Not So Lucky

Ron stretched his legs so they stuck far out from under the table. Most of the classroom furniture had become too small for him; usually during class there wasn't enough space to stretch, but since this was a Prefects' meeting, he supposed it would be all right to occupy more space than usual. He couldn't believe he had another year to go at Hogwarts. Maybe being uncomfortable all the time would finally make him live up to his name and leave the school early. With a slight sigh, he stretched his legs further out.

Dwelling on the discomfort of the benches, he didn't take much notice of the people walking past him on their way to their seats. Therefore, it didn't take long before someone tripped over his feet which blocked the path between his table and the one in the front.

He wouldn't have thought much about it, just apologized to the person in question, if it hadn't been Draco Malfoy. As he felt someone's feet hit his legs and heard the cry of surprise, he looked down and saw the blond boy lying face down on the floor. Normally this would have at least amused him, if not made his day, week or even year. Today, however he just started in horror, experiencing a weird sinking feeling in his stomach.

Slowly Draco rose up, turned to him with a look full of detest and spat, "Watch those big feet of yours, Weasley."

He didn't say anything; a part of him wanted to apologize, another told him to verbally abuse Malfoy, and yet another part felt deeply ashamed, so ashamed that the familiar blush was creeping up his face before colouring his ears crimson.

For the rest of the Prefects' meeting he tried to concentrate on the discussion, but his mind always wandered back to Malfoy's face, flushed and hateful. Somehow that made the sinking feeling in his stomach sting.

~~~

"Yes, the Four-in-Hand really suits you," said the mirror approvingly. Draco tightened the knot in his tie and grinned in a self-satisfied manner. Unlike most of the students, who hurried to the Great Hall for supper as soon as the last lesson ended, he always returned to his dormitory to relax and straighten up after the day. Then he would stroll into the Great Hall a bit late, when most of the students would have settled down at their house tables. He wasn't quite sure why he wanted to make such an entrance.

As he walked the empty corridors to the Great Hall, his mind wandered to the Prefects' meeting earlier that day, when he had tripped over Weasley's feet. It had startled him somewhat so his retort to Weasley lacked its usual venom. He refused to recognize the main reason why he mostly refrained from insulting Weasley: the effect that Weasley's shocked face had had on him. As though he sympathized with Weasley for having such large feet that he had to stretch them so far out. Really, he should be disgusted with himself for feeling sympathetic towards anyone, especially Weasley. Yet his had caught him unawares, so the feeling was already there before he could have time to stop himself.

Feeling most unsettled, he sat down at his House table. He grimaced when he saw that it was steak-and-kidney pie for dinner but put a bit on his plate nonetheless. Then he sat for several minutes, scraping the filling out with his fork while making a vain effort to put an order to his thoughts.

Soon his thoughts were swirling around his mind in a lighting speed. He hardly registered anything but the gist of it: everything seemed to revolve around Weasley. Bloody Weasley. He looked up and looked over at the Gryffindor table. Weasley was staring at him. Shit! he thought. It didn't even occur to him to feel indignant, to feel violated when Weasley dared to stare at him in that insolent manner. Somehow his mind betrayed him and had him wonder if Weasley was thinking about the same thing, about that uncharacteristic lack of hostility that they experienced earlier. They kept their gazes locked for a while until Potter just had to interfere, whispering some nonsense to Weasley and then looking straight over to him. He dropped his gaze, feeling annoyed that Potter had caught him staring at Weasley.

~~~

"You are being awfully quiet," said Harry. Ron didn't answer. His eyes were still fixed on Malfoy, who was now busy examing something on his plate.

"Ron, is something the matter?" Harry kept his voice low, almost a whisper. Ron just looked at Harry and told him he would tell him later. Harry refrained from asking him further and Ron was grateful for that.

Malfoy didn't look his way again, and soon they left the Great Hall for Gryffindor Tower. There was some homework to be done and he and Harry worked on theirs quietly. It seemed to come as pleasant surprise to Hermione, who was sitting across the table from them in the Common Room. To his relief, this kept her quiet all night and not once did she ask what they had been discussing at dinner.

It wasn't until he and Harry retreated to their dormitories that Harry mentioned the fact that he had noticed the little staring match between him and Malfoy.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked and sounded worried. "You didn't challenge him to a duel, did you? Or did he challenge you?"

Ron gave Harry a careful glance. So, Harry thought all the glaring was about animosity. He couldn't help but sigh in relief. It would have been really bad to explain to Harry that he had been embarrassed for tripping Malfoy earlier. Really, that disgusted him. Embarrassed for upsetting Malfoy ─ what had happened to him? One day he had been very content with hating Malfoy and now he was worrying about upsetting that junior Death Eater.

Harry was still watching him, tentatively waiting for an answer. He just shook his head. There was no need to tell Harry anything else, at least not yet.

Sleep didn't come easy to him that night. He tossed and turned for a while but then he lay flat on his back, staring straight up. In his mind he was staring straight at Malfoy. It was like he was attracted to him, helplessly. Like Malfoy had Veela-charms turned on. Which was ridiculous; it wasn't like he'd been lured into asking Malfoy to the Yule Ball. He let out a snort at the thought and felt a bit better. At least his sense of humour hadn't completely left him.

~~~

It was chilly outside and the morning mist still hung over the Quidditch field. Draco hadn't slept much the night before and his eyes felt puffy. His team mates were silent, but they always were until the practice started. Perhaps it would be what he needed. Getting some exercise. Doing a bit of flying to clear his head. Usually he flew several laps, testing his speed while the Chasers, the Beaters and the Keeper practiced game plans, and then practice a bit with the Beaters. Well, Weasley should be erased from his mind within ten minutes.

This time around he flew in huge circles that expanded almost over the entire Hogwarts grounds. He flew higher and higher, closing in on the castle, flying close to the Astronomy Tower, North Tower and before he knew what he was doing, he had flown straight up to Gryffindor Tower. As he realized where he was, he came to a halt, hovering about ten feet away from the wall. He began skimming the windows, wondering which one was the window of Weasley's dormitory.

Suddenly he saw movement at one of the windows and flew away. Was he becoming a Peeping-Tom? Having some wild desire to watch Weasley? There didn't seem to be an answer to his question. The reason could be that he had never felt this way before ─ actually interested in another human being. His parents were his parents, they were always something larger than other people, like the natural elements or something.

Until now, he had divided all other people in two categories, his team and the opposition. There had never been any question as to who was on which team. Except that Weasley had suddenly decided to jump into a category of his own, a category for someone that he wanted to get to know better. Besides, what did he know about Weasley other than he was a Weasley, had red hair, freckles, a quick temper, no money, loads of siblings, and that he was a Muggle-lover and friends with Potter? Who was he really?

By the time he had finished circling the Hogwarts Grounds, his team mates had finished and were on their way back to the castle, even Crabbe and Goyle. It was his turn to put away the Quidditch equipment. It would have been preferable if he could just take a shower and then go back to bed and, yeah, forget that Weasley.

He had no such luck. Instead he had to carry several broomsticks to the broom shed, and then take the trunk with balls there too. His first year on the team, he had complained about this duty, but at the start of the second year, Flint had taken him and told him that if he wouldn't stop complaining, he would get his head kicked in. He took that seriously. Flint was capable of anything.

Inside the broom shed, there was mouldy smell of mud and grass. After he had put away the things, he sat down on the Quidditch trunk as to see if his thoughts would settle. That didn't happen; instead, his mind got closer to the subject he was trying to avoid.

He got up quickly. Maybe because he was spending too much time alone. Perhaps he just needed company to get his mind of Weasley. There, he had admitted it. Too much thinking about Weasley. It had to stop. The sunshine outside hurt his eyes as he opened the broom shed and walked out. He shielded his eyes and made out a shape in the distance. Someone was on his way to the Quidditch field. Someone wearing a red cloak with red hair, tall and gangly.

It was Weasley.

~~~

It was Ron's turn to bring out the Quidditch equipment. He felt tired for he hadn't slept much that night. Visions of Malfoy had kept interrupting him, and finally he had fetched his Herbology textbook to try to get that vision out of his head. That hadn't succeeded well, for the simplest illustration of a fungi turned into Malfoy. The irony of it wasn't lost to him. It occurred to him that maybe he could sort this out by talking to Malfoy. Or beating Malfoy up. He wasn't quite sure about which option appealed more to him, though. Bloody Malfoy. How can I not be sure that I want to punch his pointy face? He thought as he crossed the Quidditch field and turned towards the broom shed.

As he came closer, he saw someone exiting the broom shed, and when he squinted, he saw clearly it was Malfoy. Just his luck. Well, perhaps he would finally be able to sort this mess out. All he needed was to throw Malfoy a punch and this would disappear. Best would be if Malfoy tried to fight back and they could have a proper fight. Visions of him putting his fist to Malfoy's face filled his head and filled him with grim satisfaction. He picked up his pace so he would catch up quicker with Malfoy who stood perfectly still in the broom shed's doorway.

They locked gazes and held them, even when he stopped in front of Malfoy. Neither of them uttered a word. Slowly he felt the desire to beat Malfoy up drain out of him. Quite frankly, everything seemed to have been drained out of him except the thought that registered Malfoy standing in front of him.

"Weasley, what are you doing here?" Malfoy's question jumpstarted him and he grabbed the door to the broom shed. "We got to talk," he said and pushed Malfoy back. Malfoy stepped back and walked backwards into the shed. He followed, but just as Malfoy was disappearing into the dark, he looked over his shoulder and whispered hurriedly, "Potter is on the way. We must do this at another time."

In a state of panic he threw the door to close it, and Malfoy took a small jump as to avoid being hit by the door. His cloak wasn't as lucky; it got caught between the door and the doorframe, and as he jumped, they could hear the cloak being torn apart.

"Ron, what's happening?" Harry asked, catching his breath after running towards them.

"Nothing!" he said, flustered, turning to look at Harry.

"Of course something bloody well happened!" yelled Malfoy. "You tore my cloak, stupid Weasel!" He turned again to face Malfoy who held up his cloak. "You clumsy oaf!" he cried and then jumped at him. He felt fingers dig into his face, so he grabbed Malfoy's hands, and threw him to the ground, landing on him. The desire to beat him to bloody pulp returned with a vengeance. Malfoy's hands were pinned but he thrashed about underneath, trying free himself.

Harry wasn't going to stand there and observe. He tried to pull Ron up, telling him frantically that it wasn't worth it, that Malfoy would be certain to complain to someone if he even touched a hair on Malfoy's blond head. It was easy enough to ignore Harry, but his thirst for violence died as quickly as it had come. He let go of Malfoy and got up, feeling subdued. Malfoy got up too, gave him the weirdest look and then ran up to the castle.

"Really, Ron. What is it with you and Malfoy these days?" Harry looked at him worriedly. "How did Malfoy's cloak get torn?"

"Erm, it got caught on a nail or something. I'm going to get the brooms." He disappeared into the broom shed and closed the door.

~~~

Luckily, Draco's dormitory was deserted when he arrived. For that he was relieved; he didn't have to face Crabbe, Goyle and other Slytherin boys. All he wanted was to crawl under the covers. He didn't feel like himself at all. Usually he was able to disconnect his feelings. He didn't always succeed but he dealt with it. This time around, it was tearing him apart. Maybe he ought to have a shower, though it was doubtful that it would calm his mind.

After he'd peeled off the Quidditch gear (and mended the torn cloak with a charm), he stepped under the hot shower. At home he usually took long baths, but the lack of privacy at Hogwarts had turned him into a shower lover. They had vexed him terribly when he was younger, but as he matured, he started to appreciate the rejuvenating effects of the shower.

It had been imprinted in him from an early age to be aware of his body, to walk tall with his back straight, not to put his elbows on the table. This was a complete contrast to how Weasley carried himself, always slouching, never wondering where his hands were when he wasn't using them.

That stark difference. What else was different about them? He wondered how Weasley's sense of touch was. It always felt alien to him to touch things and especially people. Weasley had to be more used to that than he was, coming from that large family, and he had seen his hands, a bit rough though not yet calloused. With his left hand, he touched the smooth surface of the tiles. Then he bent down, still with his hand on the tiles and brought his other hand to the uneven floor of the shower. He ran the tips of his fingers over the floor and gave in to the sensations. Soon he was crouching on the floor, altogether lost.

His world of sensations was interrupted much too soon for his taste. Familiar grumbling voices called out his name, seeking him. It was to be expected. Crabbe and Goyle had been conditioned to listen to him either complain or brag after every Quidditch practice, especially after they had joined the team. He might as well turn off the shower and get ready to go to lunch.

~~~

The fork scraped the surface of the plate. The sound was annoying enough to block all thoughts out of Ron's head. Never before had he felt so conscious of his thoughts. It was almost as he was sure that if he indulged in them, someone would be able to read them. His biggest fear was that it would be Harry. There was no way that he could explain this to him or, for that matter, to Hermione.

She was sitting there across from him, reading some book as she absentmindedly picked up bits of meat, potatoes and carrots with her fork and brought them to her mouth. He tried to imagine her response if he told her about his thoughts. Would she be concerned, or perhaps hurt?

As those thoughts travelled through his mind, she glanced up and looked him in the eye. There was a spark of curiosity in them and she smiled at him. Would she smile if she knew? He looked away, first at the high table and then on to the Slytherin table. Malfoy was there, obviously lacking appetite, for he hadn't touched the food on his plate.

The thoughts he wanted so badly to keep hidden mostly revolved around the incident down at broom shed. The overwhelming feeling of compassion that had hindered him in beating Malfoy up. Slowly it was dawning on him why. This was too confusing for him, and he knew it. He felt his face becoming flushed and his ears were burning red. There was no question about it, he had to get out.

He got up abruptly, so abruptly that he knocked over his goblet, but his state of mind was such that he didn't register the accident. His friends inquired about his reason for leaving, but those queries never reached his ears, for he was striding quickly through the Great Hall towards the exit.

~~~

Crabbe and Goyle had been excessively talkative through out lunch, and finally Draco had ordered them to shut up. They were probably still upset that they hadn't found him right away after the Quidditch practice. It would have been horrible if he'd found them right away and started to tell them all about it. Tell them about how he flown up to the Gryffindor Tower, how Weasley had pushed him back into the broom shed, how Weasley had landed on the top of him when they'd almost had a fight.

It had been his choice to sit at the end of the table. Why, he wasn't sure. Usually he sat right in the middle, surrounded by the Slytherins in his year. Now he wanted to be alone, somewhere where he could leave without people noticing much.

Weasley got up, his face all flushed. Potter and Granger seemed preoccupied so it didn't seem that they had anything to do with it. It might be interesting to follow him and get this sorted out, once and for all.

With swift movements he left his table and followed Weasley into the corridor, where he was standing there like he was waiting for him. Their eyes met and he raised his eyebrow, giving Weasley a sign that this was more his idea.

Weasley looked around like he was watching out for someone. Then he beckoned Draco to follow as he started walking towards ... wherever they were going. They walked in silence and it never occurred to him to question Weasley about their destination. Even when Weasley opened the doors to a place he had been very curious about for years: the Third Floor Corridor.

To his disappointment, the corridor looked much like any other corridor in the Hogwarts castle, except that it was dustier and there were no paintings on the walls. So what was it that had made it forbidden area? It didn't appear that Weasley would be likely to answer that question, though, for he stood there expectantly. So, the time had come for them to get certain things out in the open.

"What's happening?" Weasley sounded uneasy. Draco raised an eyebrow at the question. Yes, indeed. What was happening to them?

"I'm not sure, Weasley," he admitted. It was obvious what Weasley was thinking. His face displayed an array of feelings; disgust, irritation, some kind of curiosity and what seemed to be compassion. He hoped his own face was remaining blank.

"Malfoy ... do you ... do you feel the same?"

The bomb had been dropped. It had been inevitable, after all their staring in the Great Hall and their meeting down at the Quidditch field. There was a rushing sound in his ears and he felt his heart beating faster. It felt exactly like when he was just about to close his hand around the Snitch. In his mind, there was no doubt what the next course of action was going to be. He took few steps forward, grabbed Weasley's shoulders and kissed him.

~~~

Maybe in his wildest fantasies, Ron might have imagined things ending up this way, standing in the Third Floor Corridor with Draco Malfoy's tongue half way down his throat. On the other hand, having the fantasies actually come true, though, wasn't something he'd ever expected. His mind was almost blank; a small thought managed to get through. I might not know much about kissing but I'm sure this isn't the best way to go about it. Slowly he pushed Malfoy away and saw his eyes light with disappointment and fear.

It wasn't his eyes he was interested in though. The redness of Malfoy's mouth was alluring. So what if he was a crap kisser, that could be remedied. He grabbed Malfoy's face, feeling how thin the flesh stretched across his cheekbones and then brought Malfoy's lips to his. Slowly and deliberately he moved slightly sideways with his head. Malfoy seemed to tremble. That encouraged him to press his lips fully to his while languorously moving his hands down from Malfoy's face to his shoulders.

In hindsight, it was a surprise how easily Malfoy had surrender to their kiss. Perhaps he hadn't known that his first attempt at a kiss had been bad. Very bad. That didn't matter now, not when they were busy tasting each other's lips. Malfoy was spasmodically clutching handfuls of his hair so this seemed to going all right. He pulled Malfoy closer and felt his body press against his. He wondered instinctively how it would feel if it was his bare skin against his.

This provoked him to deepen their kiss, to part Malfoy's lips with his, sliding his tongue inside his mouth, feeling him pressing harder against his body. Malfoy began to grow heavier in his arms, slightly sagging against him. Were his knees getting weak? An odd feeling of satisfaction filled him. Someone was surrendering to him, and not just anyone, it was Draco Malfoy.

That knowledge alone had more effect than a Jelly-Legs Jinx so all of a sudden, he found himself on his knees dragging Malfoy with him down. He ran his hands along Malfoy's torso and stopped at the helm of his jumper. With a small effort he broke the kiss and looked into Malfoy's eyes. They had darkened, that was enough consent for him to move his hands under the jumper to touch the skin concealed by it.

With determination, he moved his fingers up as Malfoy drew breath sharply. It didn't surprise him the least to find that Malfoy's skin was smooth, very smooth. They looked each other in the eye while he traced the flatness of the other boy's stomach.

Their crouching position prevented them being as close as he'd liked, but the floor was dusty, so he didn't want to lie on it and couldn't imagine that Malfoy would want to either. A decision of sorts was formed in his mind. He removed his hands from underneath the jumper, grabbed Malfoy's hips as to move him closer and then he slid his knee between his legs. Finally he accomplished what he set out for. They were both sitting now, their legs as entwined as their tongues were and their fingers in each other's hair.

~~~

Never, to his recollection, had Draco been so close to anyone. It was like he had completely melted into Weasley, with no way to tell where one began and the other ended. All thoughts seemed have vaporized from his brain, and what he had left was instinct. Instinct that commanded him to claim Weasley and be claimed by him. Now, finally, he knew what it was to give into the sensations.

Though their play was much one of equals, it was Weasley who saw to it they changed positions, from sitting entwined on the floor to Weasley being on the top of him and trying to free him of his jumper. They were soon skin to skin. He heard someone moaning and realized after awhile, it was himself. It didn't escape him that Weasley enjoyed it too, for his tongue was now busy tracing the column of his neck and his fingernails were digging into his sides.

They shifted and rolled on the dusty floor for some amount of time. He had lost his sense of time, so to him, only a second could have passed or a millennium. There was a distant crack but he didn't take any notice of it. Weasley, on the other hand, raised his head.

"I think there might be someone coming." Weasley looked down at him and got up. The loss of Weasley's weight made him jerk back to reality. There he was, lying on his back on the filthy floor of an out-of-bounds corridor. Not exactly the place for the Malfoy heir; nor should the Malfoy heir be engaging in snogging session with a lowly Weasley.

He scrambled to his feet and looked in Weasley's fearful face.

"We should hide," he hissed and turned on his heel. Weasley followed him reluctantly like a servant trudges in his master's footstep. The sensible part of his brain told him that this was the way things should be, Weasley humbly following his lead. It certainly wasn't right to have Weasley ravage him right there on the floor.

What should matter now was getting to the Slytherin dungeon. Hopefully he had cleansed Weasley out of his mind, from his blood. The need to touch him, to kiss him should have vanished by now. Still, as they peaked out of the door to the Third Floor Corridor, he felt Weasley press against his back and he wanted more than anything to return to what they had been doing earlier.

The corridors ahead seemed to be empty, and slowly they moved along. In his mind, he tried to prepare for any questioning, should they been caught. What would cause the least damage to them? An explanation about prefect's duty and misunderstanding was forming in his mind when another distant creak sounded. Not wanting to take any risks, he swiftly ducked into the nearest classroom and Weasley followed him.

The classroom was dark and the light from the moon outside. It made Weasley look paler, more ominous than before. He was staring hard at him and the look on his face was grave.

"So, was this just this once ... or do you want to meet me again?"

~~~

Ron's heart was beating faster than it had ever done before. The question seemed have taken Malfoy unaware. Perhaps it wasn't so surprising; Malfoy had been, like him, acting on an instinct. The instinct had to come from somewhere though. That source could have run dry too, or something.

"What do you mean, Weasley?" Malfoy looked exasperated.

"I'm asking if this was just temporary insanity on your part or if you want to meet me again." He swallowed as the look on Malfoy's face changed into a pensive one.

"You're demanding."

"Well, I think it's a just question. I'm not going to pine after you or anything."

Malfoy laughed.

"You think so."

"Malfoy, answer me." He was starting to panic. What if it had been act on Malfoy's behalf, and now he was going to use it to ridicule him? He could just imagine Harry's and Hermione's reactions.

"Where do you think this will bring us? It isn't like we can be a couple or anything." He sighed in relief. Malfoy seemed be keen on dealing with this in earnest but he had a point. There wasn't much future in this thing.

"I know, but I'm not intending in proposing to anyone in the next decade or so."

"And it isn't like we would do this for the companionship." He suppressed a giggle. Surely this utterly physical thing must be more mentally stimulating than any conversation Malfoy had with Crabbe and Goyle.

"No, that's true. Only one thing, if we're going to meet, we can't ever mention anything that's happening with You-Know-Who and all that. You know what I mean." Malfoy nodded. They had to keep outside of everything.

"And never meet at the same time ... don't establish any patterns." He saw the logic in that.

"So when should we meet again?"

"Thursday, two weeks from now. Broomshed, after dinner." Accepting his nod as an affirmative, Malfoy turned to the door to check if the coast was clear. "You first, Weasley." He didn't protest but stepped out and turned towards Gryffindor Tower.

He had just rounded the first corner when he heard a yelp following a booming, "There! I caught you!" Filch had got to Malfoy. Ron was quick to hide under a tapestry but he heard clearly Malfoy's failure to convince Filch he was just doing his Prefect duties, which earned him a detention.

When he thought it was save to move, he walked towards Gryffindor Tower with a spring in his step. Strange. Even though he had discovered the joys of ravaging Malfoy, it was still satisfying witnessing him being given a detention.