Funny how a Few Words Turned into Sex

By Green

Rating: Will rise to R

Pairing: Ron/Draco

Series/Sequel: Part One

Warnings: Slash…yadda…m/m..yadda…homosexual…yadda…Gryffindor doesn't win absolutely everything all the time

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns it all and we bow to her greatness, if she'd only got the fifth book out a little quicker I wouldn't have gotten addicted to Ron/Draco slash in the interim. Suing me would hold little point, as I have no money at all.

Feedback: Please, please, please

Notes: So, you say, why don't they stop the rain with magic? Well, I could say that disrupting the balance of nature is never a good thing, or that it was a learning experience thing. Or I could just say that I wanted to write it and let you make up your own excuse…

Please r/r - more along soon in any case


The Quidditch pitch is emptying, quickly, in the rain that has cancelled the second half of the match.

Dispirited, the players and audience retire to the main buildings, to fight another day. The colours of Gryffindor and Slytherin are rolled down, neither triumphant. The ground is swiftly subliming to mud, the sky to mist. The snitch may return and be caught by the enchanted box, or it may be lost forever.

In the field Draco Malfoy raises the back of his hand to his forehead to wipe off the raindrops from the flushed skin. He turns around to survey the scene. An ignominious end to such an anticipated match. He'll get Potter next time, of course, but it will mean extending the practice schedule into time he wanted to spend revising for the NEWTS. Though Heaven help the teacher that would fail a Malfoy.

He turns around, preparing to walk off, and is horrified when Ron 'Weasel' Weasely emerges from the crowd, smiling, running, holding out his arms. What? Why? A confusion of jumbled reactions, a race of adrenaline. He braces himself to be hit, but the contact does not come. Weasely passes him without a glance and reaches Potter, who Malfoy had not realised was only feet behind him.

It happens too quickly to process. If he stops dwelling on it he will forget it. Who wants to think of Potter and Weasely anyway?

For the rest of the week people remark that Draco seems particularly depressed by the match cancellation.


A week and a half later, and the replay decides a win to Slytherin, although they and Gryffindor may still be the finalists based on points - the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws are tied at present.

Today the sun is shining with almost no magical assistance, and the house colours seem to almost glow in the light. Draco Malfoy is exultant, not only have Slytherin beaten Gryffindor, but he's beaten Potter and Weasely by spoiling the surprise party they were so excitedly planning at the last match. He would love to have seen Granger's face when the 'cake' exploded and covered her in Pimple Producer.

Life is sweet.

Another face catches him, someone in the crowd as he swoops in triumph around the pitch with his team. He slows to look closer. Weasely's glare meets his eye, solid and cold and bitter. Weasely waves his wand. A message writes itself in the air just before Draco's face.

Just because you hate me, you don't have to get at them.

And the expression isn't cold; it's hurt, hurt for her, his little mudblood.

Just because you hate me, you don't have to get at them.


The injuries from colliding with a goalpost are never severe, but he spends the night in the Infirmary, and afterwards they all agree he is 'not quite himself'.


Just because you hate me, you don't have to get at them.

Now what the hell does that mean? I don't hate Weasely, which is to say that, yes, I do, but I don't hate * Weasely * - it's the whole stinking crew of them that I resent. If it's one in particular it's Potter, the Boy Famous for Nothing at All. Or maybe Granger, the mudblood. Not boring old Weasely, poor and rude and nothing much else.

And if Weasely thinks any different it's just egotism.

Bloody Weasely.

Damn it!

But after all, Weasely is the one responsible for my injuries, Weasely, the jumped-up little prat. I see him sometimes, in the Great Hall, sitting next to the Great Potter, and he acts like everyone they're talking to is interested in him, not just his famous friend. Who would notice Ron Weasely next to Harry Potter? Potter's scar pretty much pips the post for originality, but even without it there's the dark wavy hair, pale skin, green eyes - unusual to say the least. And even if the glasses are beyond retro, beyond ironic and just plain godawful, he has that little-boy-lost look down pat.

Weasely? He's yet another redheaded, freckle-faced product of the family that makes the name of wizardry embarrassing. Nothing to look at.

But then…he looks at me. Angry looks, bitter looks. Sometimes he just stares across all the tables at me, intensely, as though he's trying to read my thoughts. And that's when it strikes me that he's being protective. He's trying to judge me, to find out what I'm planning before I do it and protect Potter and Granger.

That could be used so easily to taunt him, but if I did that, then I'd have to admit that *I * look back.

Ron Weasely may not be noticeable, but he can * make * you notice him.

All through breakfast today the writing seemed to hover above my plate, but when I looked up he was talking and laughing and sharing an apple with Potter.

Just because you hate me, you don't have to get at them.

I am going to get Weasely for that, for my injuries, for staring, for…

No, why should I care if he ignores me?

Just watch out, Weasely.