Fic: Homosexuals Anonymous

Title: Homosexuals Anonymous
Author: MamaLaz
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Rating: R
Word Count: Just shy of 10,000
Story Summary: "Being a pureblood homosexual in the wizard world is not easy, especially if you're male. Both Draco and Ron join a new support group for gay purebloods, each for their own reasons. As the meetings progress, they find they have more in common than they've ever wanted to admit and the mutual hatred they've always had may just have been attraction in disguise."
Notes: Written for the Ron/Draco Summer Feast. Prompt by alexandripearl.
A/N: There's a little 'Firefly' quote there. :P Ten points to whoever can guess it :D
Link:

Homosexuals Anonymous

When Ron Weasley went to his first ‘Homosexuals Anonymous’ meeting, he had a feeling it was all a very bad idea.

However, after sitting down, receiving his magicked, lukewarm cup of coffee and looking around the arc of nervous faces all around him, he decided it wasn’t just a bad idea – oh no, it was a bloody awful idea. And he really didn’t know how to get out of it.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he made a vow to murder Hermione the next time he saw her.

How did she always manage to force him into these types of things anyway?

“M-My name is Larry and I’m… uh, I’m a homosexual.”

Oh, brother, Ron almost groaned aloud, dropping his face into his hands as an overly-skinny, overly-pimply young man stood self-consciously in front of his chair.

Darting his anxious eyes around the group of people watching him, the skinny young man known as Larry then gulped, especially as he eyed the woman at the top of the circle who sat there with a silk scarf tied around her head and a clipboard in her hand.

The nametag on her chest indicated this woman’s name was ‘Gladys’ and Gladys, with an eerily contented look on her face, was the kind of person who Ron, had he been looking at her and not his hands, would have suspected sniffed a lot of potions in the sixties.

Ron also would have suspected, from her fashion sense, that she was the secret love child of Luna Lovegood and Sybil Trelawney. And this thought, being the disturbing thought that it was, made Ron very glad he wasn’t looking at her in the first place.

Still standing shakily, Larry the homosexual gulped and sweated in succession as the room was engulfed with total silence after his declaration, every eye save Ron’s watching him.

Because Ron’s eyes were too busy eyeing the open window longingly and wondering desperately if a) he was skinny enough to slip through it, b) if falling to his death was really as bad as people made it out to be and c) what horrible things Hermione would do to his corpse once she found out he tried to use death as an excuse to skive off.

A few more seconds ticked by and then, just as it looked as though both Larry and Ron were about to say “Bugger it all” and bolt out of the room anyway, the group cried out in unison,

“Welcome, Larry!”

And the opportunity was lost.

Larry didn’t seem to care, however. Happily collapsing back into the sanctity of his seat, he was only too happy to pass the torch to the watery eyed, overweight woman beside him.

And she was only too happy to take it.

“My name is Perpetua and I am also a homosexual.”

“Welcome, Perpetua!” the rest of the group chorused again while Ron, realising he was stuck here, slumped back into his seat desolately, hoping that avoiding eye contact and sinking as low as he could possibly get into his chair would render him invisible.

Unfortunately, after a few seconds of doing this and receiving a great many funny looks, Ron realised it didn’t. And it didn’t render him deaf either.

“My name is Grunelda and I’m a homosexual.”

“Welcome, Grunelda!”

“My name is Edwina and… yeah, homosexual.”

“Welcome, Edwina!”

“I’m Rex and I’m a homosexual and can we get on with this already? I have salsa in an hour.”

“Welcome, Rex!”

“My name is Sebastian and I like cock.”

“Welcome, Sebastian!”

“My name is Draco and I’m in the wrong room. Is Homophobics Anonymous down the hall or something?”

And Ron immediately snapped his head up.

No, it couldn’t be…

Unfortunately, on spotting a regally dressed, haughty-looking blond sitting like a sore thumb between Sebastian, the flamboyant guy who ‘liked cock’, and a slightly masculine girl in dungarees, Ron realised with mounting horror that it could be.

And that it was.

And that the idea he had of jumping out the window was suddenly a hundred times more appealing.

“Now, Draco,” said Gladys patiently, sounding all airy and not quite there as her beaded necklaces jangled, “how many times are you going to insist on being lost? You’ve been here for two meetings now.”

Dressed in a dark, forest-green robe and looking as blond, sharp-faced and pale as ever, Draco Malfoy just crossed his arms defiantly and eyed Gladys like he would something repulsive.

“Only for entertainment’s sake,” he drawled with a sniff of importance before wrinkling his nose, fanning his face as though he could smell rotting rubbish and turning in disgust to the girl beside him to hiss, “Do you even wash?”

Continuing to smile good-naturedly and ignoring the Malfoy’s open rudeness, Gladys rearranged the clipboard on her knee, the way a psychiatrist would before a session with a patient.

“Alright, Draco. So why do you find these meetings so ‘entertaining’?” she asked, lifting up her fingers to make the appropriate bunny-rabbit gestures as she said the last word.

Moving his chair away from the girl beside him until he noticed the eyes the guy on his other side was making at him, Malfoy angrily moved back where he was with a huff.

“Because I find this place an amusing study on the pathetic dregs of society, that’s why,” Malfoy spat insolently, his pointed features looking even more pronounced as he glared at Gladys in irritation. “Now make that skinny fag with the skin condition stand up again, he was particularly hilarious. And what the fuck is with this coffee? Do you have a person chained in the back room who pisses it out on demand? And why the hell are you talking to me like a familiar? Do you even know who my father is?”

Yes, Draco Malfoy was still an irritating little prick.

So it really wasn’t Ron’s fault that he reacted the way he always did whenever Malfoy was being an irritating little prick.

“Oi!” he said, raising his voice before realising he had even done it. Then, when every eye had turned to him, including Malfoy’s own surprised ones, Ron, face burning, let out a cough. “Uh… just… shut up, Malfoy,” he finished lamely, not knowing what else to say.

And, for a moment, Malfoy seemed to have the exact same problem. His eyes were wide, his mouth hung slightly open and he blinked almost stupidly at the redhead. However, being Draco Malfoy and rather used to people unexpectedly flinging abuse at him, Draco eventually recovered from the shock enough to lean back into his chair and sneer,

“Weasley, you do realise the homeless soup kitchen is in the next room, don’t you?”

And Ron immediately tried to get to his feet to punch his lights out.

“Now, now, boys!” Gladys said with a tinkle of a laugh, pointing at them both in mock anger. “We’re all friends here. We all share the same problems. Now, dear,” and here she turned to Ron, her huge, stoned eyes fixed on him instead of Malfoy. “Why don’t you start by introducing yourself?”

Ron, who was already halfway off of his seat in his haste to throttle Malfoy, felt his skin blotching as every eye in the room turned to him again.

Dropping back down on his chair, he then let out a gulp.

“Uh… I… I don’t… um… I don’t think that… uh…”

Unfortunately, Malfoy had no such problem with speech.

“I can introduce him,” he spoke up, getting smoothly to his own feet and smirking about him before either Gladys or Ron could even think of protesting. Because, had he had the chance, Ron would have definitely protested.

And violently, too.

But as it was, he didn’t. Instead, Ron ended up watching with horror as the blond swept his white fringe off of his forehead, cleared his throat importantly and loudly said,

“Males and she-males, of this dire party, allow me to introduce you all to Ron Weasley, a poor Harry-Potter-Infatuated Muggle-lover with no talent, no confidence and hair so garish it makes Rita Skeeter look toned down. And apparently, he’s a pouf as well, so do your best to welcome this pathetic excuse for a wizard to your pathetic little club. He needs all the friends he can get.”

Malfoy then sat down, looking so pleased with himself it should have been illegal.

There was a short silence around the room at the end of Malfoy’s speech. Then, just as Ron was about to spring out of his seat again and actually kill Malfoy this time, the room chorused out.

“Welcome Ron Weasley!”

And Ron suddenly realised he was in hell.


* * *


“… and I’m not going back and that’s final!”

Hermione Granger, her frizzy hair tied up in a messy bun and her work clothes still under the apron she was wearing, had lost interest in Ron’s thirty-minute speech twenty-seven minutes ago.

However, being the dutiful friend she was, she had pretended to listen as best as she could for twenty of those minutes as she prepared dinner in their cosy apartment.

Now, unfortunately, as she added the finishing touches to her sauce, she was beginning to get exasperated.

Stirring occasionally at the bubbling concoction with her wand, Hermione merely rolled her eyes and snorted at Ron’s defiant words.

“Honestly, Ron,” she said, sounding irritated by the entire thing, “you’re being ridiculous! It’s only Malfoy. If you can survive seven years with him at school, you can survive an hour a week.”

“Yeah, think of it as Potions class,” Harry tried to chirp consolingly with a grin from the sofa, his feet up on the coffee table and a mug of tea in his hand.

Ron gave his best friend a glare.

“Thanks, mate,” he said sarcastically.

“Well, Harry’s got a point,” Hermione persisted again as she tried the sauce she had just made. Then wrinkling her nose and shaking oregano out of the tip of her wand, she turned back to continue. “Potions may have been unpleasant but look how much we all learnt!”

Harry and Ron stared blankly at each other. However, wisely deciding amongst themselves not to incite Hermione’s anger, they decided to drop the matter.

But that was the only matter Ron was dropping because he still had a lot to say about Malfoy. He talked as he and Harry set the table. He continued to ramble as the three of them sat down and started their meal. And he even carried on, waving his arms emphatically all the while, throughout the whole of dessert – a tasty Treacle Tart Harry had bought after work from their local patisserie.

“So,” Ron had said in conclusion, messily shovelling the last remains of the tart into his mouth as Hermione frowned at him from her side of the table and Harry simply grimaced as the display. “I’m not going back and that’s final.”


* * *


“Welcome back, Ron!”

Ron, who had slouched into the room and was trying to look as inconspicuous as he could, winced as a dozen voices all called out a greeting in unison. Turning to the voices, he spotted twelve sets of teeth sparkling merrily at him and twelve hands waving at him cheerfully.

They only put him in a fouler mood.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron grumbled back, barely audible as he collapsed sullenly into his seat, looking positively furious with himself.

He was really going to hurt Hermione next time he saw her. How did she manage once again to convince him that this was a good idea?

And then the main reason this was a bad idea walked into the room.

“Back again, Weasley?” drawled Malfoy’s familiar voice as the young man passed him, giving him a nasty smile as he took his own seat beside Ron. He then sprawled over his chair with such supreme, indolent arrogance that it made Ron want to kick irrationally at one of the legs and watch the blond fall flat on his face.

Ron didn’t kick the chair, however, or watch Malfoy break his nose by slamming into the floor.

(Unfortunately)

Instead, he had to put up with Malfoy face smirking at him instead of bleeding. And it was a horrible sight to witness. “So, come back here to find yourself a boyfriend?” asked Malfoy mockingly.

Oh yes, Ron thought as he felt his face flush with hot fury. He was really was going to hurt Hermione the next time he saw her.

“ ‘That why you’re here, Malfoy?” Ron retorted, congratulating himself for not full-out punching the prick as he somehow held in his anger. “To find some guy stupid enough to want to date you?”

“Oh, please, I’m not gay,” Malfoy scoffed airily, waving a hand at Ron as though he was trying to bat him away.

Ron just stared at him at that. Then biting his lip and inclining his head slightly to the left, Ron hesitantly opened his mouth.

“But you’re in Homosexuals Anonymous,” he finally managed.

“I know where I am, you jack ass,” Malfoy said tetchily, wiping a piece of lint prissily off of his robes and looking irked at having to explain himself. “It’s like I told the old stoner over there, I’m here purely for entertainment.”

“Entertainment?” Ron repeated, briefly looking at the bored parade of faces around him, the orderly line of drab-looking people queuing for the coffee machine and Rex, the exotic salsa-shirt wearing dancer, who was nodding off in his chair. Raising his eyebrows, Ron then turned back to Draco.

“Entertainment,” he said again, his voice practically dripping with scepticism. “Right.”

“Good evening, group!” Gladys called brightly from the middle of the circle, clapping her hands and interrupting their conversation before Malfoy could respond. “Can I have your attention, please?”

“No,” said Draco brusquely, crossing his arms and looking petulant. Gladys didn’t appear to hear him. Instead, she wore her most faraway look and lifted her arms up like a seer professing a vision. After a few minutes of this, with most of the group staring at her in awe and Malfoy looking bored and filing his nails, she finally spoke.

“Now,” she said, her voice soft and distant, “for our first exercise, it would be simply heavenly if you could all get into pairs for me…”

When no one moved straight away, Gladys, her arms still raised, snapped open her eyes. Her face then twisted so unpleasantly that Ron nearly let out a whimper.

“Now!”

Immediately, several people jumped out of their seats in fear, and a great many of them, to Ron’s horror, seemed to making their way towards him.

Bugger, he thought, trying to dive under his chair.

Unfortunately, he only got as far as getting on his hands and knees when he got a poke in the shoulder.

“Um… hi, Ron.”

Ron lifted up his head. It was Larry, the pimply-faced, constantly nervous young man. Eyeing Larry’s mouth trying to twitch itself into an easy smile, Ron continued to gaze with morbid fascination as the young man’s face lost more and more colour by the minute.

“… do you… I mean, I was just wondering… would you be okay with being my…”

“Back off, Bubotuber face, Weasley’s my partner.”

Nearly breaking his neck as he turned to Malfoy, Ron’s mouth fell open with indignation as the top of his head smacked on the underside of his chair.

“What?!” he squawked.

“Weasley,” said Malfoy, rolling Ron’s name around his tongue as though it was the vilest of insults, “if you think I’m going to attempt to socialise with any of these plebeians, you can think again. You’re my partner, suck it up and deal with it.”

“But I don’t want to suck it up!” Ron said loudly, causing Gladys to look over at them curiously.

“Partners all sorted, boys?” she asked as she floated by like she was on wheels.

“Yes,” said Malfoy smugly.

“No!” Ron cried out in injustice but Gladys had already floated away by the time he answered and clapped at her hands again.

“Excellent!” she said. “Now, this task is all about being more comfortable with your sexuality. Throughout the next few weeks we’re going to examine all aspects of the homosexual lifestyle, from etiquette on a first date to the appropriate dress to certain functions…”

“Wait a minute, you’re going to give us advice on clothes?” Malfoy cut in loudly, looking at her outfit with revulsion. “Because frankly, I’d rather chance my attire with a blind muggle.”

Once again, Gladys just smiled at him indulgently before carrying on. Ron, still kneeling on the floor, briefly wondered if she had had one too many Obliviates to the head.

“In this particular exercise, we’re going to focus on approaching someone of the same sex. Now, I know some of you here are still uncomfortable doing this so don’t worry yourselves about it; this is just a test run. So, role-playing with your partner, practise your best ‘chat up technique’. You have ten minutes.”

Slowly turning back to Ron, Malfoy raised his eyebrows. And somehow, his slimy, snake-like smirk grew even wider.

“Well, come on then, Weasley,” he practically purred, looking so amused that Ron’s fingers – as they usually did when in close proximity to the blond – itched to punch him. “Make like a broom and sweep me off my feet already.”

Ron, however, didn’t do either of those things.

Rising up so he could drop himself into his seat, Ron brushed at his dusty knees, crossed his long arms and pressed his lips together petulantly. He then added the finishing touch to his ‘angry stance’ by glaring at Malfoy with all his might.

“No,” he said simply.

Malfoy quirked a perfectly arched eyebrow, his grey eyes both curious and entertained.

“No?” he repeated smoothly, his canine’s gleaming like a vampire’s as he smiled almost ferociously. “Why, poor boy, are you scared?”

“I’m not scared!”

And Draco’s amusement only grew. Because nobody who protested that furiously and that defensively could be telling the truth.

“Oh, yes, you are,” said Malfoy with an infuriatingly knowing smile as he casually crossed his legs at the ankle. “You’re a chicken shit. A chicken shit who, I bet, hid under Granger’s skirts during the entire war. And being half in love with you, I’m sure she adored slipping you down there. Tell me the truth, Weasley. While in her knickers, which deformity of hers put you off enough to send you yearning for cock instead…?”

“Malfoy…” Ron growled.

“Or,” Malfoy continued, ignoring Ron’s interruption, “did you sneak your way into Potter’s pants first and found you enjoyed that a hell of a lot more…? I can’t imagine why though. Is it true his prick is the size of a hangnail?”

“Malfoy, I’m warning you…”

“Malfoy, I’m warning you…” Malfoy mimicked in a high-pitched voice before laughing nastily. “Please, you’re such a coward. You won’t even give me a pick up line, let alone carry out your trollish threats. You know, I should have picked that Larry for a partner. Ugly twitchy fuck he may be, but at least he has more balls than you. Hell, half the dykes here literally have more balls than you. So stop wasting my time, Weasley, and give me any bloody line already or just…”

“You must be a bludger.”

Malfoy suddenly stopped talking to stare at Ron.

“What?” he asked in pure confusion, blinking almost dumbly.

Ron, who was bright red and staring at his feet in awkwardness, licked at his lips nervously.

“You must be a bludger,” he said again, steeling his voice to stop it wavering. “Because you’ve completely knocked me out.” He then chanced a look at Malfoy under his lashes.

Malfoy, who was sitting very still, blinking continuously and looking rather surprised, had his mouth slightly open. However, after a minute of doing this, the blond finally reacted.

And he did so by bursting into such hysterical laughter that it could have mistaken for a violent fit.

“Malfoy, shut up…!” Ron snarled, his face bright red in humiliation. Malfoy, unfortunately, didn’t shut up. Instead he laughed even louder, slapping his hand against his knee and almost crying with mirth.

And it wasn’t much better when he finally found his voice again.

“Oh yes, Weasley, you’re so smooth...!” he taunted, wiping the tears from his eyes as he eventually hiccupped into quieter sniggers. “I bet that that line has all the boys just clamouring over you…!”

“And everyone’s just fighting to get in your pants, aren’t they…!?” Ron scowled furiously, his ears like two red light bulbs flashing on either side of his head.

Malfoy just grinned at that, his eyes still shining.

“Exactly,” he said with relish. “My lines get my dates hungry for more.”

“Oh yeah?” Ron challenged, his cheeks more pink than red as he crossed his arms petulantly. “Let’s hear it then, if you’re so bloody slick. Go on. Go on then.”

When Malfoy didn’t say anything for a few seconds, Ron let out a huge, triumphant grin, taking this act of silence as a refusal.

“Ha,” he said victoriously. “I knew it. All that big talk but you’re still just that wimp you were at school. You’re the one who’s chicken-”

Malfoy put his hand on Ron’s lap.

“-shit.”

And he didn’t stop there. Wearing a smile so sultry that Ron felt his mouth going dry, Malfoy leaned forward, his hand sliding up Ron’s thigh and their lips just an inch apart.

“Hi,” said Malfoy, his breath hot on Ron’s face and his gaze hungrily locked on Ron’s. “My name is Draco Malfoy. I’m rich, I’m hung, I have the keys to the back room and I can guarantee to get you off in two minutes or less. And, if I don’t deliver, I’ll get down on my knees, open my mouth and let you pay me back with interest. So what do you say, Weasley? Care to forsake a night of wanking over Potter to me sucking you off?”

Ron, his mouth dry, flapped his lips uselessly in response. However, before he could make a garbled, gurgling sound, Gladys’s voice cut in.

“Excellent, Draco!” she said genuinely. “A little more forward than I myself would prefer but an effective technique nevertheless. Wouldn’t you agree, group?”

Every man in the room just blinked dazedly in response while Malfoy, reclining lazily in his seat, lifted up his arms to rest the back of his head against his hands and looked smugly across at Ron.

“Told you so,” he mouthed alluringly.

And Ron, feeling a strange stirring in his belly, a tingling on his leg where Malfoy’s hand had been and his brain completely short-circuiting, couldn’t have responded even if he wanted to.


* * *


“So, how was your meeting today, Ron?” asked Hermione pleasantly a few hours later.

“It was horrible and I’m never going back again so don’t you try to force me to go back because I won’t!”

Hermione and Harry, who were both working on their reports at the dining room table, raised their eyebrows, especially as Ron kicked at the nearest surface, which unfortunately happened to be quite hard, making him swear profusely and start hopping on one foot.

Hermione, sharing a look with Harry, who was trying his hardest not to laugh, lowered her quill curiously.

“What happened?” she asked, her face suspicious.

Ron, who was still hopping this way and that, looked absolutely beside himself.

“What happened? What happened?!” he almost screeched, emphatically throwing his arms about again like a windmill. “Malfoy, that dirty great bastard with a ferret head for a face, propositioned me with a blow job, that’s what happened!”

Harry choked into the glass of water he’d been drinking while Hermione widened her eyes in genuine surprise. She then, pausing slightly as she watched Ron continue to pace around the flat, eventually opened her mouth to ask,

“… why is Malfoy propositioning you?”

Collapsing into the seat beside Harry with a stupendous drop, Ron sent his reports flying off the table.

“Oh, it was a stupid bloody assignment,” Ron said furiously, before muttering ‘accio’ and getting Harry’s reports back before they hit the floor. “Had to get into partners and then practise chat up lines.”

“You chose to be Malfoy’s partner?” Harry asked incredulously, gathering his papers and putting them back in their rightful order. “Why’d you want to go and do something stupid like that for?”

“It’s not like I chose that prick, Harry!” Ron said angrily, ignoring Hermione clucking her tongue at his language. “The stupid prat forced me before I could hide under my chair.”

Harry just scratched his untidy head, almost losing his hand in the mess.

“I still don’t get it,” he said, looking confused. “Why would Malfoy want you to be his partner?”

“Because he’s an evil knob who wants to see me squirm?” said Ron bitterly, slamming his fist down on the table, making the quills in the ink wells rattle. “Why else would he do it?”

“Maybe he likes you,” said Hermione reasonably.

And Harry, who had lifted up his glass again, choked on his water for the second time in a space of a minute.

“Hermione!” he cried out, grabbing a tissue as water came out through his nose. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Well, it’s a perfectly reasonable question to ask! Ron, do you think Malfoy might have feelings for you?”

“No!” Ron said vehemently, feeling a lot less repulsed by the idea than he thought he should. And that was beginning to repulse him. “Besides, he says he’s not gay.”

Harry just stared at him.

“… but he’s in Homosexuals Anonymous.”

“He says he’s there to be entertained because everyone there is pathetically funny.”

Harry just shook his head.

“Sounds like Malfoy.”

“Don’t be silly, Harry,” said Hermione, writing her signature with a flourish on one of her reports before placing the quill back in its ink well. “It’s obviously an act to hide his true feelings. The extent of his denial seems to surpass even Ron’s.”

“Hey!” said Ron defensively. “I figured it out eventually. And I’m okay with it and totally comfortable with my fancying blokes so…”

“You’re going back, Ron. End of discussion,” Hermione said in a voice that brooked no argument as she rose to her feet.

“But why?!” he demanded almost childishly as he scampered after her, his face pouting.

“Because Harry and I went through a lot of bother to secure your place and its rude not to accept our gesture.”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” said Harry defensively, lifting up his hands. “I wanted to buy you a season ticket for the Cannons for your birthday.”

“Yes, because that’s so practical!” Hermione scoffed. “Here we are, trying to bestow peace of mind to you but that’s not as good as a Cannons ticket, is it? Honestly, boys!”

Hermione then stormed off with her bushy hair flying like a cape behind her. And although Harry and Ron knew what she would do next, they still both winced as the door of her bedroom slammed shut loudly.

“See,” said Ron after a few silent seconds, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at where Hermione had departed to, “that’s why I don’t date women. They’re all nutters.”

Harry, who did date women, thought Ron had a valid point, so he nodded in agreement.

“Yeah…” he said, sounding overawed as his green eyes looked huge. “So, you’re going back then, right?”

“ ’Course not, Harry,” said Ron with confident scoff as he summoned a beer bottle from the table, popped it open and took a hearty swig. Then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and smiling a self-assured smile, “And it’s not like Hermione can force me now, is it?”


* * *


One week later, Ron was standing outside Homosexuals Anonymous once again, muttering darkly under his breath and berating himself for being such a coward.

It wasn’t his fault though.

Anyone else would cave too if Hermione Granger threatened them at wand point and refused to cook their dinner for the rest of the week.

And they’d come as early as he had come as well.

Unfortunately, though, this gave Ron plenty of time to think about his impending doom and, gulping, he began to imagine what sort of gory horrors lay ahead of him on the other side of the door.

What kind of sick, twisted, down right evil things Gladys might force him to do.

Regrettably for Ron, things were much more depraved than even he could imagine.

“Hand holding?!” he squawked twenty minutes later, his face so crimson he resembled an orange-haired beetroot. “No. No! I refuse to do it. And you can’t force me, god damn it!”

“Well, it’s hardly a picnic for me either,” said Malfoy, dressed to the nines as per usual, standing beside Ron and looking prissier than Percy Weasley at his most pompous. Malfoy then lifted his chin up at Gladys, a thin lip curling in repulsion. “Look, isn’t this a health and safety issue? I mean, who knows how many poor boy diseases he has living under his skin. Especially since he lives with that filthy Mudblood Grang-eeeeeee!”

“Mr Weasley, unhand Mr Malfoy’s throat at once!”

“He started it! And –ow! Geroff my hair, you midget dwarf-like wank-”

“That is enough!” screeched Gladys and both Ron, who had Malfoy in a headlock, and Malfoy, who was groping his arms behind his head to pull at the redhead’s hair, paused in their positions to stare dumbly at her uncharacteristic tone.

“Really!” Gladys cried out, her cheeks pink and the bells and whistles around her neck beginning to tweet and ring as her anger increased. “I have never had so much trouble with two group members in my life! If this carries on I may have to expel you both from the group! Would you like that?”

“No!” said Ron, immediately letting go of Malfoy to cover his crotch protectively with his hands, just thinking about what Hermione would do to him if he got chucked out.

Looking appeased by Ron’s answer, although she momentarily wondered why he was groping himself, Gladys then turned to Draco.

“Good. Now, Mr Malfoy, how about you?”

Malfoy snarled as he rubbed at his sore neck, his blond hair mussed and falling into his eyes as he just about reined in a swear on his tongue.

“No,” he spat with great difficulty, as though remaining civil was physically challenging. Which it was for him. And that was the main reason why Ron’s eyes bugged out of his head when Malfoy reluctantly turned to him, offered his hand and said, “Just give me your diseased hand already, Weasley, so we can get this over and done with. And I swear, if you give me fleas or herpes or anything, I’ll kill you so viciously not even Granger will be able to identify your body.”

And so it went.

For the next few weeks, Ron and Malfoy were paired for all their assignments together and, oddly enough, carried them out with neither actually killing the other. The insults and bickering were still there of course, but it really was the only outlet they had to deal with the situations they had to simulate. Like cuddling,

“Malfoy! Get your elbow out of my eye!”

and flirting,

“So what’s a giant ginger tosser like you doing in a pouf factory like this?”

and laughing at one another’s jokes.

“I swear, Malfoy, one more fat joke about my mother…”

and also trying to replicate a first date.

“Just take the damn flower already, you prat.”

“I don’t want it, it smells.”

“Malfoy…”

“And is that what you’re wearing? Because you totally clash with anything remotely decent and -ow! Weasley, you fairy, your giant fingers are crushing my knee! You’re supposed to gently stroke it!”

“Heh, you mean I’m not?”

In short, they were being as civil as possible. And apart from the odd hex and the occasional threat of disembowelment, things were going relatively – and disturbingly – smoothly.

But that was until three weeks later when Gladys, once again, briefed them on a roundup of the next meeting before it began.

And when she told them about it, both Ron and Malfoy blanched.

“… you’ve got to be kidding me,” Ron finally managed weakly.

“This is some sick joke, right?” Draco demanded.

“Now, boys…”

However, Ron was the one to cut through her words first. With his eyes looking crazed, his freckles standing out against his pallid complexion and his mouth open in disbelief, he pointed at Malfoy and yelled,

“I’m not kissing him!”

“Well, I’m not kissing him either!” Draco retorted with his hands on his hips, looking across at Ron with an affronted expression. “I mean, really, do you think I want Weasley’s scabby old lips anywhere near me? Would anyone sane want to kiss that lanky clump of freckles? And have you smelt his breath…?”

“Keep, talking, Malfoy…” Ron muttered warningly under his breath, “…just keep talking…”

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do, Weasel? Breathe on me?”

Gladys, pinching her nose between her forefinger and thumb, looked as though she was trying not to turn her wand on herself and end her misery. Somehow though, she managed to steer herself away from her more suicidal thoughts.

“It’s just an exercise, boys,” she tried to say patiently through gritted teeth, “just a kiss on the cheek. And everyone else is perfectly happy to do it.”

“Well, I’m not everyone else,” Malfoy sneered, momentarily flicking his hair as Ron rolled his eyes at the gesture. “Do you have any idea who my father is? Weasley’s father may be an insignificant nobody with no hair but mine isn’t. My father has lots of money. And lots of hair. And I demand to be treated with some respect, especially by an inconsequential, badly-dressed ugly old hippie like you. Is that understood? Good. Now,” said Malfoy after a pause and self-satisfied cross of his arms, “is there something you’d like to say to me?”

And there was.

And Ron came to the sound conclusion that Gladys Hornbuckle was pure evil.

“This is all your fault, you know,” said Ron ten minutes later.

“Oh, shut up, Weasley,” Malfoy snarled in response, trying to shake off the pink, chastised blush off of his cheeks. “How the hell is this my fault?”

Ron snapped his head so fast he felt his neck crack.

“How is it your fault?” he repeated furiously. “I’ll tell you how, you up-his-own-arse little prat.” Then flicking his hair, crossing his legs at the knee and putting on a high-pitched voice, Ron shrilled out, “I’m Draco Malfoy! I have a rich father! I have a pony! And I have a big mouth that gets other people in trouble! Oh, and did I mention I’m a giant prick!?”

Staring at him for a while, Malfoy briefly marvelled at the disturbingly accurate impression.

“I have a giant prick,” he finally said when he found his voice. “And that’s not the fucking point, you idiot…”

However, whatever the fucking point was, Ron never found out because Gladys chose that moment to clap her hands and call the room for order.

“Group? Group! Can I have your attention please?” she said, the jangling of her beads and bangles the only sounds as the room hushed with her words. Then letting out a smile that was less airy and more smug, she carried on. “Excellent. Now, I’ve been very glad with what I’ve been seeing, especially from you Sebastian, although, a little less tongue action please. Remember, this is supposed to be a semi-chaste kiss.

“However, I’ve also noticed that some of you are still finding the intimacy of kissing somewhat uncomfortable. Which is perfectly understandable to a young homosexual, not quite in touch with his or her sexuality. So, in order to help you all, Mr Malfoy and Mr Weasley here have been kind enough to offer a demonstration. So, Ron, Draco? If you will?”

Yes, thought Ron as everyone turned to them, trying to sink himself into chair and wanting to die. Gladys was from the very depths of hell itself.

But not quite as deep as Malfoy. Because as Ron looked to the blond, expecting to share a look of mutual mortification, Malfoy just sat there with his arms crossed, his foot tapping impatiently on the marble floor and his lips quirking to say,

“Well, hurry up, then, Weasel. I haven’t got all day.”

And it was all Ron could do to stop his mouth from falling open.

“What?!” he cried out.

“You heard,” drawled Malfoy again, leaning lazily back in his chair and lifting one leg to place his ankle across his knee, “lay one on my cheek. But be sure to make as little contact as possible. I wouldn’t want to get a rash or anything.”

Ron dropped his mouth open. This couldn’t be serious. Malfoy was just playing some sick joke on him. Because Malfoy couldn’t possibly want to do this, right…?

Right?

However, when Malfoy replied with rolled eyes and a waspish,

“For fucks sake, Weasley, either do it or I will.”

Ron wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. But he did want to say something. So he turned his head and opened his mouth.

Unfortunately, the precise moment he chose to turn his head was the moment Draco Malfoy muttered, “Useless Gryffindor,” and leaned forward with his lips puckered.

And the entire room let out a gasp as their lips accidentally met.

Ron snapped his eyes open in horror, watching a blurry Malfoy do the exact same thing, both men staring at each other in shock at what was happening.

But neither seemed to be moving away.

And was it Ron’s imagination or was that Malfoy’s tongue in his mouth?

However, before Ron could question his, Malfoy let out a breathy moan and moved a hand up Ron’s leg.

And then Ron couldn’t question a thing if he tried.

Oh, bugger it, he thought desperately as he grabbed Malfoy by the front of his expensive robes and yanked him on top of him. And Malfoy, who crawled eagerly on top, wrapped his arms around Ron’s neck and kissed him so fiercely their lips were bruising, really was making no complaint.

Unfortunately, it ended just as quickly as it started. The realisation at what they were doing and with who seemed to hit them both like a cannonball. Almost literally because both Ron and Malfoy went careering off of each other in horror, Malfoy actually sprawled on his back on the floor and Ron trembling and clinging to the back of their seats like a damsel in distress.

And both were trying their damndest to cover their crotches with their robes.

It was a minute of awkward rearranging and blushing before anyone spoke again in the silent, stunned room. However, when the silence was broken it was by Gladys who, face pink, cleared her throat.

“Well…” she said a minute later, still looking rather poleaxed, “that was very good, boys. So… uh, group, any questions?”

Almost every hand hit the sky but it was finally Larry who, gulping, got chosen to echo the question on everyone’s lips.

“Can we see that again?” he asked breathlessly.


* * *


Harry Potter was not good at Arithmancy. The sums hurt his head, his calculations never made sense and he thought the subject in general was, in his own words, ‘a bunch of bollocks’.

However, Harry could spot an obvious pattern when he saw one. And Ron coming in and ranting and raving after every meeting and saying “I’m not going back and that’s final!” was something both Harry and Hermione had grown accustomed to.

It was a normal occurrence.

So when Ron walked in, in a complete daze, his eyes faraway and his motions robotic, both Harry and Hermione dropped their quills and jumped from their seats in frantic worry at this unpredictable situation.

“Ron! Are you okay? What happened? What did Malfoy do?”

Ron just blinked dumbly at them.

Hermione, fearing the worst, clapped a hand over her mouth and let out a little sob.

“Oh Ron! It’s alright! We’ll help you, don’t you worry. But you have to tell us what Malfoy did so we can reverse the spell…! Oh, I’m so sorry, Ron. I’m so sorry I forced you to go when you didn’t want to. And now Malfoy’s addled your brains or worse! Don’t worry, Ron, you don’t ever have to go back. I’ll speak to Mrs Hornbuckle and let her know and I’m sure she’ll understand that you no longer want to. Let me just owl her now. Hopefully, she’ll get it in the morning so it’ll give her ample time to find Malfoy a new partner and…”

“No,” Ron said softly, immediately stopping Hermione’s speech in its tracks.

Hermione then stared at him with wide eyes, as though she couldn’t quite believe this was Ron she was talking to.

“No?” she asked in incredulity.

“No,” said Ron again his voice sounding stronger, resolute. “I’m going back.”

“But Ron…”

“I’m going back, Hermione, and that’s final. Stop nagging me already.” Then, with a nod, he headed off into his room to think up a plan, leaving both Harry and Hermione staring after him in bewilderment.


* * *


Despite what people (namely Hermione) thought about his concocting skills, Ron was usually pretty good with coming up with plans. It was why he was so good at chess. He deliberated, made the right moves and won the game.

So, when he decided that seducing Draco Malfoy was a good idea for next week’s lesson, he was quite confident it would all work out in the end. Malfoy may have been a prick and a bully and completely up his own arse but anyone who could do that with their mouth was worth doing that with again. Besides, Malfoy had had his tongue lodged in Ron’s throat for the majority of the last time they saw each other. Why wouldn’t Malfoy respond?

So Ron started with a simple friendly greeting.

“Hey, Malfoy! Mind if I sit here?”

Malfoy looked up from the cuticles he was daintily filing. Then realising it was just Ron, Malfoy snorted and went back to what he was doing. Ron, unhindered, brightly tried again by repeating his question.

Unfortunately, Malfoy's bored drawl of, “Sod off, Weasley” wasn’t very encouraging either. Momentarily dispirited, Ron tried a different tack.

“So, lovely weather, eh? Heard it should be sunny all week.”

Malfoy just looked at him.

“What are you doing?” he asked suspiciously. Ron tried to put on a poker face. He failed miserably.

“What do you mean?”

“You're up to something. What do you want?"

"Do I have to want something to be friendly?"

"Yes," said Malfoy simply, pointing at Ron accusatorily with his emery board. “Either that or you’re on something. What do you want Weasley? And whatever it is, say it fast, would you? You’re blocking my light.”

Ron thought about how best to phrase the situation in as few words as possible. He then shrugged and being a Gryffindor at heart, bit the bullet.

“You kissed me.”

Malfoy dropped the emery board. Face going bright pink, he then looked outraged.

“You kissed me first…!” he hissed, lowering his voice and frantically looking side to side for eavesdroppers.

“I did not!” said Ron hotly.

“Did so,” said Malfoy childishly, crossing his arms. “So there.”

For some reason, Malfoy’s petulance seemed to bring about a stubborn sort of anger in Ron that made his complexion pink and made him cross his arms as well.

“You bloody prat, you’re the one crawled on top,” Ron snapped out.

“Well, I distinctly remember you pulling me there,” said Malfoy snidely.

“Yeah, well I distinctly remember your hand on my arse,” Ron shot back.

“Liar! I couldn’t reach your arse!”

“Yeah, but you sure tried, didn’t you?”

“Group! Group, I’ve got a special surprise for you!” Gladys voice interrupted before Malfoy could whip out his newly manicured nails and claw Ron’s eyes out.

But before she could elaborate,

“What? Are Malfoy and Weasley going to have sex for us this time?” Sebastian asked loudly, earning himself a few sniggers. However, he soon shut up at the absolutely murderous looks he received from both men.

Gladys, however, didn’t as she let out a tinkle of a laugh. Ron wanted to strangle her.

“No, Sebastian, not that,” she giggled girlishly, setting Draco’s teeth on edge and his left eye twitching furiously. “However, it is something good. Since you’ve all been making such excellent progress and have been supporting one another so well, I thought a field trip of sorts was in order, to congratulate you all.”

The group immediately exploded into excitable twitters, congratulating itself on a job well done.

Draco Malfoy, however, was not one of them as he controlled his eye and arched a brow.

“A field trip?” he repeated blandly, sounding unimpressed. “To where?”

However, he soon answered his own question forty-three minutes later.

“The Arse Tickler?” he cried out in horror, turning to Gladys in dismay. “The fucking Arse Tickler?”

“No, Malfoy, it’s just ‘The Arse Tickler’,” Sebastian corrected on his way passed, smudging eyeliner around his eyes. “Not even you can tickle an arse and fuck it at the same time. Or can you? Why don’t we ask Weasley and see, eh…?”

“I’m going to kill you, you faggot!”

“Draco!” Gladys admonished as the group stood in the queue outside of ‘The Arse Tickler’, the flamboyant, brightly coloured gay club that had a giant neon-lit bottom being tickled by a feather as its entrance sign. “We never use the F-word.”

Ron, who was standing beside Malfoy (a place he was rapidly finding himself standing more and more) looked just as mortified about the situation.

“This is a really bad idea,” he said to no one in particular, his complexion looking yellow as the neon signs above him flashed.

However, Ron’s opinion changed once he stepped inside. Because once he’d paid, been stamped on the hand and been ushered in by a man/woman in a sequined boob tube he realised it wasn’t too bad.

Until he/she pulled back the curtain to reveal the main sanctuary of the club. And it was all Ron could do from bolting out the way he’d come.

Because this place was the very epitome of sleaze and sin.

Leather and lace seemed to make up the smoky décor. Metal shackles hung to the wall, and the place was pulsating with hundreds of sweaty bodies, all in various states of undress and partaking in performances so lewd and vulgar that it made Ron go completely scarlet in complexion.

Ron then gulped.

“I’m… uh, going to go and get a drink…” he said to the nearest person to him, who happened to be the stuffy, rather posh Perpetua. Eyes too busy drinking the scene in with relish, she waved Ron off absent-mindedly.

Collapsing at the bar, Ron tried to get his breathing back under control. He had a feeling this place may just be the death of him.

“What can I get for you, Red?” asked the barman, a young wizard who was bopping to the music and appeared to have piercings on every available inch of his face.

“Anything with a lot of alcohol,” said Ron immediately, trying to be heard over all the wailing music as he fell into a barstool and tried not to look at the couple that were making out wildly against his arm.

“Another Knob Twister, Mac!” called the barman over his shoulder at a witch who was putting on quite a show, spinning bottles and cocktails in mid air with her wand. In almost record time four phallic-shaped crimson drinks flew out from her vicinity, one smoking drink landing in front of Ron the other three landing further up the bar. Ron caught them in his eyeline just in time to see Malfoy down them in one go, one after the other.

For some reason, the sight made him frown.

“Someone’s trying to get trashed,” said the barman good-naturedly, following his eyeline. “Fifteen sickles, please.”

Nodding distractedly, Ron fished his money out from his pocket, placed it on the bar, gave the barman his farewell and stood up to make his way towards Malfoy.

However, it seemed as though someone else had already got to Malfoy first.

“You must be the prettiest thing I’ve seen at this bar tonight,” drawled a rather heavy, middle-aged man with jowls that quivered like jelly as he leaned towards the blond.

Malfoy, who was obviously inebriated, just snorted at this as downed yet another drink.

“Of course I am,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m the best looking person in this place. You, however, are clearly not, so sod off, you ugly prig before I hex your tackle off.”

Malfoy then swayed so badly on his stool that Ron, without even thinking, jumped in to catch him. It took the Slytherin a while to notice him but when he did, he blinked up at him with his wide grey eyes.

“Oh, hullo, Weasley,” he said before briefly turning to the man chatting him up. “Fat ugly old guy, this is Weasley. Weasley’s poor.”

“Malfoy, I reckon someone should take you home,” said Ron, frowning down at the drunken man in his arms.

Malfoy just nodded.

“We’re in a gay club, you know,” he said matter-of-factly again.

“I… yeah, I figured that out, Malfoy.”

Malfoy nodded. He then let out a laugh so sudden that Ron almost dropped him.

“I’m actually in a gay club. Me. Draco Malfoy. Can you imagine what my father would do if he caught me here?”

“Er… Come on, let’s get you outside,” said Ron worriedly, easing him out of his seat and practically carrying Malfoy towards the exit.

“There are men kissing here,” Malfoy continued. He was a bit of a random babbler when he was drunk. “Just like that, like it’s normal or something. Like they’re not sick. Like they don’t have a disgusting disorder. I mean, it’s a disease, it’s wrong, right…?”

“Yes, Malfoy. It’s wrong,” said Ron, humouring him as they pushed passed an exuberantly dancing man in a skirt.

“Yeah,” said Malfoy happily, nodding as he fell against Ron, his breath tickling Ron’s ear. There was a moment of silence and it was just as Ron thought Malfoy had gone to sleep on him when he whispered, “But if it’s wrong why do I want you?”

And Ron, his entire body tingling with those words, really didn’t know how to answer.

“Malfoy…” he said, turning his face towards the blond but before he could say anything Malfoy wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him in for an ardent kiss. It was sloppy, and uncoordinated and they occasionally missed each other’s lips but it was by far the best Ron had ever had in his life.

“Mmmm, Weasley…” Malfoy murmured against his lips.

“Malfoy, we shouldn’t…” Ron groaned in between kisses, his voice hitching as Malfoy moved his lips down to lick a long, languid line up his sweaty throat. “You’re… you’re drunk…”

Malfoy seemed to be ignoring that.

“Merlin, I want you to fuck me…” he purred instead, sliding his hand down Ron’s trousers so he could cup him in his hand.

“Malfoy…” Ron whimpered, his self-restraint hanging by a thread. Malfoy lifted his head again, his eyes huge and doe-like.

“Don’t you want me?” he asked, sounding all innocent and insecure. And Ron kicked himself for not being able to resist.

“Oh, I’m going to the special hell,” he mumbled before kissing Malfoy even more fiercely. Then pulling his wand from his pocket, and waving it over the both of them he Apparated them both back to his flat.


* * *

As Hermione yawned loudly and blearily poured herself a mug of coffee, she came to a conclusion.

She was going to kill Ron.

This was obviously a common train of thought because when Harry stumbled out of his bedroom five minutes later, his eyes puffy and red and his hair so messy it was painful to look at, the first thing he grumbled out was,

“I’m going to kill Ron.” Then taking the jug of coffee out of Hermione’s hand, he sat down with the entire thing and started drinking from it. “I mean, come on, has he never heard of a silencing charm?”

Hermione, her own bushy hair looking illegally so and her movements resembling a zombie, somehow eased herself down into the chair opposite Harry, nursing her cuppa in her hands.

“I have a headache,” she groaned. “And a meeting at noon. What on earth was he thinking? It’s so inconsiderate of him. He knows our rule about guests.”

“Exactly,” Harry nodded in agreement before taking a swig from his jug. “We do things discreetly so the rest of us don’t get jealous.”

“That’s right, Harry,” Hermione said, punctuating her agreement with a lift of her head. “I mean really, it’s so thoughtless of Ron. If it was only for a few hours I’d learn to let it go but all night long? And those non-stop groans…”

“ ‘Harder, Weasley… More, Weasley… You’re a God, Weasley…’ ” Harry mimicked before letting out a shudder. “Ron sure has stamina.”

“Oh, trust me, Potter, he does.”

At the sound of the voice, both Harry and Hermione spun around in surprise.

Harry then dropped the jug in his hand on the floor with a loud crash, his mouth falling open.

Looking very appeased by their reaction, Draco Malfoy, clad only in his boxers, smirked and sauntered over to the kitchen table they were sitting at. Then, sitting beside them companionably, he reached for a slice of toast.

“Potter, be a doll and pass the butter, would you?”

Harry just mouthed at him like a dead fish. Hermione, however, mouthed more like a live one so she was the first to find her voice.

“Malfoy, what are you doing here?” she demanded, her cheeks going slightly pink at his state of undress.

Biting into his slice of toast, Malfoy shrugged one shoulder easily.

“Being fucked six ways to Sunday by Weasley, obviously. Is that brie?”

However, before Hermione could answer, Ron bounded into the room, his red hair in disarray, dressed only in his pyjama trousers and with a variety of hickies all over his body. Malfoy looked at his handiwork smugly, leaning back into the chair he was sitting on and putting his bare feet up on the table.

Reminding herself to rebuke Malfoy later for his terrible table manners, Hermione turned to her best friend with such a threatening look on her face that it made Ron gulp.

“Ron, what’s going on?” she asked, her tone light but dangerous.

“We had sex,” Malfoy elaborated helpfully before Ron could open his mouth, biting into his toast again before pointing at the plate in front of Hermione and asking, “Are you going to eat your eggs?”

“I thought you weren’t gay, Malfoy,” Hermione asked suspiciously then, as an afterthought, pushed her eggs towards him. Sex obviously gave him an appetite.

“I wasn’t,” Malfoy explained, brandishing about a forkful of egg. “But Weasley over there is a bit of prick turner. Prick tongue-r too, if you get my meaning.”

“Ugh,” Harry said, collapsing headfirst into the table.

Hermione just pursed her lips.

“So you’re gay now then?”

Draco gave her a salacious smirk.

“Maybe. In any case, Weasley tried to prove to me I was. Three times, actually,” he said with a leer. He then took a bite of the egg, winced at the bad taste but cut himself another piece anyway. “Of course, he had to get me drunk first. Took advantage of me. Should have taken me home like a good little Gryffindor but instead of tucking me into my own bed, he fucked me into his.” Draco then turned his head to look at Ron, who looked mortified behind him, and grinned. “You sly dog, I knew you were a Slytherin deep down.”

“Ron, is this true?!” Hermione gasped, rounding on him. “You took advantage of him?!”

“Relax, Granger,” Draco said airily, waving a hand. “No harm, no foul. Besides, I wasn’t half as drunk as he thought I was.”

“What?!” Ron hollered this time. Harry who had a headache, groaned and he grabbed at his skull.

“Come on, Weasley,” Draco laughed, lowering his legs so he could get on his feet and walk over to Ron. Then lifting his arms so he could slip them around Ron’s neck and putting on an innocent, insecure little look, “ ‘Don’t you want me?’ ”

“You lead me on!” Ron realised in horror.

Draco pouted.

“Well how else was I going to get you to nail me? And before you say it, asking me about the weather is not a good way to get me to spread my legs.”

“Oh my ears are never going to be clean…” Harry was groaning under his breath. Hermione just patted him on the arm.

“Come on, you can’t be mad at me,” Malfoy scoffed, his fingers twirling through the back of Ron’s hair.

“I woke up and you weren’t there!” said Ron, throwing up his arms in frustration. “I reckoned you went off to call an Auror to arrest me!”

“Aurors only catch Dark Wizards, Weasley,” Draco said, rolling his eyes before turning to Harry and Hermione. “Honestly, how do you put up with him?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said honestly, his head flopping atop his arms.

Momentarily throwing Harry a grumpy look, Ron turned back to Draco. He then let out a loud groan and dropped his head into the Malfoy's shoulder as he realised something.

“You know, Gladys is going to have a field day about this,” his voice muffled against Draco's skin.

“As is that fag, Sebastian, yes,” Draco responded with an amused nod.

Ron lifted up his head, his hair mussed and his eyes anxious.

“So what’re we going to do next lesson?”

Momentarily thinking about this, Draco suddenly gave Ron such a conniving, evil look that the redhead began to wonder just what he had got himself into. However, he didn’t get to think too long about this because the blond soon pulled him hard against him and gave him a wicked smile.

“Why, Ronnie, darling. We’re going to give them a show of course.”


* * *


When Ron Weasley went to his first ‘Homosexuals Anonymous’ meeting, he had a feeling it was all a very bad idea.

However now, after sitting down in his seventh meeting, pulling Draco Malfoy into his lap and kissing the blond in front of everybody like there was no tomorrow, he decided it wasn’t a bad idea – oh no, it was a bloody brilliant idea.

And that's all there was to it.

“Oh, and by the way,” said Malfoy as he extricated himself from Ron for a second, glowing arrogantly at the glazed look in everyone’s eyes, including Gladys’s. “My name is Draco Malfoy and I’m a flaming homosexual. And if any of you even think about looking at Weasley, I’ll hex off your penis and turn you into a girl.”

Fin