and shaken his head. Harry hadn’t had the heart to push it.

Then, he’d watched Ron walk past Malfoy, walk past everyone, with his head down and with his shoulders slumped and Harry found himself damning the day he’d encouraged Ron to stop moping in his room. Some friend he’d turned out to be. Ron would have been better off without him.

Harry walked disconsolately towards the beer keg. He needed a drink.

~~~

Harry stayed up late, long after Ron had gone to bed. Jon and his friends dropped by the party and Harry shared a few drinks and a smoke or two with them. Of course, Jon asked how things had gone between Ron and Viktor, which naturally led to Harry relating the events of earlier.

Jon and his friends were awesome, calling Viktor, Poliakoff and the shower of shits that had been at the party, all sorts of horrible names and saying exactly what they’d like to do to them (none of it pretty). By the time he’d gone to bed that night, Harry had felt a lot better about the whole situation.

He had hoped to sleep in late the next day, so when someone knocked at his door early that morning he was pissed as hell. But really, why the fuck wasn’t he allowed to have a lie-in? Just fucking once would be brilliant.

He was also surprised - Ron never knocked and Jon didn’t have to. No one else ever came to his door.

Sighing heavily, Harry climbed out of bed. He winced when his head throbbed in time with his movements and made his way slowly over to open the door.

“Blaise?” Harry was shocked. Why would Blaise be at his door? Oh fuck.

“What’s happened to Ron?” He asked, frantically.

Blaise snorted and pushed his way past Harry.

“Ron’s fine,” He paused and considered the ceiling for a moment. “Well, apart from walking around like someone stole his puppy. But you and I, Harry, we’re going to change all that. We,” he looked over at Harry with a huge grin on his face, “are going to be Ron’s fucking heroes."

Harry frowned. “We are?”

Blaise nodded, as he settled himself on Jon’s bed. “Oh, yeh,” he said, firmly.

Harry felt a little discombobulated (he briefly considered telling Blaise this, he’d always wanted a reason to say the word out loud). Why was Blaise Zabini in his room talking about heroes?

“Harry!” Blaise’s exasperated voice broke into his rattled thoughts. Harry looked up and frowned at the boy on the bed. “Blaise, what the fuck’s going on?”

Blaise grinned again. “Good question, Harry. I’m glad you asked me that,” he nodded to Harry’s bed. “Pull up a seat and I’ll tell you.”

Harry wandered back to his bed and sat slowly down. How he longed for those far-off hazy days when whole hours would go by without anyone barging into his room and talking bollocks at him. He sighed and waited for Blaise to continue.

“Look,” Blaise looked serious now, leaning forward and frowning slightly at Harry. “I heard what happened last night. And I have to say I wasn’t surprised.”

“Hey, you said you liked our costumes.” Harry said, feeling a little offended.

Blaise held up his hands palms out. “I did, Harry,” he said, placatingly. “I meant I wasn’t surprised by the reaction you got at the party. I know a good few of the people that were there and they’re a bunch of stuck up bastards who wouldn’t know irony if it came up and bit them on the ass.” He frowned deeper, “none of those assholes has a sense of humour, but even if they did, I’m sure Poliakoff had already primed them to react badly towards you both, whatever you wore.”

Harry frowned this time. “But why? I get that little shit doesn’t like us, but why turn everyone else against us too? I mean surely, he knew that Viktor liked Ron?”

Blaise sat back, grimacing. “Well, that’s kind of the problem. While Poliakoff isn’t the most pleasant of blokes under any circumstances, he probably wouldn’t have been quite so vile to you guys, if he hadn’t seen exactly how much Viktor liked Ron.”

Harry wasn’t particularly surprised by that; after all it was what he’d suspected himself at the very start.

“So, Poliakoff really is gay, then.” Harry nodded thoughtfully. It all made sense now.

Blaise snorted loudly. “God, no!” He paused, chuckling to himself.

Harry let out a puff of frustrated breath and threw his hands up in the air. “Okay. I fucking give up! What the hell is Poliakoff’s problem then?”

Blaise stopped laughing and looked suddenly serious. “An old one, Harry. Poliakoff’s problem is an old, but sadly, still all too frequent one. He’s a bigot. A homophobic bigot.”

Harry frowned in confusion. While he could easily believe that Poliakoff was a homophobic arsehole, it made no sense that he would be friends with Viktor. Unless…

“Shit. Viktor isn’t straight, is he?” Because, while that would be pretty hard to believe, what with all the inappropriate touching and blatant flirting with Ron, it would also explain an awful lot.

Again Blaise snorted, but softly this time. “Oh, Harry, you really do have a gift for getting things completely and utterly wrong.”

“Hey!” Harry complained.

Blaise ignored him. “No, Viktor is definitely gay. Unfortunately he is also so far back in the closet that Mr.Tumnus probably invites him to family reunions.”

“Fuck.” Harry was thinking about how Ron was going to react to that news (and also wondering where he was going to borrow a ladder so he could punch Viktor in the face).

“Exactly,” Blaise said with a wry smile. “But look, Harry, don’t be too hard on him.”

Harry looked up and scowled at Blaise. Viktor had acted like a complete scumbag, why wouldn’t Harry be hard on him? The shit deserved everything coming to him (even if Harry had a horrible feeling that the only thing actually coming to Viktor was having to watch as Ron cried over Harry’s broken and bloody body, after Harry and Viktor’s very uneven encounter).

Blaise sighed. “I know you probably want to kill him for seemingly stringing Ron along, but honestly Harry, I don’t believe it was like that.”

“Oh,” Harry replied, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. “How was it then, Blaise? Please tell me how Viktor bloody Krum didn’t know what it was going to do to Ron when he found out that Viktor was too much of a coward to come out and admit that he liked him. Or are you going to try and tell me that he didn’t realise what he was doing. That he didn’t even realise that Ron was falling for him?” Harry was standing up now and his voice had risen with his words.

“No, Harry,” Blaise shook his head sadly. “I’m not going to claim any of that. And believe me I’m bloody angry too. I could quite cheerfully strangle Viktor for the way he’s treated Ron. But you have to understand that the world that he comes from is very different to ours. Bulgaria isn’t exactly known for its tolerance towards alternative lifestyles.”

Blaise frowned. “Then there’s Poliakoff,” he practically spat the name. “They’ve been friends for years, and while I’m sure that Poliakoff knows Viktor’s true orientation, I’m equally sure that he constantly whispers poison in his ear, constantly reminding Viktor of what he’s risking, of what he’s got to lose. And always with the unspoken threat that any step out of line will be reported back home. I happen to know that without the continued support of his family, Viktor will have to give up his degree and return to Bulgaria. And believe me, Harry, if Viktor’s family find out he’s gay, then, they will most definitely withdraw their support.”

Harry sat back down on the bed and brushed his hands through his hair. “I don’t understand it though, Blaise. If Poliakoff is that much of a bigot, then how can he even be friends with Viktor? I would have thought the little homophobe would be too disgusted.”

Blaise laughed derisively. “Yeh, funny thing about that, Harry. I’ve heard that he thinks it’s ‘just a phase’.”

Harry snorted.

“I know,” Blaise rolled his eyes. “Heard that one much? Poliakoff has told some of his equally bigoted friends, that once Viktor is safely married to Poliakoff’s sister, then he’ll forget all about his ‘unnatural’ tendencies.”

“Little fucker.” Harry punched the wall behind him. He was going to murder the bastard.

Blaise nodded. “Yeh, I’ve got a few dents in my walls too.”

And something suddenly hit Harry. “You like Ron, don’t you?”

Blaise looked confused, but also amused. “Well, yeh, Harry. Of course I like Ron. He’s my room mate and a good friend. I’m actually very fond of the miserable little shit.”

Harry shook his head and grinned. “You do know he thinks you hate him?” He said.

“I said I liked him, Harry. Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy tormenting him.” Blaise said, then started laughing.

Harry broke into chuckles of his own; he was really starting to warm to Blaise.

“Okay,” Harry said a moment later. “So tell me how you’re going to go from zero to hero and win Ron over?”

Blaise smiled. “Heroes, Harry, heroes. He’s going to love us both.”

Harry thought Ron already liked him fine, but then again after recent events, maybe he could do with currying some favour. He sat up and leaned forward, ready to listen.

“Now, while I was hoping Viktor might prove worthy of Ron’s affection, I have to admit that I’ve always secretly been rooting for Draco.” Blaise stopped, looking at Harry with a sly smile on his face.

Harry’s eyebrow’s crawled into his hairline. “Really?” He said, in an awed voice. Blaise definitely had hidden depths. “He’s been stalking Ron, hasn’t he?” Harry continued, triumphantly.

“Oh, yeh,” Blaise grinned. “Ever since the RA meeting the first week.”

Harry remembered that meeting, and now that he thought about it, he also remembered Malfoy walking out of his room with a snooty looking girl. It had actually been really funny. Malfoy had looked so appalled at finding all those people sitting unexpectedly outside his door. He had immediately turned around and walked right back into his room, his friend following close behind.

“But Malfoy didn’t even come to the meeting,” Harry said to Blaise.

Blaise smiled wider. “No, he didn’t stick around for the actual meeting, but he did notice Ron. The stalking started very sooner after.”

Huh. Harry was impressed, he hadn’t even noticed Malfoy looking in Ron’s direction that day. He thought about Blaise’s earlier words.

“So, your plan is to get Ron and Malfoy together?” he asked, sounding worried. He really wasn’t sure that was such a great idea. Harry knew Ron liked Malfoy well enough, and from last night’s reaction to the male stripper outfit, it could well become something more, but he was also pretty sure that he didn’t want his best friend going out with Draco Malfoy.

Blaise shrugged. “At this point it’s really just helping along the inevitable. I’ve never known Draco to not get something he wanted. And well,” he grinned over at Harry. “I’ve never known him to want anything as much as he wants Ron.”

Harry frowned, noting Blaise’s surprise as he did so. Well, fuck him. Why wouldn’t he be annoyed at Ron being seen as just another ‘something’ that Draco Malfoy could acquire?

“Actually, Blaise,” he said. “I think we should stay out of it. Ron can look after his own love life just fine. And maybe Malfoy will just have to get used to not always getting what he wants.”

Blaise looked nonplussed. “But, Harry, I’m pretty sure Ron wants this as much as Draco. He’s just been distracted by Viktor, and not noticed his true feelings for Draco creeping up on him.”

Harry was unconvinced; Ron had only ever talked about Malfoy as a friend (well, until his eyes had nearly popped out of his head last night, but frankly, Harry’s own eyeballs had made a valiant effort to leave their sockets too; it was just that sort of costume). And besides, Malfoy was an obnoxious shit. Just because he turned on the charm around Ron, didn’t mean he wouldn’t turn out to be the stuck-up little tit that Harry knew and loathed. Ron could do so much better.

“Yeh, well, I happen to think Ron can do so much better than Draco fucking Malfoy.”

Blaise smiled and looked down. “Ah. Yes, dear Draco does have a certain way about him doesn’t he?” He looked up at Harry with eyes sparkling with amusement.

Harry raised an eyebrow. He didn’t think it was funny.

“Oh, Harry,” Blaise shook his head. “Think about it. Has Ron ever mentioned Malfoy being an obnoxious little tit, with too much money and not enough manners?”

Well, Blaise knew the Malfoy Harry knew, that was for sure. So, how come Ron couldn’t see it?

Oh, right.

Harry shrugged this time. “Okay, so Malfoy’s putting on some sort of act. Obviously trying to charm his way into Ron’s pants. What does that prove? Other than he can be a sneaky little bastard when he wants something.”

Blaise laughed out loud. “Oh he can be sneaky alright,” he agreed. “But he can also be fiercely protective of those he cares for, generous, funny and yes, charming. ” He looked at Harry, suddenly serious. “Harry, I have known Draco since we were kids. I’ve seen just about every facet of his personality, good and bad. Of course, he has his faults but I have never seen him so completely smitten. He’s not trying to fool Ron. What Ron sees is what Ron brings out in Draco.” He started to snigger. “Also,” Blaise said. “His response to you, Harry, has largely been dictated by jealousy.”

Harry had been looking down at his carpet while Blaise spoke, but his head shot up at that. “Jealousy? Of what?”

Blaise rolled his eyes again. “What do you think? He sees you with Ron all the time. He follows Ron to a bar (he nodded his head at Harry’s incredulous look - “I thought we’d already established Draco’s stalker credentials, Harry”) and Ron’s there to meet you. He stakes out the shopping mall and you’re there looking at shoes with Ron. You go to parties together. You eat lunch, dinner and sometimes breakfast together. Jesus, Harry, I’m jealous and I don’t even fancy Ron.” He grinned at Harry. “How did you think Draco would react? At this point, I think he’s about one more encounter away from paying some one to make you disappear."

Harry’s eyes went comically wide at that.

“It’s okay, Harry. I intend to make sure that the next encounter is one that Draco will be very grateful that you didn’t miss.” Blaise stood up suddenly and walked over to Harry. “Now, the question is, are you going to help me, Harry?”

Harry bit his lip and thought about everything Blaise had said. He thought about Ron, about his face the night before when Viktor had walked away, the devastated look in his eyes as he’d walked back to his room. Then, he thought about how Ron had looked every time they’d bumped into Malfoy recently. How his eyes had lit up, and his smile had grown brighter. Finally, he thought about the smiling, almost shy, softly spoken Malfoy he saw whenever Malfoy talked to Ron. And he made his decision.

“Yeh,” he said with a grin. “I’ll help.”

~~~

“Right, then,” said Harry, standing up. “Time to go home.”

Ron looked up from his half-eaten ice cream. “Harry, I swear I am going to stick this spoon somewhere you really, really don’t want me to, if you don’t sit the fuck down and let me finish this ice cream.”

Harry slumped back down in his seat and whined. “Come on, Ron. There’s a bus in ten minutes, if we leave now we’ll just make it.”

Ron reached over and hit Harry on the forehead with his spoon. “Seriously, Harry, I will fuck you up, with, or without, the use of this spoon.” And he waved it in Harry’s face.

Harry sighed. “Okay, but hurry the fuck up.”

He watched Ron eat the ice cream and nervously glanced at his watch. Blaise was going to fucking kill him if he didn’t get Ron back to their room in the next half hour. It really shouldn’t have mattered what time they got back, as long as they got there before the party finished, except for one small but very important fact - Harry’s life sucked like a great big sucky thing that really fucking sucked.

Blaise had told Harry earlier, that he was going to throw an impromptu post-Halloween party and invite the whole floor, including Malfoy. Harry had been given the task of getting Ron out of the room, long enough that Blaise could setup for the party. They both knew that they had to keep the whole party thing from Ron; there was no way after the previous night’s disaster that he was willingly going to show up to another one the very next day.

It had taken a considerable amount of persuasion, but finally Harry had managed to lure him out with promises of unfeasibly large ice creams. Unfortunately, they had walked right into Malfoy as they were coming out of the lift. After several rounds of embarrassed sorrys and much awkward shuffling of feet, Malfoy had looked up at Ron, his eyes resting for a moment on Ron’s jacket.

“Oh, you’re going out?” Malfoy had asked, looking confused.

Crap.

“Erm, yeh,” Ron had glanced uneasily at Harry. “We’re just going to get some ice cream.”

Fuck. Ron was going to change his mind and go back upstairs any minute now. Harry’s palms had begun to itch.

Malfoy’s shoulders had slumped visibly. “Oh,” he’d said sounding disappointed. “Well, enjoy.” And with a last mournful look at Ron, and a narrowed eyed evil glare at Harry, he’d stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the seventh floor.

Ron had taken a step forward and looked like he was about to say something, but the doors had closed before he had been able to get a word out. Harry had felt dizzy with relief. Without any further preamble, he’d grabbed hold of Ron’s arm and pulled him out the doors and towards the bus stop. Harry sincerely hoped there was going to be alcohol at the end of all this.

They’d been on a bus heading downtown, when he’d received a text from Blaise.

Wot the fuck did u do 2 D? he’s talking contract killer. get R back asap. not sure how long D will stay.

Seriously, Harry’s life sucked.

~~~

“Are you sure, Harry? Only, mental health isn’t something to be taken lightly.” Ron said, grinning at Harry.

“Fuck off, Ron,” Harry replied, deadpan. They were on the bus going back to the dorm.

“But, no, really Harry, you’re behaviour has been a bit schizophrenic tonight. First, you spend nearly an hour trying to persuade me to go and get bloody ice cream with you, and then, when I can’t stand your yapping anymore and give in, you can’t wait to drag me back to the dorm. I mean, what’s up with that?”

“I told you,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes, “I just remembered that I had an essay due in tomorrow, that’s all.”

“Yeh, right.” Ron didn’t sound convinced. The bus pulled to a stop outside their dorm and Ron stood up and walked toward the exit. Harry followed behind, praying that Malfoy would still be there when they got to the party.

When they stepped out of the lift on their floor, Ron turned to Harry. “So,” he said. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry shook his head. “Actually, erm, I just need to borrow a book from Blaise.” And he headed along the hall to Ron’s room.

“Really,” Ron said, behind him. “I didn’t know you and Blaise shared any classes.”

“Um, no, I mean yeh.” Harry hadn’t thought this far ahead. Luckily he was saved from having to come up with any further explanation, when they turned the corner and Ron was immediately distracted by the loud music coming from the open door of his room.

“What the fuck,” Ron mumbled, ducking through the door. Harry followed warily behind. This was where it could all got tits up.

The first person Ron encountered was Malfoy. He looked like he was on his way out, but he stopped as soon as he saw Ron.

“Oh, you're back,” Malfoy said, and his face lit up.

“Yeh,” Ron said, and even from behind him, Harry could tell he was smiling. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” he went on, taking a step closer to Malfoy.

Harry’s mum had raised no fool; he swerved around the two of them and went in search of beer.

A short while later, when Harry walked out of the bathroom, he noticed Ron was sitting in one of the chairs in the study area, looking up at Malfoy who was sitting close to him on the desk. Malfoy was leaning down towards Ron, who was leaning up to meet him. Harry walked quickly back into the kitchen.

When Harry next headed for the bathroom, Malfoy was straddling Ron’s lap, he had both hands in Ron’s hair and was kissing Ron with all the pent up frustration of two months patient stalking. Ron had his own hands shoved up the back of Malfoy’s shirt and was returning his kisses just as enthusiastically.

Harry decided he really didn’t need the bathroom, after all, and backed carefully away.

~~~

The next morning at exactly 9am, Harry walked into Ron’s room and jumped onto Blaise’s empty bed. He looked at the lifeless lump lying under the covers on Ron’s bed and grinned.

“I know you’re awake under there, Ron. Blaise just left, and we both know there’s no way you slept through the moisturising of the thighs.”

He picked up the rubber stress buster Blaise kept on his shelf, and threw it at where he thought Ron’s head was.

“Come on, you git. Get up and tell me all about your new boyfriend.”

He sing-songed the last part in as annoying a voice as he could manage (he nodded happily to himself, he had to admit, it was pretty damn annoying).

There was a moment’s silence, followed by the sound of unhappy grunting, and then Ron’s head slowly emerged from the covers.

“Fuck off, Harry,” he said, grinning.

Harry grinned back. He had a funny feeling the rest of the year was going to prove very interesting.

End

ginger_lust fic

hull1984 — Wed, 07 Apr 2010 20:32:38 GMT

I wrote this for ginger_lust and it is quite possibly my favourite fic that I've written.

Title: Nothing Ever Lasts Forever
Creator: hull1984
Rating: PG13
Beta: incoherenteye (thank you, you were great)
Pairing(s)/Characters: Ron/Draco, Ron/Viktor (minor), Harry, Blaise
Warnings/content: Excessive use of the f-word, minor use of a recreational drug
Word Count: 16,274
Summary: A non-magical AU. Ron and Harry meet while they are both on an exchange year at an American university. They have never met each other, or Blaise and Draco, before this story starts. Title from the song by Echo And The Bunnymen. There are random bandom cameos (because I just can’t seem to help myself).

Nothing Ever Last Forever

“I hate my life,” Ron groaned into the pillow he was hugging to his chest.

Harry chuckled from the opposite bed. “What’s Zabini done this time?” he asked.

Ron let out a snort, but at least he finally removed his head from the pillow (Harry had been worried about accidental asphyxiation). Sitting up, Ron turned to face Harry.

“Oh God, Harry, I never thought I’d say this but I wish it was Blaise.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up in amazement. They’d been there two months now and, apart from two short, blissful weeks when Ron had been without a room-mate, every day had brought forth a litany of complaints regarding Blaise Zabini (and Harry had met the bloke, so he knew he hadn’t suddenly become any less annoying).

No. Clearly, something extraordinary had occurred. Harry sat up a little straighter.

Ron frowned. “Though, now that you mention it…”

Harry slumped. So fucking close.

“Have I told you about the moisturiser?”

Ron didn’t bother to wait for an answer (in fairness, Harry didn’t try to offer one; the Zabini Rants were legendary by this time).

“Harry, the guy gets up every day at 7am. That’s 7 o’clock in the MORNING!” Ron shook his head. “Which, you know, would be fine. If he didn’t also wake me up to the sound of cream being slapped loudly onto bare skin. Again. And again. And AGAIN.”

Ron suddenly sat upright, a stunned look on his face. “Bloody hell, Harry, I’m going to kill the bastard.” He turned tormented eyes to Harry. “He’s a bloke, Harry. A bloke. Why does he even need to put moisturiser on his thighs?”

Harry really had no answer to that.

“And he’s naked, Harry.” Ron looked wretched now. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Naked. And he. He. He bends over.” Ron’s voiced cracked on the last word.

Harry couldn’t stand it any longer; the look of pure horror on Ron’s face was just too much. He let out a loud snort of laughter and fell off the bed.

Ron sighed. “Fuck off, Harry.”

~~~

A little while later, they were sitting in The Deadwood nursing a couple of beers. Ron was slouched in his chair looking miserable and Harry was trying not to roll his eyes (it wasn’t easy; Ron wasn’t exactly enjoying his Exchange year).

“So, apart from Zabini’s smooth, well-moisturised thighs-” Ron choked on his beer (Harry grinned evilly, timing was everything) “- how’s it going?”

Ron put his bottle back on the table. “It isn’t,” he said, grumpily. “Going,” he attempted to clarify at Harry’s perplexed look. “It isn’t going, Harry. My life just. Isn’t.” When Harry just shook his head and looked more confused, Ron slumped forward and pouted pitifully. “See?” He said. “This is what my life has become.”

Not for the first time, Harry wondered if talking to Ron at the Exchange Students Meet and Greet had really been such a good idea. He liked the guy, he did. He just wished he’d bloody cheer up.

“It’s my Literature and Psychology class.”

Harry looked up from where he’d been staring at his bottle. Okay, this might be good. The Literature and Psyche class had brought forth good stuff before. Frankly, he still didn’t understand what had possessed Ron to sign up for it in the first place.

“I don’t know what possessed me to sign up for it in the first place.” Ron picked forlornly at the label on his bottle of beer (Harry remembered reading somewhere that that was a sign of sexual frustration, and vaguely wondered if it had ever come up in Ron’s psyche class. Looking at Ron’s unhappy face, he hastily concluded that mentioning it at this point would probably earn him a punch in the head).

Before he could ask what specifically about the class was bugging Ron this time, a shadow fell across the table.

Ron looked up at the same time as Harry, and frowned at the boy standing there, his features smoothing quickly into a smile. “Oh hey, Malfoy,” he said, nodding at the other boy.

Harry couldn’t quite hide his shock (although, he wasn’t sure what was more surprising, Malfoy actually deigning to talk to them, or Ron’s own apparent lack of surprise).

“Hey,” Malfoy returned Ron’s nod.

Harry and Ron looked at Malfoy expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. But the blond boy showed no sign of continuing, choosing instead to bite at his bottom lip and stare intently at the table.

Ron exchanged a perplexed look with Harry, shrugging in confusion before turning back to Malfoy.

“So, um, did you need something, Malfoy?” he asked, with a grin.

That seemed to snap the other boy out of his fugue and he turned suddenly hopeful eyes to Ron.

“Yes,” he replied, a little breathlessly. “Yes, um, I needed to ask,” he paused, and Harry couldn’t be sure in the dim lights of the bar, but he thought Malfoy might actually be blushing. What the fuck?

“That is,” Malfoy stopped again and shifted from one foot to the other. “I needed to ask,” he sighed, his shoulders suddenly slumping, “to borrow your menu.” And he picked up the narrow strip of cardboard from the table, before turning abruptly and walking away.

Harry looked across the table at Ron in wide eyed wonder. “What the hell was that?” He asked.

Ron shook his head, looking equally shocked. “I know,” he replied. “The git could have at least waited to see if we’d finished with it.”

Harry’s eyes widened further. “No. I think you’re missing the point, Ron.” When Ron continued to look confused he went on. “That was Draco Malfoy.”

Ron was looking at him now like he was an idiot. “Er, yes, Harry. I know. Hence the ‘hey, Malfoy’.” He rolled his eyes.

“No, no,” (and yes, okay, Harry might have spluttered a bit, but really it was too annoying). “Ron, I have lived next door to that little shit for two months now, and he has never so much as acknowledged my existence,” he paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Bugger, the little tit just did it again, didn’t he?” He shook his head. “Anyway, the point is, I’ve never seen him talk to anyone outside his little circle of cronies. And yet, here he is actually talking to you as if you’re a real human being.” He looked pointedly at Ron.

Ron shrugged again. “Don’t know what you’re going on about, mate. He talks to me all the time.” And he stood up, grabbing the two empty bottles from the table. “Same again?” he asked, heading to the bar when Harry nodded weakly in response.

Well.

Harry was experiencing that same swooping feeling of displacement that comes when you reach carefully down to take the next step, only to find yourself suddenly at the bottom of the stairs after all.

And he couldn’t help feeling that perhaps he’d missed a few steps in-between.

Draco Malfoy lived in the room next door to Harry, not that you’d know it from the amount of interaction between the two. Harry would have been quite happy to speak to the other bloke but therein lay the problem. Draco Malfoy was the most arrogant, stuck up bastard that Harry had ever had the misfortune to come into contact with.

The obnoxious git refused to speak to his room-mate, let alone his neighbours. He never ate in the shared kitchen and refused to use the joint bathroom unless the rest of his suite mates were out (he’d even been known to lock them out for a whole evening just so he could take a bath). Why he was even living in the dorms was anyone’s guess. It was abundantly clear that he came from money; his father was an Ambassador to the UN, or some such, and Harry had heard that his parents lived in a huge house in Hyannis Port.

And now, Ron was saying that he talked to Malfoy all the time.

Well, shit.

~~~

Harry yawned and scratched his head tiredly. He squinted at his alarm clock and groaned.

“Ron, come on, mate. I have to be up in three hours.”

Ron let out a jaw-cracking yawn of his own before nodding. “Okay, Harry.” He flicked through the pages of the large, hard-backed notebook on the bed in front of him. “I think I’ve got enough.”

Harry sighed in relief and slumped down onto his pillow.

“But let this be a lesson to you,” Ron admonished, shaking his finger at him. “Next time, think before you make sweeping statements regarding other people’s class assignments.”

Before Harry could formulate an appropriately scathing response, Ron had gathered up his things and swept from the room. Fucker didn’t even have the courtesy to switch off the light.

“You’re welcome!” Harry shouted at the closing door (earning a thump on the wall and a muffled “shut the fuck up” from the room next door. Fucking Malfoy).

Okay so technically, you could argue that Harry was maybe slightly to blame for Ron’s predicament. But only very slightly. It’s not like Ron should have just taken his word for it, git still should have done his homework.

Bloody Psyche class. Harry was beginning to hate it as much as Ron. How was he supposed to know that the professor was a voyeuristic pervert (although yeh, his area of expertise should have probably clued Harry up on that one; you don’t get to be a doctor of psychology without harbouring certain tendencies).

Still. It seemed a bit invasive. Setting your students the task of keeping a journal for the duration of the course, and then, pulling the dirty trick of actually asking them to submit the bloody thing for grading. Harry was pretty sure that it would never have happened at home (thank God, for good old English reserve). He had really felt on solid ground when he’d assured Ron that there was no way he’d ever have to produce an actual journal. He should have known his words would come back to haunt him.

Ron had returned to their table at The Deadwood earlier that evening, with fresh beers and the chilling news that Professor Toro had cheerfully announced in class that day, that he’d like everyone to hand in their journals for grading. Toro had gone on to say, even more cheerfully apparently (the sadistic bastard), that this would make up twenty percent of their final grade. A red faced, rather strident Ron, had then produced an A4 sized notebook and flapped the very empty pages in Harry’s appalled face.

“Drink up, Harry,” he’d instructed soon afterward, pointing at Harry’s beer. “Because you and I have one night to fill this book up with eight weeks worth of diary entries. And you better make it interesting, there’s no way I’m having Toro think I’m a total loser.”

They’d gone back to Harry’s room (Harry’s room-mate, Jon, practically lived at his friends’ apartment off-campus, so Harry pretty much had the room to himself), and spent the next five hours composing a fictional account of Ron’s life over the past couple of months. It had to be fictional because Ron really was a total loser, who had effectively spent every day since he’d arrived sulking.

From the moment of their very first meeting, Ron had made it abundantly clear just how much he didn’t want to be there; his unwavering refusal over the weeks that followed to accept any invitation to socialise or enjoy himself, pretty much cementing the sentiment. Harry counted it as a huge win that Ron had finally started to actually meet up with Harry outside of their dorm.

When Harry had questioned him about it, Ron had just shrugged and said that he missed his friends back home and didn’t like the idea of them graduating without him, hated the fact that when he went back next year they’d all be gone. Harry suspected there was more to it. From a couple of things that Ron had let slip when his guard was down (usually around the fourth beer), he had the idea that perhaps there was one person in particular that Ron missed, and that it was the thought of not seeing that person again that had him so messed up. But Ron had shut down all of his attempts to dig deeper, refusing to be drawn out on the subject, so Harry had let it drop.

Whatever the true reason for Ron’s recent monastic lifestyle, it had certainly made it a challenge to come up with enough entries to fill the depressingly blank pages of Ron’s notebook. It had made for a rather trying night too. Things had grown particularly strained around the 3am point, when Ron had employed some hitherto undisclosed ninja stealth moves, to sneak up on Harry and read the latest journal entry he had been jotting down -

October 14th: Admired Blaise’s naked arse (how does he get his thighs so silky smooth, I wonder?). Lied to Harry about it. It is becoming increasingly hard (ha) to hide my flaming homosexual proclivities from Harry. He is so cunning (and devilishly handsome) that he is sure to figure it out soon. Thank goodness my humungous man-crush on Prof Toro remains hidden…

Harry had glared reproachfully at Ron as he'd rubbed the back of his abused head. “It’s not like I was really going to put it in,” he'd mumbled, churlishly. “Where’s your sense of humour?”

“I lost it somewhere around 2am, Harry,” Ron had responded, throwing the scrunched up page at Harry’s head.

Ron had soon forgiven him, however, when Harry had come up with the ingenious idea of padding things out with song lyrics.

“You just have to make a big deal at the start about music being your life and how inspired you are by the words and music of your musical heroes,” he’d explained, excitedly. “And bingo! Pages and pages filled with Morrissey’s struggle with celibacy.”

Ron had looked torn between hugging him, and kicking him in the face for the celibacy crack.

But the real trump - the thing that Harry reckoned meant he now owned Ron - was the dream suggestion. Psychoanalysts ate that shit up. Ron had declared Harry a genius, and then made him write out as many of his dreams as he could remember (apparently, Ron never remembered his own dreams and if he did, then, they were always about food).

Harry had been reluctant at first - “fuck off, Ron!” - but well, the truth was, Harry had always been a little obsessed by his dreams (he’d even kept a dream journal when he was fourteen) and he just hadn't been able to stop his natural interest in the subject taking over.

He had enthusiastically filled several pages with dreams from his old journal - he'd been a little surprised by how many of the dreams featured knives - he seemed to have had a fascination when he was younger with sharp objects, and a number of his teenage dreams were filled with grabbing hold of, or poking other people with them. He had also seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time jumping through windows. How odd. Still better to share the details of those dreams, than his more recent ones, which tended to feature a lot more nudity, and a good deal of grabbing and poking of other things.

It had been nearing 5am when Ron had finally left the room. Harry calculating the likelihood of actually staying awake for his 9am class, had re-set his alarm for noon, and crawled under his covers. Two minutes later, he had been fast asleep.

~~~

Harry was woken up by a text from Ron at 9am. Git.

Meet u at arbys at 12.30 I’m buying

In spite of being disturbed from his sleep, Harry couldn’t help smiling; at least the bastard was grateful for his efforts last night. He sent back a quick reply.

k now f off + let me sleep

He was just snuffling back under the covers when his phone beeped again.

Aaaw sweet dreams bb

Harry shook his head. Tosser. He switched his phone off and threw it over onto Jon’s empty bed.

~~~

Ron wasn’t just grateful, he was also very happy and relieved. So happy and relieved in fact, that he finally agreed to go to a party. Harry had asked as a matter of course, and really hadn’t been expecting a yes. Hearing Ron’s unexpected reply, he paused with his roast beef sandwich half-way to his mouth.

“Really?” Harry asked, blinking in disbelief.

Ron looked up from his curly fries and frowned. “Well, not if you don’t want me to,” he said, sulkily.

“No, no,” Harry waved his bun happily in Ron’s direction, stray bits of beef landing limply on the table between them. “That’s great. Really. I was just a bit surprised, that’s all.”

“Yeh, well,” Ron rubbed the back of his neck and ducked his head. “It’s recently been brought to my attention that I may have been acting in a somewhat anti-social manner, and probably needed to get out and about a bit more.” He grinned over at Harry and rolled his eyes, “except maybe in less polite terms and with a few more expletives.”

“Who -,” Harry started to ask, but Ron interrupted him, shaking his head and mumbling, “no one you know, Harry.”

Harry noticed the way Ron’s smile faded, his mouth pulling down at the corners, and remembered the letter from home Ron had told Harry he’d found in his mailbox that morning. He picked up a fry and threw it at Ron’s head. “So what are you going to wear for your very first college party, Ron?” He asked with a wink.

Ron looked up at Harry in horror, “Jesus, what are we, Harry? Thirteen year old girls?”

Harry shrugged, grinning, “Well, we are at the mall, and you did drag me into that shop earlier to show me the pair of shoes you’ve been coveting for the past three weeks.”

It was Ron’s turn to throw fries. “Fuck off, Harry. They were sneakers.”

Yeh, like that made a difference.

~~~

They were walking out of the mall, Ron enjoying a particularly vociferous Zabini rant, when Harry saw Malfoy.

The blond boy was walking towards them but on the opposite side of the concourse. He was striding along, nose in the air, looking for all the world like he fucking owned the place (and rumour had it, he probably did). It reminded Harry, that he still hadn’t asked Ron about the encounter the previous day, and he turned toward Ron to do just that. Unfortunately, it wasn’t easy to shut him up, once he got on to Blaise.

“One fucking bagel, Harry,” Ron said, gesticulating wildly with his hands to emphasise his point. “One fucking bagel and that bastard ate it. I wouldn’t have minded,” he went on, “but the fridge was heaving with his stuff, all sorts of fancy fucking shit and he eats the one bloody bagel I’ve got in there.” Ron’s voice had risen steadily as he warmed to his subject.

Harry glanced over as Malfoy drew level with them, and saw the moment the blond recognised Ron’s voice. To Harry’s surprise Malfoy immediately headed over in their direction. Huh, seemed he and Ron really did know each other.

Ron was still oblivious to everything except what he wanted to do to “Blaise fucking Zabini,” so he missed the moment when Malfoy came to a sudden halt in front of them, missed how at the word “fucking” Malfoy’s eyes bugged out of his head as if he’d just received a blow to the head.

Harry didn’t miss it though. Harry didn’t miss any of it. He had to fake a cough to cover the sudden urge to laugh out loud. He put his hand on Ron’s arm so he wouldn’t walk into Malfoy (and he didn’t miss the way Malfoy’s eyes narrowed at that either).

Ron stopped walking and looked enquiringly at Harry. Harry nodded his head at Malfoy, and Ron turned to see the blond in front of him. “Oh hey, Malfoy,” he smiled brightly.

“Hey,” Malfoy, shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers and stared down at the floor.

And this. This. Was quite possibly the funniest moment of Harry’s life. Because this time, in the harsh lights of the mall, there was no mistaking the deep blush that spread rapidly across Malfoy’s face and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. Harry rubbed his hand under his nose and pressed his thumb against his lips; laughing at this point really wasn’t an option.

“So, how’s things?” Ron asked.

Malfoy looked up and smiled shyly, “Good,” he replied, softly. “Really good.”

He and Ron both turned sharply to look at Harry, who was coughing loudly into his hand.

“Sorry,” Harry said, “frog in my throat. I’ll just, erm,” he turned and pointed towards a drugstore, “go and buy some water.” And he walked away quickly, shoulders shaking.

When he got back, Ron and Malfoy were sitting on a bench, Ron talking animatedly, while Malfoy looked on in rapt fascination.

Fucking. Hilarious.

Harry took a last swallow from his bottle of water, wiped the smirk from his face and walked over.

“Hey, you ready to go, Ron?” He kicked at Ron’s outstretched feet, earning a glare from Malfoy.

Ron looked up. “Oh, you’re back,” he said cheerfully.

“Yes,” Harry said, looking pointedly at Malfoy. “I’m back.” He knew it was mean but this was fun. Hey, and look, Malfoy was definitely acknowledging Harry’s existence now.

Ron stood up and gave Malfoy an awkward little wave. “So, guess I’ll see you around,” he said, with a final nod.

Malfoy smiled up at him. “Yeh, see you around.”

Ron nudged Harry in his side. “Come on, then, loser.” And he started walking towards the exit.

Harry paused long enough to give Malfoy a smug, little wave of his own. Wow. Malfoy had certainly embraced the culture of his adopted country. Nice finger.

Harry threw his arm around Ron’s shoulder and pulled him tight against his side. He grinned widely at the unmistakable “fucker” he heard mumbled at his back. Life was sweet. He looked up at Ron, who was frowning down at him.

“Um, Harry. What the fuck are you doing?”

Harry shrugged, unapologetically, “I have no idea, Ron. No idea.” And he steered his bemused friend through the automatic doors.

~~~

They caught one of the university buses back to the dorms. Harry was relieved that it was mostly empty at this time on a Friday afternoon, less people to overhear their conversation (they claimed it was ‘the accent,’ but frankly Harry thought they were just a bunch of nosy bastards).

“So,” he said, looking pointedly at Ron. “How long?”

Ron gave him a puzzled look, then peered around the interior of the bus, “About 35/40 foot?” He replied, confusedly.

Harry shook his head. Fucking oblivious much. “Not the bloody bus, you prat. How long have you and Malfoy… you know.” And he waggled his eyebrows meaningfully.

Ron looked at him, clearly even more confused now. “You know what, Harry? Talked? Recognised each other? Thought you were a moron? What?”

Harry was torn between laughing and banging his head against the seat in front. Ron didn’t know. He really, really didn’t know. Jesus, you couldn’t write this stuff. This was pure fucking gold.

“Never mind,” he said, weakly. “So… party?”

They spent the rest of the ride talking about the upcoming party.

~~~

Sadly, Ron’s good mood had long disappeared by the time the night of the party arrived.

Harry thought he had a pretty good idea why.

When they’d got back to the dorm the day before, Ron had received a phone call from his friends back home. There’d been a birthday party, and some genius had had the idea to call Ron. There’d been lots of good-natured shouting down the phone from various drunken friends and Ron had laughed and shouted back with the best of them. But then he’d had to hang up. Harry had never seen Ron so quiet; Ron had wandered back to his own room soon afterwards.

Harry had hoped that a decent night’s sleep might have restored Ron’s good humour, but Ron looked thoroughly miserable when he shuffled into Harry’s room that night. Harry bit his tongue and prayed for alcohol (seriously, this kid could make Marvin The Paranoid Android look like Happy the Happy Clown from Happyville).

It wasn't as if Harry didn’t sympathise, he did. He even suffered the occasional pang of homesickness himself. But he’d never had the sort of intense friendships that Ron clearly enjoyed with his friends. Harry made friends easily enough and he had plenty of them, but he just didn’t miss them in the same way Ron did.

Maybe, it was because Harry had never had a best friend, had never known that level of friendship. Well, until now. And that was another thing. Lately, he’d been wondering just who the fuck was going to help him out of his funk, when he had to say goodbye to Ron. He’d never tell the ginger git, but Ron was pretty much the best friend Harry had ever had (well, why else would Harry have put up with the miserable bastard for so long).

And now, Harry got this horrible cold pull in his stomach whenever he thought of their exchange year coming to an end (which probably meant he really was the thirteen year old girl Ron accused him of being).

Fuck it.

Harry stood up and pointed at Ron. “You fucking cheer up. Now.” And he strode from the room, pulled along by the siren call of brain numbing amounts of alcohol.

They didn’t exactly have far to go. The party was in their building, one block over and two flights up. Harry had been invited by Mike, who lived on the party floor and who Harry knew from his Media class.

As they stepped out of the lift, their ears were assaulted by the music blaring out of two speakers at the end of the hall. There was no bar in sight, which caused some momentary panic, but then Harry noticed that most of the people milling around were carrying cups of beer. Harry let out a relieved puff of breath and walked with renewed hope, towards the large banner proclaiming “Registration Here”. Mike had told Harry that it was going to be a ‘classroom’ party. Harry had no idea what that was, but frankly as long there was alcohol involved, he was game for anything.

Mike was sitting behind the makeshift desk, under the banner. He was writing people’s names on labels - “so your classmates know who you are,” he said with a grin as he handed one to Harry. “Glad you could make it,” he added. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Ron,” Harry said, as he stuck the label to his chest. “Ron, this is Mike.”

Ron nodded solemnly at Mike. Harry let out a frustrated sigh and slapped Ron upside the head. “Fucking play nice, you sulky git,” he told him, sternly.

Ron frowned at Harry, rubbing the back of his head, but he turned back to Mike and forced a smile. “Hi, Mike. I am super happy to meet you and stoked to be here at your delightful little shindig.”

Mike laughed loudly, shaking his head. “You’re right, Harry, he is a little shit,” he paused, raking his eyes slowly up Ron’s body, “or well, maybe not that little.” He held out Ron’s name label with a wink.

Ron looked at him wide-eyed, frozen in place, until Harry nudged him. “Come on, Ron, take the label, he doesn’t bite.” Harry laughed, mockingly.

Ron reached out nervously and took the label, stepping back from the table as he fixed it to his shirt, eyeing Mike warily all the while.

Harry shook his head, then turned back to Mike. “So, what next?” He asked, hoping it involved beer.

Mike inclined his head towards the guy sitting next to him. “Adam here, will fix you up with your class assignments and your timetable. Here,” he handed Harry two plastic cups and a sharpie, “write your names on these. Keg’s in the last room down the hall, help yourselves, then move on to your first class.” He grinned up at them both. “Work hard, get good grades and make me proud, boys.”

Harry finished writing his name on the cup and handed the pen to Ron. “We will try our very best, dad.”

Mike nodded solemnly. “That’s all a father could ask for, son.” And with a wide grin he looked over Harry’s shoulder and shouted, “next!”

Harry moved along to stand in front of Adam. Ron put the pen back on to the desk carefully, clearly trying to avoid drawing Mike’s attention his way again, and stepped up next to Harry.

Adam handed them a slip of paper each, then waved them off without a word.

Harry looked down at the piece of paper in his hand.

Class: Remedial (Harry frowned and turned back to look reproachfully at Adam. Bloody cheek).

Homeroom: 101

Period 1: Chemistry; Period 2: English; Period 3: Calculus; Period 4: History; Period 5: Art; Period 6: French.

Huh. Harry really hoped tests weren’t involved. Or homework.

Having filled their cups with beer from the keg, they made their way to Room 101, Harry casting Adam a very pointed look as he walked past (and being just as pointedly ignored). When they walked into the room they were greeted by a tall, thin bloke wearing a mortar board and a long billowing academic gown (the overall effect was somewhat marred by the fact that the cap and gown were a neon pink. Still, Harry appreciated the effort).

“Good evening, class,” the bloke said, in the worst English accent Harry had ever heard. “My name is Professor Blackinton. Please take a seat and I will hand out your test papers.”

Harry exchanged a slightly worried look with Ron at the word ‘test’, but felt cheered by the sight of an opened bottle of tequila and four shot glasses on a nearby table. It was only once he and Ron were seated at one of the four seats (a bean bag, an ergonomically correct stool - and how embarrassing was it that it took Harry three tries before he was facing the right way - a giant orange cushion and an inflatable dolphin), that Harry had a chance to take in their other ‘classmates’.

The taller of the two - “Viktor, with a ‘k’,” he informed them solemnly, in a heavily accented, deep voice - was hot in a dark, brooding, probably-serial-killer kind of way. He scowled menacingly at the test questions as Blackinton handed them out, and Harry’s hopes for a fun evening took a definite nosedive. He turned desperate eyes to the fourth member of their class. And had to fight the urge to cry. This one may have been smaller and less intimidating, but he was also broodier, and looked like he ate puppies. He was currently glaring fiercely at Ron.

Well, weren’t they a happy bunch of campers.

Ron leant across to Harry and muttered, “definitely one of your more fucked up ideas, Harry. Cheers.”

Before Harry could reply, Blackinton, cleared his throat and frowned over at them,. “No talking in class boys.” He broke into a wide grin. “Well, not until teacher leaves the room,” and he waggled his eyebrows in a most disturbing manner.

“Right,” Blackinton continued. “Write your names on the top of your answer sheets.”

When they had all finished and put down their pencils, Blackinton walked between their seats, checking that they had carried out his instructions correctly. He paused in front of Small and Broody. Picking up the sheet of paper, he held it closer, his eyes going comically wide. “Poliakoff. Really?” He looked down at the scowling boy, “Fuck, dude, your parents must really fucking hate you.”

Poliakoff reached out and snatched the paper back. “That,” he spat, “is my family name. You do not need to know my given name.”

Blackinton put his hand in front of his mouth. “Oops, my bad,” he winked at the others.

Harry and Ron both laughed, and Harry was relieved to see even Viktor cracked a small smile.

Blackinton walked over to the table holding the tequila and Harry automatically sat up straighter.

“You’ve all done very well,” Blackinton told them, as he poured the tequila into the shot glasses. “Now, I could give you all a gold star but I figure you might prefer something else.”

He picked up one glass and, with the bottle in his other hand, carried it over to Poliakoff. “Here,” he said to the still scowling boy. “You should go first.”

Poliakoff took the glass and threw the drink down his throat as if he had been issued a personal challenge. He wiped off his lips with the back of his hand, before holding the empty glass out to Blackinton, but Blackinton just shook his head and poured him another shot.

“Huh-uh,” he said, with a little shake of his head. “You’re going to need twice as much as everyone else, if we’re going to kill that bug in your ass.” And he turned and walked back to the table.

The others all burst out laughing, even Viktor, and Harry thought perhaps it might not be a total wash-out after all. Poliakoff looked like he might be about to throw the glass at Blackinton’s head, but then seemed to think better of it. After a quick glance to where Viktor and Ron were smiling at each other over their own, now empty glasses, he drank down the second shot and glared around at everyone.

Before they left the homeroom, Blackinton explained that for the rest of the evening they would be expected to act like mature, responsible members of the illustrious student body they now represented. This, he went on, would require them to answer all the questions on the sheet to the very best of their ability, while also giving great care and attention to the even more important task of getting completely shitfaced.

“Don’t let me down now, boys,” he told them as they left, giving each of them a hard slap on the arse as they passed him by.

Braced by his shot of tequila and Blackinton’s inspiring words, Harry felt more than equal to the task that lay ahead, and he set off eagerly for Chemistry 101.

~~~

“What were King Harold’s last words at the Battle of Hastings?” Ron read out the question in a slightly slurred voice. He was sitting on the floor, his shoulder pressed up against Viktor, who was slumped next to him. Harry was sitting cross legged in front of them. Polly was in the chair in the corner, arms crossed, frowning down at them (it had to be said, he really hadn’t taken to his new nickname).

Harry was feeling very pleased. He’d rocked the first three tests. Which was really cool because if you got the question right, then you got to take three shots of whatever drink had been put out in that classroom.

Mind you, he wasn’t fully convinced that all his answers had actually been right. He frowned in thought. Like in English class, although he had never read Romeo & Juliet, he had a nagging feeling that the next line after, “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?” probably wasn’t “Down here, the ladder broke.” But he’d received a big tick and three shots of JD, so maybe, maybe, he actually knew a lot more Shakespeare than he thought.

“Right,” Ron leant forward and waggled the test paper in his face. “Pay attention, Harry.”

Harry looked up and over at Ron and Viktor. His eyes were drawn to where Viktor was resting his hand on Ron’s thigh. That was interesting.

“The options are,” Ron cleared his throat and sat up straighter (Harry noticed Viktor’s hand slid a few inches higher) “a) “Make sure those bastards from Bayeux get my good side”; b) “If Monty Python make a film about this, don’t let Cleese play me”; or c) Watch where you’re pointing that arrow, you’ll have somebody’s eye out in a minute”.

Ha. Harry knew his history, he wasn’t going to be fooled by those other silly made up answers. With his tongue peeping out as he concentrated, he carefully wrote ‘c’ on his answer sheet, underlined it three times, then eyed the half empty bottle of vodka on the table hopefully.

~~~

Harry wanted to die.

He was never drinking again.

Ever.

He rolled over and puked into the wastepaper bin someone had kindly left on his pillow.

Clearly, he was not ready to be up and about yet.

He carefully (spilled vomit was nobody’s friend) placed the bin onto the floor next to his bed, before throwing the covers back over his head, and turning over with a groan, the room shifting and spinning behind his closed eyelids.

~~~

When he woke up a few hours later, he felt considerably better, but that didn’t stop him from leaping on the bottle of water and packet of Advil some saint had left on his bedside table. About half-way through the water, he noticed that the bin had been emptied and cleaned out too. There was a post-it stuck to the rim.

Dude, you owe me BIG time!

Jon

He did, he really, really did. Harry started to nod his head, but the ice pick stabbing into his brain caused him to quickly reconsider the notion.

It took another hour before he felt sufficiently revived to attempt to make his way along the hall to see how Ron was faring. Blaise opened the door.

“You here to view the body?” he asked, with a grin.

Harry could only manage a feeble wave in response, but Blaise stepped aside and let him in anyway.

While it was true that Blaise was an annoying git with many strange and unusual habits (if you believed what Ron said, anyway) what he also was, was the owner of an awesome coffee machine. And he was willing to share.

The tempting smell eventually even coaxed Ron from under the covers, and by the time Blaise had made a second pot, Ron was feeling human enough to actually talk to Harry.

“So, um, good party last night?” Harry knew he sounded uncertain, but the thing was, while he was fairly sure they’d had a good time (what he could remember), Ron’s mood swings lately had been so erratic, that he really couldn’t be sure what sort of response he was going to get.

Ron’s face split into a huge grin, then his hand shot up to his head and he winced in pain. “Fuck. What was in that punch, Harry?”

Harry grimaced in sympathy. The punch had definitely delivered a, well, punch. It had been served at their ‘graduation ceremony’ at the end of the evening. Harry suspected it contained all the dregs of alcohol left over from the classrooms. But he didn’t really want to dwell on the subject, his stomach already beginning to protest the memory.

“Yeh, I feel your pain, Ron,” he said instead.

Ron settled back on his pillows, pulling his cup of coffee to his chest. He smiled at Harry. “Good night though, Harry,” he said, happily.

“Yeh?” Harry grinned back at him. He felt ridiculously pleased that he’d been the one responsible for getting Ron to finally go to a party and that he’d actually enjoyed it.

“Yeh,” Ron said, nodding carefully.

They sat for a few minutes in companionable silence, sipping at their coffee.

“So,” Harry started, waiting until Ron looked up before continuing. “Viktor.”

Ron immediately ducked his head and blushed. Harry would have punched his arms in the air if it wasn’t for the cup of hot coffee (or the fact that his head might fall off).

“You guys seemed to get on very well,” he continued, after Ron had been made to squirm uncomfortably for the requisite amount of time.

Ron looked up, smiling, face still flushed. “Yeh, he was a good bloke.” His eyes lit up suddenly. “Better than his bloody room-mate.”

Harry cringed. “Fuck, don’t remind me,” he agreed.

Poliakoff had been a nightmare. He hadn’t stopped scowling all night, getting progressively more obnoxious as the evening had gone on. He’d taken an immediate dislike to Ron, which now that Harry thought about it, seemed to intensify the more attention Viktor paid to Ron. A horrible thought suddenly darted into his head.

“Ooh, you don’t think him and Viktor…?” He pulled a face.

Ron looked at him confused for a moment, before his face screwed up in disgust. “Eew, no! Urgh, Harry, what a thought. No, I’m pretty sure that horrible little shit is straight.”

Harry noticed that Ron didn’t make the same assertion regarding Viktor. He grinned into his coffee.

( Part Two)

IT'S HANNAH'S BIRTHDAY!!!

hull1984 — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 14:23:28 GMT

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

stuckinsea

Hope you have a fantastic day filled with much love and a truckful of pressies!

Love you loads!

hull1984 — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 21:17:35 GMT

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LAVVYAN!

Hope it's a good one.

(Sorry, it's not one of those sparkly, fancy banners but that would need me to have a modicum of computer literacy ;)

You tosser

hull1984 — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 20:57:45 GMT

I have just lost any respect I ever had for Simon Cowell.

Fic Links

hull1984 — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 10:18:54 GMT

I just realised that I didn't post a link to the Ron/Draco fic I wrote for the ron_draco Fic Exchange back in the summer, or the drabble I did for the recent ficadron Dra(w)bble Duel.

The first was for peskywhistpawwho wanted, amongst other things - the boys being stuck somewhere, Malfoy stealing socks and most difficult of all (for me) minimum swearing.

This is what she got - The Heart Remains A Child

As for the Dra(W)bble Duel, well frankly, I failed miserably in supporting that. As mentioned in a previous post I actually forgot to add the comm when I signed up for the fic challenge, and therefore missed the posts!! The only reason I took part in Round 4 was 'cos I saw it mentioned on my flist and went over to check it out (it took me a further two weeks to realise I still hadn't added the comm *shakes head*).

Do check out the other wonderful drabbles and drawings over there. Here's my one, sad effort - I Win

(I only discovered yesterday that the mods at ficadronhad set up two new comms for Team Ron and Team Draco. Um. Seriously, I shouldn't be allowed out on my own *heads desk*)

hull1984 — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 09:20:12 GMT

God, I forgot how much I love The Cure.

Edit: Also forgot how many bloody tapes I need to upgrade to CD!!! And suddenly I know what to spend my HMV gift card on (thanks sis!).

hull1984 — Sat, 30 May 2009 19:55:05 GMT

Oh poot.

Come on you Blues!!

hull1984 — Sat, 30 May 2009 09:04:35 GMT

GO

EVERTON!

YOU CAN DO IT BOYS!

hull1984 — Sun, 08 Mar 2009 14:43:36 GMT

Been watching some music vids and just caught I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight by Cutting Crew. That's the first time I've actually seen Cutting Crew. The lead singer is quite cute. Of course now he's probably bald with a paunch and 6 children from 3 ex-wives...

I actually fell in love with that song well before I ever heard it. I was at uni in the States and used to go and buy my monthly imported (yes, it was very expensive!!) copy of NME at this little drugstore (please don't ask about the maggots and imported chocolate). I read down the Top 10 singles list and when I came to I Just Died... thought how cool is that as a song title? Then I avoided listening to the song for months after I got home in case it didn't live up to it's title! Not sure if it was ever a hit in the States, at the time I was too busy listening to Sweet Sixteen by Billy Idol on MTV...

Oh, but my favourite vid EVER is Dance Dance by FOB. Patrick is just adorable! (I've just found out that who I have long thought of as Joe is actually Andy and vice versa...think I've finally figured out the contents of TAI and I've decided to just think of The Cab as 'Alex'...seems to work for everyone else ;)

hull1984 — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 21:47:07 GMT

For a variety of reasons that I won't bore you with here, I have been off-line for - looks below at last entry - bugger, over 6 weeks! I'll never catch up now, will I?

Hope you all had a lovely Christmas and have enjoyed a peaceful and happy start to this brand spankly new year.

I also hope the people I said I'd send cards to got them...if a little late. Sorry but some of those life things that kept me off line also kept me from posting them on time. Also a very badly belated 'thank you' for the cards I received - that gorgeous John/Rodney vignette, that sweet Ron/Draco drawing (and no dear, no festive hats were needed :) and the M&S card that was my first card of the festive season....thank you.

Want to say lots but have such a small window here.

The events of yesterday were so very moving. Feel a little bereft that Rosa Parks wasn't there too.

Am a little in love with The Last Shadow Puppets.

Not sure when I'll get on here again. Take care.

Ron/Draco Fest gift

hull1984 — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 21:31:44 GMT

The fic gifted to me on the Ron/Draco Fic Exchange has been posted.

I would urge any R/Ders who haven't read it yet to click on the link below and do so. Then, tell the wonderful Mystery Author how good it is. It put me in mind of a rollicking Indiana Jones adventure with Ron as a rather adorable Marion Ravenwood ;) and Draco as a surprisingly convincing Indy (though sadly without the hat), although the author says it's actually based on True Lies.

Fidelius Falsus

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LAVVYAN!

hull1984 — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 19:47:08 GMT

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LAVVYAN!

Hope you had a fab day!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DUSKSPOKEN!

hull1984 — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 16:56:55 GMT

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DUSKSPOKEN!

Hope you have a lovely day and get lots of nice pressies :)

hull1984 — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 14:17:08 GMT

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TIPSY!

To my fellow ex-Hullite - hope you had a lovely birthday tipsywitch despite being poorly. Also belated congratulations on the new job and house move! (I have been shamefully remiss lately)

Am using my favourite John/Rodney icon just for you - you know, the one where John looks at Rodney with his 'OMG, I have the biggest twelve year old girl crush on you EVER' look :)

Oh...

hull1984 — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 21:34:45 GMT

rutupatel you broke me :(

In a very sweet, very sad way.

Will have it back to you tomorrow. Sorry, for the delay (am still brushing up pieces of my heart *sniff*).