Disclaimer: These characters are solely from the mind of J.K. Rowling's I'm-too-straight-for-my-own-good-universe. Hence, the whole point of Harry Potter fanfiction (where everyone is gay, even if you don't realize it yet).

Chapter Seven

Ron was sitting on the floor of the loo, contemplating, assessing, and reassessing. He listed the happenings of his week on the parchment in his head, figuratively speaking of course.

1. I walked in on Draco crying in the bathroom (odd)

2. I saw Draco shagging Pansy in the bathroom (odd yet undeniably hot)

3. Draco kissed me in the bathroom (well, alright…if it had to be done…)

4. I called Draco a (cringe)…well, I called him a faggot. But I was in a right shock!

5. I, yes I, Ron Weasley kissed Draco, yes Draco Malfoy. (It's the hair I think. It's all shiny and irresistible. It really wasn't my fault at all. I think the bloke's got a bit of Veela in him, honestly. It's the only way this bloody thing makes any sense)

6. I kissed the Slytherin bastard again! (But it was worse this time because it was on the lips in front of everyone)

7. Not that the "on the lips part" was bad at all. It was (the Veela prat) really nice actually and it sort of, in a way, makes up for the embarrassment of doing it in front of everyone and such. But just sort of.

8. I agreed to meet Draco in Myrtle's bathroom. (Where more kissing ensued…but just some light kissing, nothing gay…I'm not gay)

9. Oh and I think Hermione is shagging Pansy Parkinson now, by the by. (I think as in I stumbled in on them shagging last night. Don't even ask how because I haven't the frankest idea)

10. It was hot though.

He reviewed the list, all of them being significant, all of them being significantly annoying. He was left now, with the aftermath of an exciting week, sitting on the dusty floor of an abandoned girls' bathroom, save the occasional company of a certain moaning someone. But only occasional company, as Myrtle much rather enjoyed conversing with Draco than Ron. Yes, there he sat on the floor. A wallower of times past. A martyr of youth. A victim of evil Veela powers. Ron sighed. What was the use? He'd spend the rest of his life hidden away in this bathroom if he could, but he very well couldn't. He was needed, apparently, by everyone.

"You can see me for detention Mister Weasley," Snape had growled.

"Practice today Ron! Be on the field right after breakfast!" Ginny had informed him.

"Write our essays together, Ron?" Harry had asked him.

"Can we talk about what you saw last night, Ronald?" Hermione had pleaded.

"I want to see you again. Meet me tonight," Draco had whispered in his ear during lunch.

All those requests (the first one being a demand) and which one had Ron chosen but the last. It was impossible to him, inconceivable to the utmost extremes that he was actually giving in, bending his schedule and ditching a detention (with Snape of all people), for the simple task of a snog with Draco. Shouldn't, he realized, he be repulsed by it? It was gay. And not "gay" in the way he heard many Americans using it in the muggle cinema (the way they tossed it around like an insult really bugged Ron), but "gay" as in actually gay. As in homosexual, shirt lifter, poofter extraordinaire.

Ron was not gay. Ron was not gay. Ron wasn't gay. Wasn't he straight? He wasn't. No, he wasn't, was he? If he was having these thoughts about Draco, if he was meeting Draco for snogs in a bathroom, if he was enjoying these snogs with Draco in bathrooms, he had to be not straight. Ronald Bilius Weasley had to be not straight, meaning gay, shirt lifter, and poofter extraordinaire. He had never thought of it before in such great detail but now that he spared it a thought, it was clear. It was bloody obvious, in fact.


"I'm not straight," Ron said aloud and he wondered if he could admit the truth and, for the rest of his life, escape the consequences attached to it. If he could, he'd try and skip all of it, even the part about being gay. Except for parts where he snogged Draco. Those parts were nice enough. Those parts were tolerable. Speaking of Draco, where was he? Ron wasn't skipping out on Snape for no reason.

As if on cue, Draco waltzed through the door, hands in pockets and smirk on face. After years of observing that face and those smirks, Ron had learned to associate each different smirk with a different emotion. For example, Draco's smirk at the moment was a happy smirk. He knew this because it was the same one he wore when he answered a question correctly in class, or told a funny joke everyone laughed at. And while Ron enjoyed Draco's "happy" smirk, he much preferred his "kissed" smirk, in which the obvious explained the title.

"Well it's official," Draco exclaimed, dramatically flopping himself down beside Ron on the floor. Ron was bewildered for a moment as he processed the fact that Draco wanted to sit on a nasty bathroom floor with him. But then, Draco hadn't turned out to be the same as he thought him, had he?

"What?" Ron asked. It was amusing how excited Draco got about little things, like the other day when they had had to transform beetles into wristwatches during Transfigurations. His face had been all aglow as he cast the spell. His beetle had transformed into the most expensive of watch brands, and he had fastened it on his wrist proudly. Draco looked at Ron now with the same excited eyes.

"Pansy Parkinson and Granger," he said, allowing his voice to trail off. When Ron nudged him, he continued. "Pansy and Granger are a…" he faked a gag, "A lucrative way to get over us, I'd say. Eh, Weasley?" Despite the new closeness the two boys had developed over the last few days, it still felt unnatural referring to each other with their first names. Needless to say, it was avoided at all costs.

"Ugh," Ron groaned into Draco's shoulder. "I feel terribly 'bout that."

"Do you really?" Draco asked him, gray eyes wide and curious. Ron shrugged.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Ron pushed some bothersome hair from his face, not catching the glint of attraction in Draco's eyes as he did so. "I honestly haven't thought on it much."

The sudden kiss on Draco's part wasn't so sudden really, because by now Ron was well accustomed to his random outbursts. He was a "in the throes of passion" kind of bloke, Ron thought. So what kind of bloke did that make Ron? A "in the throes of the throes of passion" kind of guy? Whether true or not, Ron didn't care at the moment because the fact of the matter was that Draco was kissing him and Ron always liked to throw all of his concentration into their kisses.

Kissing Draco had been strange at first. It wasn't necessarily because Draco was a boy but because Draco was…Draco. Strange, by no means meant bad. Ron could only hope Draco felt the same way. Strange, odd, and sexy, but never bad. How could this ever, ever be bad?

"Strange," Draco mumbled into Ron's mouth as they kissed. Ron pulled away.


Draco was smirking Ron's favorite smirk now. "Strange." Ron thought that's what he heard but he had passed it off as impossible since the same thought had been going through his head.

"Strange?" Ron repeated dumbly. Draco nodded and resumed to kissing Ron, tracing the edge of his jaw with his lips.

"What kind of strange?" Ron ventured. "I mean, not…not bad strange, right?"

Draco moved his head up eyelevel with Ron, whom was looking unusually pale. "Bad strange?"

"Bad strange," Ron sputtered, trying to explain himself. "Like a new haircut or the wrong flavor Bert's Bean."

Draco removed his smirk and simply stared at Ron, his face unmasked. Ron could feel his stomach dropping like a stone to the ground. The silence was unbearable.

"Strange," Draco repeated, seemingly talking to himself. "Not bad strange like the wrong flavor Bert's Bean, or strange strange like my ex going out with your ex, but…strange."

"Sorry Draco," Ron let his actual name slip out, "but what the fuck does that mean?"

But when Draco responded by holding Ron's hand in his and leaning his head against his shoulder, Ron knew exactly whatit meant.