The Prefects\' Bathroom

Weasley's brows lowered as he frowned in irritation






Weasley's brows lowered
as he frowned in irritation. Come on, Draco, you can do better than this.

 

"Actually, go
ahead and eat it all. I guess no one in your idiotic muggle-loving family told
you that soap is actually poisonous if you have too much."

 

Not such a good insult,
but at least he got the muggle-loving bit in there.

 

"Ronald Weasley,
redheaded pillock, unloved by all who knew him. Completely shit at Quidditch,
stupid enough to think that he mattered to anyone."

 

Oooh, that must have
hurt. Weasley was definitely looking angry now.

 

"Go on, poison
yourself. No one would really care. And what better way to die, eating in a
jacuzzi - must be absolute heaven to your povertrickricken eyes - "

 

The Weasel managed to
splutter, "No one would care?! Look who's talking, you ferret-faced little
arse! At least I have some friends, unlike you - you with your brainless goons
either side of you wherever you go." The impudent bastard had the temerity
to smirk in self-satisfaction. No one ever smirked at Draco Malfoy! Oh, that
did it, he was really going to have to teach him a lesson.

 

"Yeah? Well at
least I have the one thing you'll never be able to have. Respect. Oh, you think
your so-called friends respect you, do you? Why would they want to respect a
poor, stupid, ugly misfit like you? What on earth have you got to recommend
yourself? How can you even compare yourself to me? You think Potter's your
friend? And Granger?"

 

Draco's mouth seemed to
be on auto pilot. The only thought going through his head was, Make him angry.
Make him rage. Don't let him be nice and make you vulnerable. You're a Malfoy,
this is what makes you tick. Insult him, go on, do your worst.

 

"You'll never be
their equal, Weasel. You can delude yourself all you want, make yourself
believe that you're important to them. But you're not, are you? Tell me, in all
of these heroic escapades you've been embroiled in every sodding year, what did
you contribute? The brains? The bravery? What did you do? What do you ever do
when you're with them? Nothing, that's what. You just follow like a little
puppy dog, hoping for a little treat, a little bit of recognition. The ultimate
sidekick."

 

Weasley was even redder
in the face than he'd ever seen him before, looking just about ready to grab
Draco's throat. His eyes were wide open and shining with unadulterated fury.

 

This is good, thought
Draco determinedly. This is what you want. Even as his heart was thumping in
his chest - from exhilaration or something else, he wasn't sure - he managed to
produce the most nonchalant expression he could muster. With deliberate
unconcern, he made patterns in the foam, then looked at his bubble-coated
fingers for a second before licking them clean.

 

Then he laughed in the
cruellest way he could. Because that's what Malfoys do.

 

~~***~~

&nbs
Ho
Hold it back. Don't
give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

 

Ron tried his best to
ignore the tightness in his throat and that horrible aching burning feeling
behind his eyes. God, what had he been thinking? He couldn't afford to forget
what Malfoy was really like. But for a second there, he had looked really -
well, human, he guessed. Relaxed and normal, not all mean and cold and closed off.
Then again, the guy had been staring at him rather strangely fobit.bit.
He should have realised there was nothing but rotten bloody-minded shittiness
in that heart of his. Damn himself for letting his guard down.

 

And damn him for
letting Malfoy get to him with those insults. Why couldn't he be smart enough
and quick enough, just once, and be able to give as good as he got? Harry coulo ito it, hands down. So could Hermione. But him? No. He just let the insults
pummel him, while he got angrier and angrier until he felt he might burst
and...

 

Nothing. He couldn't do
anything. No comeback. Zilch. Nada.

 

Malfoy was right. He
couldn't believe he was admitting this, but he was bloody well right. He was
stupid - the fact that he was about to cry attested to that. He was ugly and
poor. He was the charity case, the one people felt sorry for and gave a little
attention just to make them feel better, then left and completely forgot about
them. That was his life. No wonder Harry always ignored him whenever they were
off on some adventure. What did he know? He was stupid, right? And besides, he
always managed to end up in the hospital wing after one of Harry's heroics.
Because he was stupid and always managed to hurt himself.

 

Malfoy was right. He
was fucking right. He was the sidekick. Heck, even in his own family he
was unremarkable. Bill was cool. Charlie was devoted to his dragons. Percy was
the smart perfectionist. Fred and George were funny and popular. Ginny was a
girl, and that was enough to make her unique in the Weasley family. But him?
What was he? Just another redheaded freckle-faced Gryffindor boy. Nothing
special.

 

Damn it! The burning in
Ron's eyes was getting worse. He really shouldn't let Malfoy think that
he had the upper hand. Okay, so he did have the upper hand, but he could
still try, right? Sort of like a game. He didn't have Harry or Hermione to hide
behind, though - he had to think up something himself. Right.

 

Run. That's what he
would do. Cowardly or not, it would be better than bursting into tears right
there in front of Malfoy. Oh, the Slytherin'd have a field day if that
happened. Go telling all his little Slytherin lackeys how he managed to make
little Ron Weasley blubber like a baby, just with a stream of verbal abuse.

 

Think, brain, think!
God, he felt like just screaming out loud, he was rustrustrated. Why couldn't
he think of anything to say? To do? ANd the bastard was laughing even louder
now. Ron would bet that Malfoy could tell just how upset he was, even though he
hadn't even looked up from examining his thin white fingers.

 

And to think that just
a few minutes ago, Ron had been admiring that smooth white skin...

 

Suddenly, Ron
experienced a revelation. An epiphany of sorts, he guessed. In Malfoy's eyes,
he was absolutely worthless. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. Oh,
sure, Malfoy insulted him once in a while, but really, it was probably only for
practice. Like a Beater practicing hitting bludgers by swatting at flies in his
spare time. Ron the pesky fly, that's what he was. Malfoy didn't care. Ron's
worst enemy didn't give a shit about what he thought. With Harry it was
different; the animosity was so clear, you could grab it and put it in a jar.
But with him? He wasn't worth the effort.
sp; sp;

Why won't my eyes stop
hurting?! Ron thought in aggravation. Maybe if he closed them for a bit so
all the blinding white tiles wouldn't glare so much... Shit. Okay, bad idea to
close your eyes when they're full of tears. Ah, well, he'd better steel himself
against the flood of jibes to come.

 

~~***~~

 

Draco watched the
stream of emotions blossom over Weasley's beautiful, expressive face. Except
now it wasn't expressive. He just looked totally blank. Dead. Like all his
feelings had been drained out of him suddenly. But Draco knew that Weasley
wasn't totally emotionless - he could see a lone tear slide down the pale
freckled cheek when he squeezed his eyes shut.

 

Draco couldn't help it,
but his heart lurched. God, that was just too creepy. Unnatural. He hadn't
meant for Weasley to look like that. Where was the anger, the rage, the bloody
fucking unadulterated passion? Sure, he wanted that. But not this stultifying
dead look.

 

He hated that look. He
saw it too often. On the faces of his fellow Slytherins when they think it's
safe to let their guard down. He sometimes saw it on his mother's face. He saw
it every single fucking day when he looked at himself honestly in the
mirror. When he decided to let all the ingrained arrogance go and see what was
left behind. That was what he saw - a shell of a person with nothing warm and
human in it.

 

Despite his arrogance
and superciliousness, Draco was fully aware of what he was. He was just another
unpleasant Slytherin, steeped in family tradition, born merely for the purpose
of carrying the family name and its overwhelming wealth on to his own future
son.

 

Yup, that was him in a
nutshell - Draco Malfoy, sole heir of Lucius Malfoy. Nothing else. Not Draco
Malfoy, member of Slytherin House, who had a detrimental weakness for
strawberries and chocolate; who wasn't as fond of Quidditch as people thought;
who despite what his behaviour suggested, did have some semblance of a heart
inside him; who didn't get the same kick out of being mean as his father did;
who had suffered a silly little crush on a certain redheaded Gryffindor for the
past two and a half years...

 

And that certain
redheaded Gryffindor, the bastard - he had none of those responsibilities. He
didn't have to be constantly upholding family honour - the Weasleys were
dirt-cheap muggle-lovers anyway, he thought with false defiance. And Ron
Weasley himself - he had no obligations to anyone. He didn't have to be cold
and calm all the time, he didn't have to be heroic and brave like Potter, he
didn't have to be the smartest in the year like the Mudblood Granger. He could
just be... himself. Totally, freely, gloriously himself.

 

God, sometimes Draco
was so envious of that freedom, he felt almost physically sick.

 

But envious or not, he
refused to deny himself the pleasure of watching Weasley from afar. He refused
to be the cause of that completely dead look on the redhead's face. As long as
he was flushed and angry and alive, then that was fine. But not this.
God, what had he done?

 

Draco had to fix it. He
had to show Weasley that he wasn't an empty shell like Draco was. He was
beautiful and wonderful and gorgeous and electric and any other adjectives he
could think of. And even as his body seemed to move through the water of its
own accord, he realised that what he was thinking totally contradicting what he
had just said to the redhead.

 

And he didn't give a
fuck.

 

~~***~~

 

Ron didn't notice the
approach of the blond Slytherin until he was within a couple of inches of
touching his skin. Ron hurriedly scrubbed at his eyes with his wet hand in
embarrassment, damning himself for being such an emotional pillock. But when he
looked up, the expression on Malfoy's face was... indescribable.

 

Ron's first thought
was, Shit, he's damn good-looking when he's like that.

 

Then he thought, I
really shouldn't be admiring my worst enemy's appearance, seeing as he's just
told me I'm less worthwhile than a puddle of dog piss. And especially seeing as
he's a guy, and in Slytherin, and God he's graceful, and definitely his
enemy, yup definitely. Mustn't think about him like that.

 

But then there was a
quick flurry of movement, and Malfoy was getting close to him and suddenly
those elegant white fingered hands were holding his face and fuck, those
lips that were usually sneering at him were now all soft and delicate and only
a miniscule distance from his own and...

 

Ron's eyes widened in
shock. He raised his hands in panic, ready to push the Slytherin git off him
any moment. Just... mmm... any moment now... if he could just think clearly for
a second. If Malfoy's lips weren't so bloody perfect and soft and wonderful
when pressed hard against his mouth with such consummate determination and...
Oh God, he felt something hot and moist on his mouth and it felt so damn good
he couldn't stop himself...

 

Ron settled his wet
hands, still dangling vaguely in the air, to rest on Malfoy's shoulders. He'd
never realised how thin the guy was. Kind of girlish whou tou think about it. Except
he didn't feel like thinking right now, and Malfoy was no girl, he was a guy.

 

He was a guy.
Shit, what was he doing? What was Malfoy doing?

 

And then Ron felt
Malfoy shiver, just a tiny bit, and he suddenly realised exactly what he was
doing.

 

With what seemed like
superhuman strength, Ron gripped Malfoy's slim shoulders with bruising force
and pushed him away. The blond first looked at him in pain and dazed confusion,
then annoyance at being pushed off, then bewilderment and finally settling on white-faced
shock.

 

The boys looked at each
other, completely stunned, stark naked and sitting in a jacuzzi of now tepid
water. Malfoy looked on the verge of a nervous melt down. Ron gathered what
little wits he had left and tried to say something, anything.

 

"I..."

 

That sound must have
snapped Malfoy out of his stupor, for he swiftly realised he was still holding
onto Ron's face. He dropped his hands quickly and looked up at the redhead with
what could only be described as a little-boy-lost look.

 

"Ron..."

 

The shock of hearing
his first name being spoken, by Malfoy of all people, was just too
bizarre and uncomfortable to process in his mind. Strong hot panic started
wending its way through Ron's system like wildfire.

 

He had to get out of
here, Ron thought. He had to get out NOW. Oh, crap, but he was naked! He
couldn't get out like that - he was certain he had a semi hard on, and that was
not the sort of thing you let your worst enemy see, even if said worst enemy
had just snogged you in a jacuzzi. Fuck, how did he get that freaky woman's
voice to get him a towel? What was her name again?

 

"Betty, no...
Bee... Beatrice!" Ron finally managed in a strangled voice. "I...
my... towel... I ne.&qu."

 

Beatrice must have read
his mind (or possibly been spying them) for without a word, a pale blue towel
appeared in front of Ron, and some unknown source of magic lifted him out of
the water and whisked the towel around his waist at lightning speed, thankfully
hiding his little problem before Malfoy could see it. At least, he hoped so.

 

Ron was still a little
dizzy when he was set back on his feet on the steps leading up to the jacuzzi,
but he didn't care. Malfoy was still looking at him with that
uncharacteristically confused and vulnerable look on his face. He didn't have
time to let his head stop feeling woozy.

 

Grabbing together his
belongings, he fairly galloped out of the door, not daring to look back at
Malfoy who was still sitting silently in the water. At the bathroom's main
door, Ron threw off the towel, pulled on his trousers and robes without
bothering to put on his underwear, and stuffing the rest of his clothes in his
bag, he legged it out of there as fast as his shoeless feet could bear to carry
him over the rough stone floor.

 

He ran and ran and ran
all the way to Gryffindor Tower, swearing occasionally when he stepped on
something sharp along the way. Finally he made it to the Fat Lady's painting,
panting out the password and leaping through the hole into the Gryffindor
Common Room. The few people lounging around on the armchairs looked up in
surprise as they saw a flash of wet-haired, bare-chested Weasley with his robes
hanging open speed past them to the stairs leading up to the dorms.

 

Finally wrenching open
the correct door, he was infinitely annoyed to find Neville sitting innocently
on his bed reading some godawful looking book about subtropical venomous shrubs
or something equally dull. Ron was even more annoyed when Neville had the
temerity to ask if he was feeling alright.

 

No I am not sodding
well alright, he felt like yelling. But even if he wanted to say it, Ron's
verbal abilities had seemingly shut down for the night, for all that emerged
was an undecipherable squeak.

 

He flopped down onto
his bed, ignoring the tha that he was lying on top of one of his books.

 

Shit, he thought.
Shitty shit shit. I cannot believe what happened in that bathroom was true.
Please let it be a dream, just some evil twisted dream that he'd wake up from
in a moment and then thank whatever deity lives up in the sky that it was
only a dream.

 

A persistent and
steadily more painful headache began to burn behind his eyeballs as his
thoughts went round and round in circles.

 

He and Malfoy had
shared a jacuzzi. They had been within inches of each other. Stark naked. Stark
buggering naked. He had been nice to Malfoy. Malfoy had kissed him. And Ron
had fucking well kissed bac back.

 

The last thought echoed
in his head like some demonic mantra, getting steadily louder and more taunting
as his headache got worse. God, what would Harry say? And Hermione? Never mind
the fact that Malfoy was a bloke. But it was Draco Malfoy -one of the shittiest
Slytherins and Ron's worst enemy. And they had kissed. Malfoy had kissed him
and Ron had kissed him back. Kissed. Him. Back. He could just imagine everyone
in Gryffindor House pointing at him and laughing.

 

Ron and Draco sitting
in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

 

Ron and Draco sitting
in a tree. G-R-O-P-I-N-G.

 

Ron and Draco sitting
in a tree. F-U-C-

 

~~***~~

 

Draco did eventually
get to his date with Pansy, although he was half an hour late and most
definitely not in the mood for a moonlight picnic. Pansy assumed that the hard
work of being a Prefect must be taking its toll, and surreptitiously made sure
to snuggle up to him extra close just to make him feel better. This was not
appreciated, unfortunately, and the date ended a lot earlier than Pansy would
have liked.

 

The next time the
redhead and the blond saw each other was in Potions. Both of them tried to
ignore the other, but Draco was by far the more successful - he had a lifetime
of experience in the business of ignoring people. Ron, however hard he tried,
was still unable to prevent his eyes from searching for the Slytherin now and
again. Harry and Hermione mistook Ron's intense looks at Draco for his usual
anger and disregarded, though Hermione (being the intelligent girl that she
was) did wonder why Ron was so much more voluble when voicing the many and
varied tortures he would like visited upon Draco.

 

It didn't occur to
either boy to use 'The Kiss' as fodder for gossip and getting back at each
other, for a incriminating as it was, they couldn't tell anyone about it
without losing face. And besides, Ron enjoyed a perverse sort of pleasure in
knowing that Draco had let his guard down in front of him. But the fact that
the 'lowering of the guard' involved kissing him, well... Ron didn't
much like thinking about that, because it brought up too many issues that he
wasn't prepared to face at that point in time, and so he tried to forget the
incident as best he could; and he was largely successful - Weasleys may not be
exceptionally crafty, but they sure had determination when they needed it.

 

As for Draco, he
continued as he usually did - taunting the Trio whenever the opportunity arose,
playing tricks on them, and generally being his usual pain in the arse.

 

Only when he was alone
in his room, or in the shower, did he think what might have happened if Ron
hadn't panicked and run away from him when they'd kissed. If he'd actually
stayed for more and...

 

What? A guy could
dream, right?

 

 

 

THE END