The Last Goodbye

I've loved him. But then...just when I thought I'd tell him how much he had meant to me, he'd died because he'd gone off on another ridiculous crusade to save the world with Harry Potter.

When Dumbledore called me to his office and told me that Ron Weasley had died at age seventeen, but Harry Potter had survived to see another day, I hadn't been moved. Not then. All I could think of to say when I stood in front of the old man was, "Why would I care? He's a Weasley."

Dumbledore, of course, knew. He'd known that I'd felt something other than hate or dislike for Ron Weasley, maybe even sooner than I did. He never mentioned it to me; it was just that every time we talked, he would somehow manage to tell me something about Ron, in relation to me. During those times, I'd coldly asked him the exact same question as I did when Ron died - "Why would I care?"

But the problem was, the more Dumbledore spoke to me, the more...intrigued about the Weasley I became. Not that it hit me all at once. It was more like mould, the way it grows and doesn't stop even when it seems impossible that it could grow any more. Somehow, the Weasley had seeped under my skin, and the more I knew about him, the more I wanted him.

I hated that wanting. I hated myself for wanting a Gryffindor, a Weasley. If it had been anyone else, I would've managed to somehow wrestle down any tender, loving emotion I felt. But I didn't want to fight what I was feeling for Ron, and so, ironically, I decided to fight him, in the most physical way possible.

Oh no, I don't mean sex. I mean actual fighting, where there was the possibility that I would be beaten into a pulp, get numerous parts of my body damaged and, possibly, risk my father's wrath if I lost the fight.

There was no doubt in my mind at the time that I could possibly lose the fight though, so I began baiting Weasley, cornering him and separating him from his friends so that he wouldn't have anyone to hold him back from having a go at me.

And one day, just after Christmas in our sixth-year, Ron took the bait, and before I knew what was happening, he'd launched himself towards me, his blue eyes glowing with anger, face flushed. And looking very, stunningly gorgeous.

It was only when he'd punched me that I came out of my reverie, and I started fighting back, totally enthralled with the physical contact between us. The pure, animal strength between us, sweeping away all of my Malfoy-elegance as I grappled fiercely with Ron. As we became more and more frenzied in our battle for dominance, I felt myself getting aroused...

At first, I was horrified, before he let out a growl, and his lips landed right on top of mine, kissing me so hard, that when he finally lifted them off, I could feel them swelling. Suddenly, our fighting became a passionate play of sex, my hands stripping him down as quickly as he was ripping my clothes off me. His whole body was flushed, and before I could stop, we were shagging each other against the walls of the corridor, grunting, panting and groaning.

When it was all over, Weasley had stared at me in shock, before grabbing his tattered clothes and running off, leaving me against the wall, shoulders sagging. The only saving grace was that there were no paintings down the corridor; and no one could see me and my shame.

*

After our first encounter with sex, I couldn't get him out of my mind, and soon, we were regularly shagging each other in hidden corners of the castle. Beyond that, we never exchanged a single word, and outside of our sessions, we pretended that there was nothing between us. Ron continued to date the Mudblood, and I continued to insult Potter and shag all the girls, including Ginny Weasley at school.

During the time between sixth and seventh-year though, I realised that I was missing him. Not just the sex, which was amazing, but him. It was then that I knew...I was in love with the bloody arsehole.

When I got back to school though, I didn't tell him. The idea itself was laughable - a Malfoy in love with a Weasley of all things? It was ridiculous, even in my mind it sounded crazy - crazier than the time I'd thought shagging Weaslette, would be more entertaining than shagging her brother. So on we went with our shagging relationship, but then, Weasley broke up with Hermione Granger.

Everyone at the school was shocked. I was entertained, and Ron was indifferent. Except, of course, when we were both naked and having a go at each other. And this time, I mean sex.

At first, I didn't believe that his break-up meant anything, but then, we began talking after our little adventures, and he told me...that he loved me. I'd laughed at the time, telling him coolly how he could love me when he wanted to keep our relationship a secret. Not to say I wanted the whole of Hogwarts to know that I was gay, with a Weasley no less, but it was another way to bait him. And it worked.

After that, our sex became more violent, more domineering, as if he wanted to control me. It wasn't all that surprising though - with Ron's break-up, Potter had no idea what to do, being the complete and utter pratt that he was, and still is. As we shagged on through the year, it became obvious that neither of us would admit that we wanted one another badly enough to comment on the idea of a future together. It was around then that I was working up all of my courage to tell him I loved him, that I had been wrong to laugh at him before.

And now, I'll never have the chance.

*

The impact of Ron's death hit me in full force the first time I saw Potter again. I wanted to strangle the bastard, throttle the idiot to death, teach him to never mess with a Malfoy. The moment Potter saw me though, he made a beeline towards me, his expression softening.

"I'm so sorry," he said awkwardly, as he stood in front of me.

"Really?" My voice cracked on the word, as I tried to keep a hold of myself, my fists curled at my sides. "I wasn't sure that you knew the word."

He flinched, but he continued on, oblivious to my stony face. "Ron. He told me. About..." Potter gestured, his face embarrassed. "And...he wanted to tell you something. Before he died."

I didn't reply, and Potter shuffled uncomfortably. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, and glancing around the students who flowed past us, shooting curious eyes towards us, he continued. "He wanted to say...that he loved you. Loves you."

I nodded, before spinning around and walking away, fighting all of my grief, and thinking only one thing.

I love you too, Ron.