The Boy's Contagious

"Ach-oo!!"

"Bless you."

"What do you want, Weasley?"

Ron raised his eyebrow at the moniker. "I'm here to collect you for the Prefects' meeting."

"I haven't forgotten about it," the blond snapped.

"Malfoy, you're in your pyjamas."

"I was just about to... about to... ACHOO!! ...get dressed."

"It's seven o'clock in the evening. Have you not left this room all day?"

"Why, did you miss me?" the Slytherin sneered.

"Put on your robes and let's go," Ron said, refusing to take the bait.

Draco coughed, harshly, stumbling towards his armoire and yanking out a shirt. Before thinking better of it, the redhead moved to place the back of his hand against Draco's forehead. "You're burning up."

"I'm fine, stop manhandling me."

The blond sneezed again then, rubbing at his nose ineffectually. "Maybe you should get back to bed. I'll tell everyone at the meeting that you're sick."

"I'm not sick. Malfoys don't get sick."

"This Malfoy apparently does. You're even more pasty-looking than usual, and your nose is pink."

"My nose is not..." he paused to look in the mirror, "...pink." Oh hell.

"It's pink. I'll send up some food from the kitchens on my way to the meeting. I bet you haven't eaten anything today, have you." Draco glowered, but said nothing. "That's what I thought."

"Oh, shove off, Weasley. Before Granger comes looking for you and-"

"Ron? Everything all right in there?"

"Too late."

"Everything's fine, Hermione!" he called back. "Malfoy's sick."

The bushy-haired witch stepped through the portrait hole. "Sick?"

"Granger, what do you think you're doing? I don't remember inviting you in here. Come to think of it, I don't remember inviting you in here either, Weasley. Bugger off and let me get dressed in peace. I'll be at the meeting all in good time."

Hermione looked at him, concerned. "Malfoy, you're pink."

"I'm not pink! A-CHOO!!"

"Bless you."

"And I'm not bloody sick! Leave off, already!"

"Do you have a temperature?" she asked.

"His forehead feels hot," Ron answered for him.

She reached up as if to test for herself, but Draco ducked away from her hand. "Would everybody stop touching me?!"

"You sound congested. Get some rest. Ron and I will cover for you at the meeting."

"Thanks ever so, Granger, but that's entirely unnecessary. Now I suggest you leave before I undress right here in front of you and make you swoon over a body you'll never be allowed to touch."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Malfoy. Stop being so bloody stubborn."

"That's rich, coming from a Gryffindor!"

"Ron? Hermione? Is everything okay? I heard shouting."

"What the... Potter?! What are you doing here?"

The green-eyed boy stepped all the way into the room. "Malfoy... you're pink..."

"He's sick."

"I'm too pale to turn red, okay?! Thank you all for repeatedly pointing that out! Now if you would all just-"

Draco looked about to sneeze again, instead reeling a little and falling back into the bottom-right post of his bed. Ron was at his side in an instant, steadying him. The blond started to protest the touch, but thought better of it when the room began to tilt. "I don't feel so good..." he mumbled to no one in particular.

"Ron, put him back in bed. Harry, go inform Madam Pomfrey that she needs to come see Malfoy right away."

The boys snapped to attention under Hermione's patient instruction. Draco fell back into bed with uncharacteristic gracelessness, rubbing his sweaty forehead and muttering about meddlesome Gryffindors. "I'll go to the meeting and tell everyone that you and Malfoy won't be attending, Ron. When Harry gets back make sure he orders some soup from the kitchens to be brought up. He's probably dehydrated."

"Thanks, Hermione."

The Gryffindor girl smiled at him and left the room. Briefly unsure of what to do, Ron tried to remember what his mum did for him when he got sick. Walking into the adjoining bathroom, Ron retrieved a washcloth, running it under cool water, and brought it back out to the boy in the bed. Draco swatted at it absently as it was placed on his forehead, but it was a half-hearted effort. "Go 'way," he mumbled instead, voice muffled.

"Stop being a brat and let me do this," was the aggrieved reply.

"I'm not sick," Draco insisted, obstinately.

"Of course you're not," Ron indulged, rubbing the wet cloth over Draco's hot skin.

"I don't need you here. Go on to your meeting."

The redhead sighed, sitting next to the pale boy on the bed. "Hermione would skin me alive if I showed up now having left you here like this."

The blond snorted. "Like she cares if I die. She'd probably throw some mudblood celebration and dance on my grave!"

"Don't call her that. I know you're only trying to get to me and it won't work. Besides, Hermione does care. Though why, I can't imagine."

"Probably wants into my trousers just like every other girl in this school," he griped.

"I don't know, she saw you without your trousers on just now and didn't appear too interested to me."

"Only because she didn't want to embarrass herself in front of her boyfriend."

"You know perfectly well that's not how things are between her and Harry..."

"I wasn't talking about her and... ugh... Potter."

Ron eyed him, speculatively. "A jibe at me then, was it? Hmm, maybe you're right. Hermione's a pretty girl and incredibly smart. She'll probably go on to make a lot of money someday. I could marry her and live off the spoils."

"Yes, well, I guess those are the unfortunate sacrifices one is faced with when they're as poor as you."

"Honestly, if money was all I cared about, I'd be better off shacking up with you."

"As if!" the blond barked. "My father would sooner disown me than let you profit from our vast fortunes."

"Is that so? Then I guess no one had better tell him that I... profit from his fortunes... on a regular basis already."

Draco glared at him, balefully. "Don't even go there, I'm sick."

"Oh, now you're sick."

"Yes, and Pomfrey will be here any-"

As if on cue, Harry and Madam Pomfrey came into the room. Ron jumped off the bed immediately. "He's burning up," he declared. "He keeps sneezing and coughing, Hermione thinks he might be dehydrated."

"Yes, that can happen. Step aside, please, Mr. Weasley."

Ron did as requested, fidgeting nervously as the medi-witch fussed over her patient. Some murmured spells and a few physical examinations later, she straightened up and turned to face Ron and Harry before announcing her diagnosis. "It's as I thought," she affirmed. "He has a cold."

"A cold!" came the wail from the bed.

"Here," she said, looking between the two boys then settling on Ron, handing him a vial of blue liquid. "Make him take a sip of this everyday for the next seven days. He should recover quickly. Nothing a little rest won't cure."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

She turned back to the sick Slytherin. "Plenty of fluids for the next week, Mr. Malfoy. And no strenuous activity. You'll be back on your feet in no time."

"Could... could someone owl my mother and let her know what's happened to me?"

"Good grief, Mr. Malfoy, don't be so melodramatic. It's a cold, you won't die from it. Now good evening to you, gentlemen."

The medi-witch nodded and pivoted on her heel to leave the room. Ron turned to Harry. "Hermione asked me to ask you if you could have Dobby or another house elf bring Malfoy up some food."

"Dobby's afraid of Malfoy," Harry protested.

"As well he should be, the traitor!"

They ignored the angry blond. "It doesn't matter which house elf, just order some soup or something."

"Sure, soup, no problem. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to... err... see to it that Malfoy eats everything on his plate, I guess. If he misses another Prefects' meeting because I didn't stick around long enough to make him better, Hermione'll have my hide."

"Too right," Harry shuddered. "I'll see you later, Ron."

"Later, mate."

Ron waited for Harry to leave before toeing off his shoes and lifting his robes up over his head, tossing them into a nearby chair. Crawling under the covers beside Draco, Ron pulled the smaller boy into his arms against his chest. "And just what, pray tell, do you think you are doing?" came the pained response.

"What do you think I am doing? Helping you begin your slow journey down the path to wellness."

"By smothering me?"

"I'm not smothering you, I'm holding you. There's a difference."

"Not much of one," he grumbled.

"Bloody hell, you really are hot."

"I know I am."

"No, I mean, your skin. It's on fire."

Ron leaned up to unbutton Draco's pyjama top, pulling the garment off his shoulders and throwing it to the ground. The Slytherin allowed this, shivering as the cool air of the room touched his damp flesh. "...c-cold..."

"Come 'ere. I'll warm you up."

Draco clung to Ron's arms, reluctantly. "Potter really is a daft git," he said after awhile.

"Why, because he didn't volunteer guard duty over you personally?"

"Because he still has yet to recognize the obvious."

"There is nothing obvious about this."

Ron kissed the other boy's shoulder as if to illustrate his point. "Careful now," the blond sniffled. "Wouldn't want to catch my germs."

"I'll take my chances," Ron mumbled, nudging Draco's lips open with his tongue.

The Slytherin accepted him acquiescently, wrapping long arms around Ron's neck and pushing his heated body against him. Ron reached down and grabbed hold of Draco's rocking hips to still them. "Now, now. Pomfrey said 'no strenuous activity.'"

"Bastard."

Ron chuckled into Draco's mouth. "Poor sick baby. Feeling better yet?"

"Tease."

The redhead rubbed cool hands over Draco's fevered flesh. "Yeah, I know. Lucky for you, I'm not a Slytherin and have no intention of letting you lie here like this."

"Really?" the blond quivered beneath his touch.

"Of course not. You're miserable enough as it is right now. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't help ease your pain?"

"That's right," Draco agreed, mindlessly, as Ron began kissing down his chest.

Mouthing spots he knew from previous experience to be tender, Ron made his way down Draco's body, slipping the smaller boy's pyjama pants slowly down his legs with Draco's eager assistance. Ron wasted no time before swallowing his lover down, palms massaging the bucking hips beneath him. Draco's fingers were hot and insistent on Ron's cheeks, encouraging the redhead's ministrations with corresponding moans whenever solicited of him.

Up and down, Ron tongued the throbbing organ down his throat, delighting as always that he could bring such responses out of the blond. Draco, despite his illness, was still pliant and amenable under his touch, writhing with pleasure as Ron continued to lick and suck to his heart's content. Caressing the Slytherin's balls with the hand not encircling the base of Draco's dick, Ron felt them constrict within his grasp and prepared himself for the inevitable orgasm to follow.

With a gasp, Draco trembled and came, shooting pulse after pulse of bitter, hot come down Ron's throat. The redhead drank down every drop as it flowed, filling him with the familiar possessiveness that Draco incited in him. This experience - the feeling of Draco's desperately hard cock pumping his release down his throat - was for Ron and Ron alone. No one else was allowed to see the Slytherin this way but him. No one.

Draco pulled the taller boy up his body and tasted himself on Ron's tongue, moaning pleasurably. "Mmm..." he mumbled. "I feel better already."

"Thought you might," Ron grinned, smugly.

Draco reached down to slide his hand into Ron's trousers when he was hastily stopped. "No. Don't worry about me."

The blond actually pouted. Pouted. "But I want to... worry about you..."

Ron managed a shaky chuckle. "Believe me, there's nothing I'd enjoy more than being thoroughly... worried about... by you, but now is not the time."

"Stupid cold," he grumbled. "Infringing on my sex life. It's not fair."

"People get sick, Draco. Nothing fair or unfair about it."

"Malfoys don't get sick."

"I guess you were just born with an unusually weak constitution then," Ron suggested, jovially.

Draco looked decidedly unamused. Then stricken as a horrifying thought occurred to him. "Wait, when Pomfrey said... she didn't mean no sex-sex for a week, did she?"

"Well, I doubt that's specifically what she had in mind, but that's the gist of her recommendation, yes."

"Oh God!" the blond bemoaned, dramatically.

"Relax. I'm sure you can live without me for one week."

"Without you? Yes! Without sex? No!"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear you suggest the idea of you getting sex from anyone who is not me, and move on."

Draco grinned, evilly, rolling over to pin Ron to the bed. "You're right. How selfish of me. Here I am, whining about having to go without sex for a week, when you are facing a week without getting sex from me."

"Err... yes, I suppose I am," Ron admitted, sourly. He hadn't thought of that.

"No going down on you between periods in Binns' empty classroom, knowing any minute your friends might walk in and catch us. No quick gropes in the Quidditch locker rooms after an impromptu scrimmage. No sneaking into my room at night, waking me up with your mouth on my dick, preparing me eagerly to accept you inside my body. No tight warmth around your cock as you slide in, thrusting faster and faster until I scream your name into the mattress-"

"Alright, alright, enough already! I give!"

"Never tease a Slytherin about sex, we always know exactly how to turn it around on the tormentor."

"So I'm learning."

Draco ducked his head, suddenly, to sneeze into his hands. "Uhh..." he sniffled, miserably.

Ron tightened his arms around the boy, expression concerned once more. "Still sick?"

Draco didn't have the energy to snap at Ron for asking what should have been obvious. Instead, he simply nodded, unhappily, burrowing deeper into the taller boy's embrace. He almost managed to get comfortable when a house elf suddenly appeared with a tray of hot food. Ron slid out of bed, calmly directing the house elf to leave the tray on the small table in front of the fireplace. "Thank you, Dobby," he said.

Draco's ears perked up. Before the hapless creature could leave, Draco pushed himself up into a sitting position and called down to him. Approaching the bed timidly, the house elf stared up at the sullen, sick boy as defiantly as he dared. Draco quirked an eyebrow, amused. "You remember me, Dobby?"

"Of course, Master Draco."

"You like it here at Hogwarts?"

"Yessir, Master Draco. Dobby has been very happy since Dobby was freed by Harry Potter."

Draco scowled. "Yes, Harry Potter does have a nasty habit of meddling where he's not welcome, doesn't he."

The house elf said nothing.

"Tell me, Dobby, do you ever hear from Milly? I mean, ever exchange posts?"

"No, sir. Master Draco knows that Master Lucius does not allow his house elves to communicate with others outside the Manor."

"This is true," Draco appeared to be contemplating something. "But what if I were to smuggle a letter in to her for you? Father would never have to know."

"Would... would Master Draco really do such a thing for Dobby?"

"For a price."

"Anything, sir. Anything Master Draco wants Dobby will get."

Draco looked enormously pleased. "Tell you what. For every service you do me for the rest of the school term, I'll deliver one letter."

"Yessir! Anything, sir!"

"Good boy. Come back around here tomorrow and we'll discuss the terms further."

"Thank you, Master Draco! Thank you!"

The house elf scurried out of the room and Draco stretched, leisurely. "Bring that food over here, will you? I think I'll eat it in bed."

Ron didn't budge. "What the hell was that?"

"Hmm? Oh, that? Nothing, really. Just a little pact I thought up on the spot. Rather clever, if I do say so myself."

"What did you agree to do for him?"

"Bring his sister a couple of stupid letters, no big deal. She's still a servant at the house of Malfoy, and he's... well, he's not. Under normal circumstances, they would be unable to communicate."

"So you thought you'd bridge the gap, how, by making him your indentured servant again?"

"That's the crux of it, I suppose. Only fair that I get something out of the deal."

"Yeah. Right. Fair."

Ron grabbed his robes from the chair, angrily, and picked up his shoes. "Wait, where are you going?"

"I'm leaving."

"But I'm still sick, don't you care?"

"You know what, Malfoy? I really don't."

Draco jumped off the bed as Ron headed for the door. "What's your problem? It's not like I kicked him down a flight of stairs or anything."

Ron whirled on him. "It wouldn't make much difference if you had, now would it." Draco looked at him, perplexed. "God, you really don't get it, do you. A house elf is a living creature. With feelings. You took advantage of that to improve your own situation."

"So? I take advantage of living creatures all the time, it's never bothered you before."

"Shockingly enough, it has. I guess I just forgot who you were for a time. Don't worry, I won't make that mistake again."

Draco's face had darkened, considerably. "You really did forget, didn't you. You thought somehow I was a changed person from who you knew before... before..."

"No, I just thought you were different. Misunderstood. I see now that I was wrong."

"You were wrong," Draco concurred. "This is who I am, Weasley. I'm a Malfoy and a Slytherin and I..."

"...can't help being who you are, right?"

"...have no intention of being anything else," Draco finished. "Not even for you."

"Of course not for me. Why would you go changing on my account? It's not like we're in a relationship or anything."

The blond looked at him funny. "We've been shagging for three months, I'd hardly call that a relationship."

"Really? So all those you make me feel so good, Rons and only you can touch me there, Rons and... and... never leave me, Rons... those are just things you say to all the boys you bed, right?"

Draco flushed, hotly. "You can't hold me responsible for what I say in a haze of post-coital bliss."

"Right. Of course. Then seeing as how nothing between us is personal, you should care little if I walk out this door and never come back."

The Slytherin looked taken aback. "Is that really what you want?"

"What I want," Ron sighed, "is for you to be the guy I know you can be. Beneath all the talk and all the sneers and all the insults. The guy who doesn't care about mocking my friends or humiliating house elves for fun. The guy who's more Draco than Malfoy. I see you, you know. When you think I'm not looking. Those few times we've actually been able to spend the night together. I watch you sleep and you're unguarded and perfect and pure, in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with your blood. None of this holier-than-thou bullshit you seem so dead-set on parading around all the time."

"This is who I am, Weasley. You either accept that or you don't. It's not my responsibility to change just because it weighs on your conscience that you like to fuck me, bastard though I am. You think you're so superior? You're ashamed of me. You won't even tell your friends about us, because you're too damn scared of what they might think of you for wanting to be with me. How do you think that makes me feel?"

Ron gulped, heavily. He didn't realize that really mattered to Draco. He thought the blond wanted to keep them a secret as much as he did. He never thought for a minute it might actually hurt the boy to stay sequestered off in the shadows, just the two of them. "I... I'll tell my friends about us, but I want you to call off the deal with Dobby."

"I don't respond well to ultimatums, Weasley."

"I'm not trying to give you one. I'm just telling you that I can't be with someone who would treat another living thing that way anymore than you could stand having someone be ashamed of you. I'm not. Ashamed of you, that is. Hell, I thought this was what you wanted. I never imagined it might bother you for them not to know about us."

"Yeah, well, it does bother me. I want them to know that you're strictly hands-off."

"Is that all? Merlin, Malfoy, relax. Hermione's too busy with her studies and responsibilities as Head Girl to seriously think about dating and Harry's not even gay."

"He might switch teams. I drafted you, didn't I?"

"Err... sort of."

"What do you mean, sort of?"

"I don't know what I am, okay? The only person I've ever really wanted is you!" Draco blinked. "Yeah, you. Somehow I think, even if you were a girl, we'd still be standing here having this conversation. I want you. The attractive packaging is just a bonus."

That was more than either of them had ever admitted since the three months they'd been dating. Draco regarded him, anew. "Fine. I don't care about that house elf following me around doing my bidding, anyway. It's not that big of a deal. I'll tell him it's off."

"And you'll still accept a letter from him to his sister."

"What?! Why?"

"Because you promised him. You're the one reneging on the deal now, no reason to make him suffer for your... change of heart, or whatever."

"You really strike some bargain, Weasley. All this just to get you to tell your friends about us?"

"No, I intend to do that anyway. They deserve to know. And I don't like you feeling like I'm trying to hide you or something. Nothing about us embarrasses me, you got that?"

"If you say so," Draco responded after a pause.

"Now get back in bed so that I can bring you your food. It's gotten cold enough already while we've been arguing."

Draco looked like he wanted to protest the order, but since sitting in his bed and eating was pretty much what he wanted to be doing anyway, putting up a fight didn't seem to make much sense. Grumbling to himself, the blond obeyed and crawled back under the covers. Ron put his robes and shoes down, and picked up the tray, carrying it over to the impatient, glaring Slytherin. "Here," he clipped. "It's not much, so you should have no problem finishing it."

"Whatever you say, Mum."

Ron breathed purposefully through his nose. Draco picked up a cracker and began to nibble, watching the redhead with an interested eye. When it was clear Ron no longer intended to leave, Draco relaxed a little. "Are you just going to stand there all night and watch me eat?"

Not going to throttle the guy, Ron insisted to himself, privately. He's sick. I'll throttle him later. He sighed, sitting next to the blond on the bed. Breaking off a piece of bread, he handed it over to Draco. The sick boy gaped at him. "I didn't mean for you to start feeding me, Weasley. I'm not an invalid."

Ron tossed the bread onto the tray. "What do you want from me? Why am I even still here? You said it yourself that you don't need me."

Draco smirked, clearly amused by Ron's frustration. "Can't I simply be allowed to enjoy your pleasant company?"

"Since when did you spend time with me for my company?"

Draco scowled, swallowing the bite in his mouth, thickly. "You're right. Of course. We can't shag at the moment, so what possible use could I have for you?"

Pushing the tray to the foot of the bed, Draco hopped out and walked into the adjoining bathroom. "Draco, wait," Ron moved to follow him. "I didn't mean that."

"It's fine," the response was curt. Draco was staring at himself in the mirror, hands braced against the sink. "I think you should go now."

Ron wrapped his arms around the Slytherin from behind, placing his chin on the shorter boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, okay? Don't make me leave."

Draco sighed, rubbing his fingers over his sallow cheeks. "I look sick," he muttered.

"You look beautiful," Ron murmured, lips pressed to the flesh between Draco's neck and shoulder.

"Don't patronize me," the blond returned, though there was no real venom in his voice.

"Alright. You look anemic, your eyes are bloodshot, your nose is pink - yes, pink - from sniffling, and-"

"I get your point, thank you."

"-AND I still want to drag you back to bed and have my wicked way with you until we're both laid up, sick."

Draco turned in Ron's arms, hands curling over the redhead's broad shoulders. "Well, I am sick. I might not be able to stop you should you decide to try."

Ron's hands slipped to hold Draco's hips. "Sweep you up in my arms, all pliant and limp?"

"Not so limp," Draco nuzzled his face in Ron's shoulder.

"The idea has promise," the Gryffindor mused.

The blond slipped a leg in between Ron's. "So what are you waiting for?"

"'No strenuous activity,'" he repeated, palms gripping his lover's flesh.

"Aww, you're not really going to listen to that old crone, are you? Not when I'm right here in your arms, hard and wanting, telling you I'm perfectly... healthy?"

Ron groaned as Draco rubbed up against him, eyes closing against his will. "Dray, don't..."

The Slytherin grinned at the nickname. "Come on, I'll let you take me in the bath. You... me... a tub full of warm, soapy water? One of the perks to sleeping with the Head Boy is having a bathroom all to ourselves."

"Yes, and I suspect the Head Boy was informed as to what was and was not 'appropriate usage' of said facilities?"

"He was so informed. Lucky for you, the Head Boy follows his own set of rules where his sex life is concerned."

"Just his sex life?"

Draco began unbuttoning Ron's shirt, slipping it off his shoulders, pressing their bare chests together. "Maybe..." a kiss to the chest, "not just..." lick, "...his sex life."

Ron let his head fall back slightly as Draco moved up his neck, eyes slipping closed. The hands at Draco's hips ran up the boy's bare back, settling against his shoulder blades. "How else?" he panted.

"How else what?" Draco asked, mouthing Ron's collarbone.

"How else do you follow your own set of rules?"

Draco pulled back. "Ron? Do stop talking. I... I... ACHOO!!"

The blond head hit his chest with a 'thump.' Ron's arms were tight around his body. "Merlin, what in the world was I thinking? Nevermind, I know what I was thinking with. And you! Seducing me like that! You're sick!"

Draco's voice was muffled against his skin. "I can't help it. I'm still so desirable."

"Yeah, well, back into bed with you, oh desirable Head Boy."

"You know, I'm tempted to make a quip about how I got that title."

"I'm tempted to throw you in the shower and turn the water on cold should you dare."

"You're no fun," the blond sulked.

"One of us has to play the good cop."

"Huh?"

"Nothing." Ron bent to retrieve his discarded shirt. "Get back into bed and finish eating. I need to be back in the common room before Hermione gets back. Harry's probably already waiting for me there."

Draco looked at him for a minute before nodding once and moving past him out of the bathroom. "Wouldn't want any innocent Gryffindors to get the wrong idea," he muttered.

Ron snagged his hand before the Slytherin could pass. "I meant because the three of us need to have a talk as soon as possible."

Draco was silent for some time, mulling over what to say. "You don't want me there?" he decided on, eventually.

"As much as I appreciate the offer of support, I think this is something best dealt with among the three of us. Besides, I'd like to keep the ensuing carnage to a minimum."

"You really think they'll be that upset?" Draco asked, curious.

"Hermione, probably not. Harry... He might take a little more convincing."

"Convincing."

"That this isn't a bad thing."

"Because I'm a guy."

"Because you're a Malfoy. You have to understand, Harry's a hero. And heroes sometimes have pretty set ideas on what's good and what's bad. And your family's..."

"...bad," Draco finished. "Why aren't you the same way?"

"I'm not a hero. I'm just a sidekick. Sidekicks can think what they want."

For a moment, Draco looked like he wanted to dispute this, but changed his mind. "You have more reason to hate my family than Potter does."

"Yeah, well, I'm not saying I'd like to go fox hunting with your father anytime soon, but I... you... oh hell..."

Ron pulled Draco forward, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy, and kissed him soundly on the mouth, pouring forth all the feelings he couldn't even begin to formulate into words. The blond welcomed the gesture eagerly, hands gripping Ron's biceps tightly. A few shared moans later, the boys pulled away, breathing heavily. "I want you to know..." Draco panted, licking his lips.

"Yes?"

"...that I'm glad..."

"Yes..."

"...that it's you who has to suffer through a week of forced celibacy with me."

"You little imp..."

"I'm not little. I'm taller than Potter."

"Who's the shortest guy in our year."

"Heh, yeah. He'll probably have to ask Voldemort to get him a stool before they can duel."

"Don't joke about Voldemort."

"Oh, right. Because not joking about something makes it somehow... less scary?"

"Look, I know you don't care, but it happens to bother me that my best friend is a magnet for danger. Whether I'm included in said danger with him or not."

"You'd think the Boy Wonder could at least fight his own battles. I don't see what's accomplished by dragging you into them as well."

"Worried about me?" Ron smirked.

"Don't be ridiculous. As Head Boy, it's my job to take into consideration the safety of all my fellow students."

"Even Harry?"

Draco scowled. "Yes, even Potter, I suppose. The idiot's a magnet for trouble, like you said, and he grates on my very last nerve, but I... I don't wish physical harm upon him."

Ron laughed and kissed Draco's forehead. "I'll be sure to tell him you said that. He'll be most touched by your concern."

"Whatever. Just so long as he knows that if he gets you hurt, I'll take it out on him."

The Gryffindor nuzzled his cheek. "Yeah? Then I'll have to be sure and stay out of harm's way. For Harry's sake."

"For Potter," Draco agreed, eyes closing beneath Ron's gentle touches.

"Draco, I..."

"Yes...?"

"I... better get going."

The blond pulled away. "I know."

Ron sighed, slipping his shirt back over his shoulders, and moved to put on his robes. Lacing up his shoes, he straightened to find the Slytherin leaning against a bed post, arms crossed, watching him. "I'll be back," he began, running a hand through his hair. "I'll need some place to go after they kick me out of the common room."

Draco's eyebrow arched and he opened his mouth to offer a cutting rejoinder. Instead, all that came out was, "I'll be here."

"I know," Ron replied, coming to stand before the guarded boy. Leaning in for a kiss, Ron felt cool fingers take his face and draw him in, soft lips brushing over his cheek instead. Draco's face was expressionless as he pulled back, but the fire burning in his grey eyes spoke of a deep intensity. Nodding to himself, Ron turned away, walking out the portrait hole and down the hall. He made it all the way to Gryffindor Tower before he was halted in his tracks by the sudden impulse to sneeze. 

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