Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did I wouldn't be poor. All characters and places and whatnot belong to JK Rowling and The Publishers.

Warnings: My usual. Questionable language, slash, sexual situations and traumatised retinas.

Authors note: I solemnly swear I did not write my draft for this story whilst on placement. So, basically, I love Ron as a character and I found him so much fun to write in State of Mind, that I had to bring him out for some more shenanigans :)

I bear no responsibility for my seriously over-active imagination.

Just doesn't make sense.

It just didn't make sense.

It was the night of the annual Ministry ball (the same Ministry ball which from this point onwards I will never ever be attending ever again), and all sense, reason and rationality had upped and left the world, leaving a mixture of nonsense, hoaxes and things that I would never have believed if I hadn't seen them with my own - now traumatised - retinas.

Apologies, it appears I'm getting ahead of myself. My point was that it just didn't make sense. It had been four whole years and I just couldn't understand why Harry couldn't get over it and make an effort to get on with him. Everyone else had managed to forgive Malfoy, led by my shining example of course. Well, when I say 'shining example', I mean that we were forcibly partnered as a Curse Breaker and a Gringott's Liaison Agent and had to share an office in the Ministry.

We spent six months ignoring each other and speaking only when spoken to until one day, out of the blue, the git came up to me, shoved a cup of coffee into my hand, looked me right in the eye and said, "Weasley, I think I owe you a major apology."

I gaped and he had looked at the floor and apologised for almost everything he had done in school. When he had finished, I asked him if he would also like to apologise for laughing at me when I was hit with the Slug-Vomiting-Curse in second year. He said he would not.

It didn't matter though; it was the start of some weird, effed up truce built on coffee runs and a mutual hatred of Zacharias Smith who worked a floor up and was still a complete twat. I mean, if Malfoy had managed to grow up even a tiny bit, then why hadn't he?

We had even managed to create a genius and foolproof system where Malfoy would distract the witches on the third floor welcome desk with one of his oh-so-charming smiles that they all seemed to melt at, and I would steal all the double chocolate chip muffins out of their basket. We would then spend a large amount of the morning drinking victory coffee and eating double chocolate chip muffins and thinking of horrible things to do to Smith and pretending to do work whenever anyone came into the office.

Anyway, the point that I've been trying to make and so far have managed to avoid is that four years on, Harry still hadn't managed to make any sort of headway concerning Malfoy. I mean, if I could do it…you get the point.

Some wounds run deeper than others, I supposed. I thought it might just take time, but year after year ticked by and they still continued to fight. It wasn't just like they ignored each other, which they had managed to do admirably for around a year since starting work at the Ministry; one day something suddenly changed and then it was like school all over again. They were constantly getting into what Malfoy called 'altercations', the situation made worse by the fact the Auror offices were on the same floor as ours so they were constantly running into each other.

First was the time I came back from a coffee run and found Harry in our office, pinning Malfoy against the wall by his collar. I had come in and Harry dropped Malfoy like he was hot and fled, ranting something on his way out about Malfoy being a complete fucking idiot. Malfoy hadn't said anything, but had spent the rest of the afternoon looking slightly dazed and confused like Harry had punched him in the face. He probably had actually, I didn't ever ask.

Soon after that Malfoy turned up in our office late after lunch with a bleeding lip. He was flustered enough to fail at making up a cover story, admitting to me the moment I asked that he'd 'had a run-in with Potter'. I asked Harry about it in the pub that night but he didn't hear me; instead he carried on chatting loudly to Seamus, so I didn't bother asking again.

It was after what I called the 'big-incident' that I had to intervene. I had taken a wander down to Harry's office late on a Thursday afternoon to see if he busy on a mission or free for a chat, and had barely touched the door handle when Malfoy stormed out. They had clearly been fighting; Malfoy's shirt was ripped and missing several buttons, and Harry was breathing all funny, sort of panting, and had some odd shaped bruises on his neck. I was of course initially shocked that Malfoy had evidently tried to strangle my best friend, but I used my sensible head and realised the blame didn't lie entirely with Malfoy so I couldn't follow him and curse him.

Harry was a bit of a hopeless case to be honest; after the war he'd thrown himself into work and insisted that that was what he wanted to do. He'd never got back with Ginny, something that puzzled me and pissed her off for about a day and a half. She moved on, happy as owt, but Harry didn't. Even though there were a million girls who would have dated him or done rude things to him, what with him being the Chosen One and all, he stayed single and at least three feet away from any flirtatious girls at all times.

All he seemed interested in was work and fighting with Malfoy. Sure, he came out to the pub with us all cheerily enough, but would never go out with George and Seamus on any of their aptly dubbed 'witch-hunting' expeditions. Harry would always be the first to volunteer to stay with me, seeing as if I went, I would be risking the wrath of Hermione. The term 'volunteer' doesn't really do justice to how earnestly Harry agreed to stay behind with me; the one time he had gone with them it was because Seamus had carried him bodily out of the pub over his shoulder, with Harry struggling violently and threatening to kick his sorry Irish arse.

But yes. Back to Harry and Malfoy. The intervention involved me - yes, me - sitting them both down in our office and telling them sternly, in a tone I had borrowed from Hermione, that they had to stop fighting and behave, at least for my sake. I didn't want to be caught between my work-partner and my best friend and I told them that. Malfoy glared at me and Harry flushed and looked away and I nodded in satisfaction. A job well done, I thought.

Back to the present. As you should remember it was the night of the Ministry ball, and something had happened that meant things suddenly made even less sense than before.

I had dived out of the ballroom to go write myself a quick note for a piece of work I was to be doing on Monday. I opened my office door and at that moment, my poor eyes were scarred forever.

Harry and Malfoy were sprawled out over the desk that Malfoy and I shared, half naked and kissing like there was no tomorrow.

My eyes unfortunately weren't traumatised enough to render me blind; I clearly saw Malfoy was shirtless and Harry's trousers were well on the way down his legs and they were stillkissing, tongues and all, until one of Harry's hands went for the buckle of Malfoys belt and the other dived inside his boxers and I panicked and shouted, 'Oi! That's my desk!"

They both jumped like they'd been electrocuted, turning to look at me with identical horrified expressions on their faces, which would have been funny if it wasn't my best friend getting off with my work partner on my desk.

I stared at them for much longer than was polite; this being one of those times, when no matter what your brain says, you just can't look away. I saw far too much in those nine and half seconds; spotting a line of love bites scattered across Malfoy's chest, and what looked suspiciously like fingernail marks across Harry's, as well as becoming uncomfortably aware of all their missing clothing which was draped unceremoniously around the office.

Harry was the first to move, slipping his hand out of Malfoy's trousers in what I suppose he thought was a discreet motion. To me it wasn't discreet; it was akin to someone waving a huge banner in my face emblazoned with flashing letters that read, Surprise! Your best friend was just tossing off Draco Malfoy!

"Erm, mind giving us a moment, Ron?" He asked breathlessly.

I did give them a moment. I ran. I ran faster than I ever had in my life, not stopping until I was back in the ballroom and immediately gulped down the biggest glass of champagne I could find. I must have looked bad because Hermione took me home not long after that.

It just didn't make sense! All that time fighting, all their odd behaviour, three and a half years of altercations and…

…Oh.

Well now it all makes sense.