Chapter I

January 1997

Tuesday

Ron and Draco had opted to keep their relationship secret for a number of reasons, the most obvious being that none of their friends would approve. During the day, they would have to pretend like nothing had changed, that they still passionately hated each other. This caused a certain strain on their relationship, but it was necessary. Neither of them were naive enough to believe that their friends would accept them.

Their families were a whole other story entirely. The Malfoys and the Weasleys had hated each other for generations, and neither family would put up with such an abomination. The Weasleys probably wouldn't have done anything overt; a mere slap on the wrist, subtle disapproving glances, and small avoidances would have been enough. It would have slowly torn the family apart, killing it from within like a cancer.

Draco, on the other hand, wouldn't have been so lucky. The Malfoys’ main goal for their son was for him to produce an heir. In the best case scenario, he would be forced into a marriage with some aristocratic girl before he even had time to think about fleeing. In the worst, however, he would have been shunned by his family, disowned. If he didn't suit their needs, they wouldn't put up with him at all.

Despite the risks, Ron and Draco stayed together. Secrecy was their only option.

The first lust-filled, blissful months of their relationship passed by like seconds. For the most part, they avoided each other during the days, to keep from having to pretend. If they had a spare moment, they would sneak into an unused classroom or broom closet, just to spend a few glorious minutes in each other's company. Most of the time, it was only long enough to share a quick kiss, then head off in their separate directions. But sometimes, they took the time to hold one another; kissing, hugging, pouring out all of their suppressed emotions as quickly but as meaningfully as they could.

The only time they had to really slow down and enjoy their time together was at night. They would both sneak out of their common rooms and meet up in an abandoned classroom on the third floor. It was a bit of a longer walk for Ron, but he didn't mind.

After placing locking and silencing charms on the room, they would transfigure a desk into a bed, and spend the night in there together. They always had to head back to their respective common rooms at an ungodly hour, however, so no one in their dorm would realise they had been gone. It was difficult, but they managed.

It was after these first few months that Ron first started to notice Draco's strange behaviour. Every now and then, his face would darken the way it did on that very first day in October, and when it did, his actions reflected it. Draco would hold onto Ron so tight that it was no longer a possessive gesture— it was simply painful. He would slowly, deliberately rake his fingernails down Ron's back, nearly breaking the skin. And always, when he touched Ron, he would slip his lower lip between his teeth, looking as if he were trying to restrain himself. The touches and caresses would get harder and harder, until Draco would realise what he was doing and completely pull away.

It should have been cause for concern, but Ron never said anything about it. He could put up with a little accidental pain if it meant he got to be with Draco. Besides, he was certain it would go away after awhile. He figured that their time together was so limited, that sometimes suppressed passion came out a little violently, that's all.

This particular day, however, Ron and Draco hardly had any time to spend together. They had spent the day ignoring each other, as usual, but there just wasn't time to sneak away. It was difficult, of course, when all they wanted to do was be together.

Ron was barely paying attention in class, eagerly looking forward to that night. Defence Against the Dark Arts was the last class of the day, and his patience was wearing thin. It didn't make it any easier that this was one of the few classes that Gryffindor shared with Slytherin. The fact that Draco sat directly behind him didn't help matters at all, either.

He glanced over at Harry, hoping for some distraction. Harry was ardently taking notes, completely swept away in the lesson. Of course. The one class in which Ron needed distraction had to be the one class Harry actually liked.

A soft, feather light tickle on the back of his neck nearly made him jump out of his seat in surprise. He whirled around, coming face to face with a very smug looking Draco. Draco was twirling his quill around between his fingers, giving Ron a look that just screamed ‘what are you going to do about it?' Ron slowly turned back around, not trusting himself to say anything. Hopefully, Draco's momentary loss of control was over.

It wasn't.

Just as Ron had situated himself again, actually trying to pay attention to the lesson now, he felt the feather of Draco's quill on the back of his neck again, ever so gently trailing up and down. He suppressed a shiver, mentally screaming at Draco to stop before someone noticed. The feather slipped to the side of his neck, brushing against a ticklish spot there. Ron bit back a laugh, subtly reached up, and pushed the quill back; hoping Draco would get the message. The feel of the quill disappeared, and just before Ron could let out a breath of relief, it was replaced with the light touch of Draco's fingers.

Ron was torn between panic and wanting to melt. He suppressed a moan as Draco's skilful fingers caressed his neck and toyed with his hair. Ron glanced nervously around the room, knowing there was no way that they could go unnoticed if someone happened to look in their direction. Fortunately, whatever the lesson was that day; it must have been interesting, since no one else seemed to be looking around. He slowly turned his gaze back to the front of the room, trying his best to suppress the urge to turn around, pull Draco into his arms, and snog him senseless.

The touch on his neck slowly drifted down to his shoulder, gently massaging on its way down. Then, after a light squeeze, it was gone.

The loss of contact was a strange mix of disappointing and relieving, making it even harder for Ron to sit still. Much to his surprise, however, seconds after Draco pulled his hand away, the bell rang, signalling class was over. Well, that was one way to pass the time, he supposed. But no matter what, they couldn't let themselves be caught over something as stupid as a lack of self control.

Ron stood up, gave Draco a subtle, meaningful look, and then headed toward their hiding spot that they often used after Defence Against the Dark Arts. He waited until no one was paying attention, and then quickly slipped into the old storage room at the end of the corridor. After transfiguring a bucket into a chair, he sat down and waited for Draco to show up. They always made sure to enter and leave their rendezvous points at different times, so they wouldn't call attention to the fact that they were sneaking away together.

After about three or four minutes, the door creaked open and Draco slipped in. Ron stood up and waited for Draco to lock the door, then grabbed Draco's arm and turned him around.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" He demanded.

Draco stared back at him, amused. He slowly slipped his free hand behind Ron's neck, mimicking his caresses from before. "No one noticed."

Ron let out an exasperated huff. "But they could have! Then what? Everything would be ruined because you can't keep your hands to yourself!"

Draco squirmed out of Ron's grip on his arm, slowly trailing his hand up Ron's chest then back over his shoulder to join his other hand in a loose hold around Ron's neck.

"Sorry," he said, noncommittally.

"No you're not," Ron said lightly, his hands reaching out on their own accord to pull Draco closer.

"Hmm, maybe not," Draco agreed, tilting his head and touching his lips to Ron's.

Whatever response Ron had was instantly forgotten, as he soon lost himself in their kiss. His arms tightened around Draco's waist, fully pressing their bodies together. Draco's fingers threaded through Ron's hair, tangling them up painfully then pulling back, simply petting again before Ron could protest.

Suddenly, Draco's hands flashed from Ron's hair down to his shoulders then shoved him up against the wall with surprising force. Ron winced as the jagged stone slammed into his back.

"Let's go now," Draco whispered fiercely, and Ron didn't need to ask where he meant. "Skip dinner, we don't need it."

Ron sighed, touching Draco's cheek. It was hard to be the reasonable one when he was just as tempted to slam Draco onto the floor and spend the night where they were.

"We can't," he said, his own disappointment was clear in his voice. "You know we can't. If someone notices that we're both missing and we're not in our dorms—"

"How are they going to notice?" His grip on Ron's shoulders was tightening, and Ron was certain that there was going to be bruises there. "No one's going to look at the Gryffindor table and say, ‘Oh, look, that Weasley kid is missing; we better make sure Malfoy is still here. After all, even though they completely hate each other, they might be shagging when we're not looking.'"

"What about Harry? Or Hermione? They would notice I'm gone, and they watch you more than they're willing to admit."

Draco blinked, staring at Ron as if he had just said something completely ridiculous. "So?"

"So they'll go back to the common room, notice I'm not there, then put two and two together and realise that I'm probably with you."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "I don't think so,"

"Well, they might not know what I'm doing with you," Ron amended, gently tugging a lock of Draco's hair. "They'll probably think we're fighting or something. So Harry will pull out his Marauder's Map-"

"Marauder's Map?"

"It shows the location of everyone in Hogwarts," Ron admitted reluctantly, mad at himself for slipping up like that. He, Harry, and Hermione were the only remaining students who knew about it, and they had intended to keep it that way. However, Ron was beyond the point of wanting to lie to Draco. He trusted him completely.

Draco raised his eyebrows, impressed. "That's handy,"

"Yeah. Anyway, Harry will look at it and see that we really are together, and where to find us, so he and Hermione will set off to the rescue."

"Bloody Gryffindors. A Slytherin wouldn't care, you know. They'd look at the map and say, ‘Well, I hope he comes back in one piece,' then start placing bets."

"That's pleasant," Ron murmured, smoothing back Draco's hair.

"Quite. Especially when you're trying to hide something."

Draco's grip on Ron's shoulders finally loosened, and he rubbed his hands soothingly up and down Ron's shoulders. The two of them had stayed hidden longer than they should have. Even though there was a two hour gap between their last class and dinner, they rarely spent all of that time together.

"I guess we should be off then," Draco said finally, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

Ron caught Draco's hands as he started to pull away and laced their fingers together. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Draco's. "I'm sorry. You know I'd stay with you forever if I could."

"Yes, yes," Draco replied dismissively, staring up into Ron's eyes with teasing defiance. "And I'd buy you some decent robes if no one would wonder where you got the money."

"Git,"

"Pillock,"

"Poof,"

"Hmm, yes," Draco moved his head to the side, burying it on Ron's shoulder. "I love you," he mumbled, slightly tightening his hold on Ron's hands.

Ron smiled and turned his head to the side, dropping kisses on Draco wherever he could reach. He had always felt like ‘I love you, too,' was a little lacking, like the one who had to say it didn't care enough to be the one to say ‘I love you,' first. However, he was hardly ever thrust into the position of having to come up with a response, since most of the time, Draco didn't say it at all. Draco was too insecure to make himself so emotionally vulnerable by vocalising his feelings and opening himself up for rejection. Ron could probably count on one hand the number of times Draco had said it first, and all of those times, Draco had seemed a little off somehow; sort of depressed and distant. If there were a common thread running through these strange melancholy phases, Ron couldn't find it.

"I love you, too," he whispered. It didn't matter if he felt awkward saying it because of his strange, preconceived ideas. Draco needed a response, and most importantly, it was the complete truth. Ron loved Draco madly. To say nothing would be the worst thing he could possibly do.

He wanted more than anything to wrap his arms around Draco, but Draco still had a tight hold on his hands. He settled for caressing Draco's hands with his thumbs, gently stroking anywhere within his reach.

Draco pulled his head back, studying Ron's face in that strange way of his, as if they'd never see each other again.

"Draco—"

"God, I love you," Draco murmured sombrely, his voice coming perilously close to breaking. He leaned in, brushing his lips against Ron's before Ron could voice a response. Their lips parted and their tongues wound together, tasting and caressing. It was a gentle, comfortable kiss, filled with warmth and love; like their mouths were home to one another and they'd been away for too long.

Ron's thoughts briefly flitted back to Harry's description of his kiss with Cho, and how unpleasant it had been because of her tears. He realised at that moment that Harry must not have loved Cho at all. Ron could think of a million reasons why it would mean the world if Draco would finally break down and cry. It would be a sign of trust, a way to open up the door for them to talk about whatever had been tormenting Draco for so long.

They pulled back slowly, keeping their eyes trained on each other. Draco slowly pulled his hands away, sullenly slipping them into his pockets.

"I'll see you in a few hours, then," he said softly.

Ron reached up, caressing the line of Draco's neck. "You alright?"

Draco nodded. "I'll be waiting for you." It sounded more like a threat than a promise.

Ron gently pulled Draco forward, pressing one last kiss against his lips. "You want to leave first this time?"

"You go ahead,"

Ron studied him for a lingering moment, then nodded, quietly slipping out the door. Draco watched him go, waiting until the door closed before he bonelessly sank to his knees, burying his face in his hands. He didn't know what was wrong, that was the worst part. It was almost like he loved Ron too much, loved him in a way that made him want to rip out Ron's heart so no one else could have it.

He slammed his fist against the rigid, stony wall, watching with detached fascination as blood seeped from his hand. He idly licked his wound, wondering what Ron's blood would taste like, and what it would feel like to pool it up in his hands, letting Ron's life flow over his fingers.

With a small sound of disgust, he squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head, forcing the sickening images out of his mind. Where these thoughts were coming from, he had no idea, but they scared him. They scared him more than anything because they were more than just mere thoughts, they were temptations.

He eased himself onto his back, looking up at the twisted, flickering designs that the torch light painted on the ceiling. This room had been a familiar, comfortable place for him and Ron, but now it just seemed dark and foreboding. It was too small suddenly, and Draco braced his hands against the walls to keep them from closing in on him. They bent forward, leaning against his hands, threatening to crush him.

His heart began to race as panic sat in, a light residue of sweat forming across his brow. He struggled to keep his breathing steady, keeping his eyes trained on the torch light. The light. That was the one thing that could keep him tied to reality and keep the room from swallowing him.

The light twisted and winked, wavering from side to side, beckoning him. Draco slowly, hesitantly, took one of his hands away from the wall, reaching up and up for salvation. His body remained flat on the floor, his leaden arm straining to reach the dancing flames. Logically, he knew he could never reach it, it was too high up. But something inside him kept nagging him to keep trying, almost there, almost...

Something wet dripped onto his cheek, snapping him out of his trance. His arm remained suspended in the air for a moment, and another drop of blood trickled down his hand and dripped down, landing on the side of his parted lips. His tongue darted out unnoticed to catch it, and he slowly brought his hand down, staring at it in dazed wonderment. There were a few small, deep gashes across his knuckles from where the sharp edges of the stone wall had cut into him. Blood still lazily oozed out of the biggest one, collecting on the surface of his hand. He carefully lowered his hand down to his mouth, raking his teeth across the gashes, reopening the ones that had already started to heal.

Blood trickled into his mouth and he sucked it up greedily. The rush of the blood in his mouth combined with the sound of his pulse in his ears was intoxicating, but it just wasn't good enough. It could never be good enough. This just wasn't what he wanted.

He bit down on his hand again, needing to keep the blood flowing, and readjusted himself on the floor. The room was too small and cramped, not leaving enough room for him to stretch out his legs comfortably. He squirmed around a little, finally settling for spreading his legs slightly and bracing his feet up against the door. His free hand reached down, unclasped his robe then trailed down his body to untuck his shirt. It was just too hot in there, and the sweat was pouring off him in waves.

His hand brushed the skin of his stomach, making him arch off the floor with a sudden need. He quickly fumbled to unbutton the bottom few buttons of his shirt, raking his nails slowly and forcefully across the newly exposed skin, eager to draw more blood. A small, pained moan escaped his lips, and he felt the cool, tingling rush of blood as it slowly leaked from the shallow nail marks on his stomach. It felt like there was such a power inside of him, the greatest pleasure in the world, and the only way to release it was to rip himself apart.

His free hand began to caress the new marks on his stomach while he continued to bite and suck at his hand. It still wasn't good enough. He wanted Ron to be there with him, he wanted it to be Ron's blood in his mouth and all over his body.

The thought of Ron in this position brought Draco to sudden, painful arousal. He ran his hand one last time through the blood on his stomach, before he slowly slipped it into his trousers.

"Bleed for me, Weasley,"