Is This Desire?

Chapter Seven or The Sad Little Pillow








Chapter Seven or The Sad Little Pillow

"Weasley? Weasley? Potter? Where's Weasley?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "He wasn't feeling well,
Professor." McGonagall eyed him warily. "He, he's in our dorm, I
think."

"Harry!" Hermione hissed from the corner of her mouth. "You
didn't tell me he was sick!"

"Quiet now, Ms. Granger," McGonagall said, setting down the roll
sheet, and starting a diagram on the blackboard.

"I'll tell you later Hermione," Harry whispered back.

*~*~* Ron *~*~*

"Unnnnhhhh," Ron groaned loudly into his pillow, his breath
flowing into the soft downy material and surrounding his face in warm, moist
air. He'd been like this all night, barely feeling anything, and concentrating
only on the steady pace of his heart beat. He wanted everything, and everyone,
to go away, especially that feeling of hopelessness. Because no matter which
way he looked at it, he was fucked.

"God damn it! Why, Malfoy, why did you do this to me!?" he slammed
his fist into the now severely punished pillow (he'd spent a good chunk of the
night punching, biting, and ripping severely at the little pieces of fluffy
white feather that were sticking from it). The dejected sack of material
conformed to Ron's fist, making the redhead even more furious. He imagined
Lucius Malfoy's pointy face, and ferocious, hungry eyes glaring at him, his
thin mouth laughing that snotty,
well-to-do-I'm-oh-so-superior-because-I-have-girly-blond-hair cackle. And Ron
wanted to do nothing but chuck the pillow out the window, but he knew he'd get
no satisfying crunch as it hit the ground so far below. He punched the sack of
loose fluff once more before breathing, and wiping the spot of drool from his
chin.

"Fuck you!" He bellowed, his voice quivering with anger.
"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! I hate you, I hope you bloody well die,
you, your stupid son, and your stupid family!" He threw the pillow out the
parting in his four poster, and laid back, silently fuming on his now
pillow-less bed. "Good," he said out loud. "I like it better
that way. No stupid Malfoy pillow polluting it." But truthfully everything
about his bed reminded him of Malfoy, from the way his blankets smelled, to the
drop of blood that still stained the mattress from, he gulped when he thought
about it, that over amorous night last week. Draco hadn't noticed the blood,
thank goodness; he would have passed out instantly.

But now everything had changed. Now everything was different, and it was
taking all of Ron's will not to think about it. Not to think about what Lucius
Malfoy could actually do to his family, his friends, maybe even to that little
prick Draco. If it weren't for him, none of this would have happened. He would
probably be happily dating Hermione, and wondering whether or not Harry was
like him, whatever he was. He would probably be a million times happier,
and mostly he wouldn't have to decide whether or not he was going to have to
join the Death Eaters. The organization his own father had spent the
better part of his career trying to obliterate, the organization whose sole
purpose was to murder his best friend.

He shook his head slowly, and let out a puff of air. He couldn't think about
this now, he just couldn't. He had to compose himself; yes, he'd just get out
of bed, maybe kick the Malfoy Pillow, and get ready for classes. He could still
make it to, "Damn it!"... Potions. Well, he could probably still go
to lunch, although then he'd have to stare at Draco from across the dinning
hall. His stupid silver hair concealing his witless, soft grey eyes as he
shoved mouthfuls of sweets in his dreadfully hot mouth. His wretched lips
moving up and down and his velvety pink tongue darting out to taste his lips.
That same velvety tongue that had once licked Ron's throat, that had tasted his
mouth as their hips rocked involuntarily against each other.

He mentally shook himself, and took a long deep breath. It was so typical of
him to think about something like, like -that when there was a much more
pressing matter at hand. He had to choose. He had to choose today what was
going to shape the rest of his life, and he wondered what the hell a boy, a
little kid, of sixteen years old was supposed to do, or what was even right.
Malfoy had gone willingly into becoming a Death Eater, and deep down, something
about that interested Ron, the idea that you were a part of this entirely dark
thing, this all consuming shadow.

But, he wasn't that! He couldn't do... that. Could he? He berated himself
for thinking these things, he was Ronald Weasley. He was the boy whose best
friend was Harry Potter. He was the last boy from a family willing to fight
against You-Know-Who, even if that did mean loosing their lives... and
yet, Ron was left with this choice. He knew how to spare the lives of his
family, but that involved aiding of killing his best friend.

Killing. Kill. Dead. Death. Deceased. Late. Departed. Gone.

Was there really any other decision? Deep down, he knew what was right.

Ron sat up, and grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill from his side
dresser drawer.

Dear Lucius Malfoy, he wrote in his untidy scrawl.

* ~*~ * Draco *~ *~ *

"Unnnnhhhh," Draco groaned loud into his pillow. What day was it,
what time was it, what fucking year was it? Didn't he need a lot more sleep
then the pathetic two hours he'd just gotten? It was all Weasley's fault, with
his overreacting, and yelling, and punching. Draco gingerly felt his once
beautiful face; swollen. The moment he'd started screaming Draco knew all of
bloody stick-your-noble-nose-in-other-people's-business Gryffindor House would
rush down to the common room to save the bloody day. Well, it didn't need
saving. Ron would have to join the Death Eaters, and there was nothing the
freckled little Weasel could do about it. Ron was just like him now, stuck.
Maybe no one got a choice to be in the Death Eaters, or maybe Weasley and he
were just the two luckiest people in the Wizarding World.

He rolled over on to his side to examine the other beds in the room. It was
disturbingly quiet in there, and Draco had grown accustomed to Crabbe and
Goyle's piercingly loud snores. Crabbe had this horrible habit of letting
breath out in a sort of whistle. And, there they weren't. No Vincent Crabbe, no
Gregory Goyle. Just two empty, made-up beds. It was too early for them to be
gone because from the window Draco could see the first light of morning, and in
the corner of the room Blaise Zabini was quietly dozing with his pet snake
curled around his head. Draco hoped, bitterly, it would wind itself a bit
tighter and strangle him to death, pop off that stupid, brainless head of his.
It felt really wrong to be here in this bed; he wanted to be with Ron. He
wanted to touch Ron, to feel the boy's pulse through his fingertips, trying to
get his own heart beat to match pace, but for some reason Draco's always seemed
faster.

Everything was so wrong now. He'd seen Crabbe and Goyle in classes, but
whenever he asked them where they went at night, all he got was grunts, and
confused, glassy-eyed looks. It was starting to get frustrating, especially
with everything going so wrong lately; he felt like he could use a good pick me
up, the kind that only Crabbe could provide when he was kicking Colin Creevy in
the stomach because he wouldn't eat the handful dirt Goyle was force feeding
him.

Draco smirked into his pillow. Fine, today he would get up, and it would be
a new day. It would be a day Weasley-free, because, truthfully he had no idea
what to say to Ron now. His own father had just ru the the boy's life. No, not
ruined, changed. That's all it was. So what, the kid had some stupid ideals
about how his life was going to be, now it was over. The red-head was going to
be a Death Eater. He was going to stand next to Draco, Crabbe and Goyle in that
ring of masked wizards, and he was going to suck it up, and deal with it.

Maybe it would have been different if Draco hadn't met him the night after
he'd been initiated. Maybe Weasley would have just forgotten about his stupid
crush on him. He'd realize that a Malfoy wasn't someone a Weasley could ever
get a hold of; no Malfoy would sink so low. It had probably just been in that
moment of darkness that Draco had wanted him anyway. Yes, now Draco was being
kind to the poor little Weasel, he didn't really like him--it was just pure
kindness on Draco's behalf. He should get an award, or something. At least a
present from his father for getting Weasley to join up.

Draco looked down at the crook of his arm; there it was, the skull glowing
slightly red like normal and the slight teeth marks from were Ron had bitten at
it the day before. The mark was familiar to him now, it didn't even look
strange when he glanced down at his arm, it was like it had always been there.
The mark had been tattooed on his arm since birth, but it had only now
physically manifested itself. He touched the raised flesh gently with his lips,
feeling it smooth against the dry skin. He imagined Ron's lips against it, warm
and moist, he imagined Ron's tongue licking slowly up at as he watched Draco
from underneath a curtain of red hair.

Draco swallowed, and closed his eyes. He'd try to go back to sleep.

* * *

Once the alarm had gone off in the morning Draco briefly thought about
skipping class, what was the point now? Everything was so completely wrong;
going to class would only make things worse. But he remembered he had Potions
that day, and would be sorely missed by Potter, who needed his daily mocking,
and Weasley's presence would be merely a pleasant two-for-one bonus. But, when
he'd gone into class, there was no Weasel. Just Potter and Granger, and
suddenly Draco didn't really feel like making fun of the bespectacled wizard.

"Draco," Crabbe whispered into his ear, once Draco turned his eyes
to listen to Snape's lecture on spider venom's oh-so-numerous uses.

"What?" Draco responded blankly back.

"We're done!" Crabbe whispered happily into his ear.

"Done with what?" Draco whispered back impatiently.

"We're done spying on you!"

The color flooded from Draco's face, and he could swear his heart had
stopped beating for a moment. "What do you mean?" He was trying hard
to remain calm, but he could feel the sweat beginning in his hairline. He hated
sweating.

"Your dad we we we're done!" Goyle whispered on the other side
of him. Draco turned wildly around to look him in the face. His wide eyes
completely betraying him now as his jaw hung open in pure shock.

"My fa-father?" He said, hardly registering this.

"Malfoy!" Snape snapped.

"What?!" Draco yelled, his eyebrows furrowing.

"You are not to yell at me, Mr. Malfoy," Snape replied, a deadly
growl growing in his voice.

"Sorry, Professor, I had something in my throat." Draco swallowed,
he felt sick. Ill. He wanted to throw up, or faint, or hex someone.

"See that it doesn't happen again, Mr. Malfoy." Snape brought
himself to his full height, and wrapped his cloak a bit higher around his neck.


Draco licked his dry lips and nodded. His father had, what? What? What?
He'd sent Crabbe and Goyle to spy on him. He'd sent Draco's only friends to spy
on his every move. Why? Why? Crabbe and Goyle were his friends! Not his
father's. It was the one thing he owned, right? And now, now everything was
fucked up! Now everything was wrong because of his father. Because of the Death
Eaters, why had he ever joined? Couldn't he have said no? Draco tried to take a
steady breath, but could hear it broken as he exhaled.

The whole room felt excruciatingly hot, and uncomfortable, he could feel his
pale face getting clammy, and he was sure he was getting whiter than normal. He
put his hands on top of the black table in front of him, and let them slip back
into his lap, two sweaty hand prints in their absence. "Sir," he said
standing up slowly.

"What is it now, Malfoy?" The greasy haired professor snapped.

"I'm not feeling too well, may I be excused?"

He considered Draco a moment before giving a seemingly irritated wave of his
hand which Draco assumed meant he could leave.

*~ *~ * Ron *~ * ~*

"We're fucked!"

Ron shoved his owl out the window, and whipped around to see Malfoy standing
pale, sweaty and out of breath before him.

"What are you talking about? How'd you even get in here?
Leave!" Ron pointed at the door, glaring at the Slytherin.

"We're fucked! We're so fucked!" It really wasn't like Malfoy to
get this worked up, but Ron didn't really care.

"You're not fucked, I am. So stop being a little girl and get the hell
out of my room."

"They were spying on us!" Malfoy panted, shutting the door behind
him as he walked closer to Ron.

"Who? What the hell are you talking about, Malfoy?" Didn't the
evil bastard have somewhere better to be? Say rotting in hell with his Death
Eater daddy.

"Crabbe and Goyle."

"That doesn't surprise me," Ron replied crossing his arms over his
chest. "It sounds like something so-called friends of yours would
do."

Draco seemed to consider him for a moment. "You're clueless,
Weasley."

"Good then, now get out."

"No," Malfoy replied, now gaining back whatever little color he
had, and re-positioning his hair. "I don't have to."

Ron glared. "You do, Malfoy. Do not make me eject you myself."

"Oh, you think you're good at ejecting me, huh? Like to eject
me, do you? Get you off, Weasel?" Draco licked his lips obscenely.

"Don't make me ill."

"I think you've got it backwards! It's you that makes me ill!"
Draco replied, his face going into that hideous sneer.

"If I make you so ill, then leave!" He was getting sick of this
now. "I don't care about your brain dead friends, or your bastard father,
and I certainly don't care about you! Why don't you use all your dirty money to
go by a clue?"

Ron turned around and faced the wall. He would not punch him, he would not.
It was wrong to punch stupid blond boys who had just been double crossed by
their friends. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. Oh, what the hell, he had a right to
pissed off, hadn't he?

Ron turned around fast, expecting Draco to still be feet away but found that
the boy was now right behind him, suddenly throwing his arms around Ron, and
knocking him back onto the ground. He landed with a hard thud, his head hitting
the cold floor as Draco landed on top of him.

"Say it," Draco whispered inches away from his face.

"What?" Ron whispered back.

"Say you don't hate me."

Ron turned his head away from Draco, the boy's warm breath now hitting the
sensitive skin of his neck. He could hear Draco's heartbeat, no, he could feel
it, fast and strong against him, and he wondered if he really did hate him.
Hate was sucstrostrong word.

"I don't hate you." He said, looking back into the Slytherin's
grey eyes, and so suddenly Draco's lips were upon his, soft, slow and simple.

"Ron," Draco whispered as their lips parted briefly.

"What?"

"You can't do it."

"What?"

"You know what," he replied, looking determinedly into Ron's blue
eyes.

Ron caught his mouth with his own, his tongue gaining entrance into the
other boy's hot mouth. "Just fuck me," he whispered as he pulled
away. Draco smashed his mouth down hard upon Ron's, groaning loud into it.

And then suddenly the clothes were gone, the floor had turned into Ron's
bed, and Draco was touching Ron's smooth freckled chest with the tips of his
fingers, slowly dragging them across his collar bone, and down to lightly brush
against his nipples. Ron bit his lower lip, and tipped his head back as Draco's
mouth came to softly brush against the flesh of his neck. Everything felt so
warm, so moist, and so warm. Draco began to kiss down Ron's bony shoulder, his upper
arm, his elbow, and finally to the crook of his inner arm, the white clean,
beautiful skin under Draco's hot insistent kisses.

Ron looked down to watch Draco kiss him, his eyelids shut lightly and his
small pointy nose rubbing against his skin. It always happened like this, one
minute they were fighting, and Ron was swearing to himself he'd never so much
as touch Malfoy again, and then they were wrapped in each other's limbs,
sweating, and panting, and all Ron could think about was how he never wanted
this feeling to end.

Ron put his arms around Draco's small frame, caressing his spine and
shoulders, slowly bringing his hanwn twn to grab the flesh of his ass, as the
blond continued to kiss his arm, his hip, his stomach and navel, slightly
biting at the flesh and causing Ron to arch up into the rough kisses. Draco
lowered his mouth to Ron's almost painfully hard cock and slipped it inside his
mouth. He gasped as Draco's tongue swirled around him, his free hand gliding up
and down in motion with his mouth. Ron's mind swirled, he felt guilty for not
thinking about his family, and the Death Eaters, and he felt sad for Draco, and
himself, but he also felt this other... thing. Whatever was making Draco do
this, all of this, these soft slow kisses, was new.

"Please," Ron panted. He wanted to feel Draco inside of him,
around him; he wanted to be closer to Draco, more so than ever.

Slowly Draco let Ron's cock slip out of his mouth, and he licked his lips.

"Kiss me," Ron said. Draco, apparently empowered by this grabbed
Ron's legs and tossed them over his shoulders, placing his hands on either side
of Ron's bony hips, and leaning into kiss him hard on the mouth, his hands now
on either side of Ron's face, and a digit ending up in the middle of their
kiss. Ron sucked at the other boy's finger a moment before Draco pulled it away
and slowly brought it down to his ass.

"Go slow," Ron whispered as Draco began to position himself.
Slowly Draco slipped his finger inside the other boy, and Ron gasped, and
tensed his muscles around the digit, but slowly the pain subsided and he wanted
more. Draco could sense this because almost immediately a second digit was
slipped inside. Ron began to rock against the other boy's fingers, wanting so
badly to be fucked, fucked so hard, all he wanted was to cum, and to be
somewhere else for a while. Draco slowly removed his fingers, and positioned
his cock so that the tip was now inside of Ron. Ron pushed forward to let Draco
know he could go farther in, and the blond did just that. With some amount of
painful force Draco shoved himself fully inside Ron.

Ron let out a huge breath of and and began chewing the side of his lip.
Draco slowly began driving himself inside of Ron, in and out, in and out, the
sound of the back of Ron's thighs smacking against Draco's chest. And then it
became faster, and faster, and the room was spinning again, only Ron didn't
mind. He wished it would always spin, that he would always feel this with
Draco. He opened his eyes, and found that Draco was staring into his face,
sweat dripping in beads from his brow, and his hair beautifully disheveled.
Draco's left arm reached up and began stroking Ron's length. His hand at first
gliding through the red forest of Ron's pubic hair, then to the shaft of his
cock, to the head, and back down. Ron could just make out the Dark Mark almost
pulsing on Draco's skin, and suddenly he had to taste it.

He began to sit up, repositioning himself that his long legs were now
wrapped around Draco's middle, his arms holding him balanced around the other
boys back. Ron kissed him briefly on the mouth, then let one arm go as they
slowly rocked together, chests pressed and hearts beating at the same furious
rhythm. He used his free appendage to lean back a bit, and grab Draco's left
arm, Draco's whole body tensing as Ron's fingers whispered across the mark, Ron
now moving faster up and down on Draco's lap, both boys now panting and
sweating, eyes fluttering closed, and back open to watch the other boy's face.

Ron held Draco's arm tightly in his hand, and began to kiss the inside of
it, the other boy moaning loud and beginning to thrust even harder into Ron,
tipping his head back, and biting his bottom lip. Ron smirked at the boy's
obvious pleasure, and began to lick the sensitive red skin, his warm tongue
swirling across that smooth raised skin, the power almost flowing from it, into
his own mouth, through his body, his bones, his blood. It was beautiful, and
scary, and as Ron began to bite the mark, his teeth sinking into the tender
flesh, a trickle of blood flowed into his hot mouth, and traveling down his
throat.

Draco shuddered, moaned and could apparently no longer hold it. He came
loudly into Ron, Ron following suit only moments later.

Afterwards the two boys lay in bed; Draco curled under Ron's arm as he pet
the boy's smooth chest, and for once Ron didn't really feel uncomfortable. He
knew everything about this was wrong, and this fis friends would probably hate
him if they found out, but at this singular moment he didn't care. He looked
down at Draco and smiled. The spoilt little brat wasn't really that bad... once
you got to know him.

"Don't do it, Ron, I'm serious."

"What?"

"Don't join the Death Eaters. We'll think of something. Just promise me
you won't join."

Ron looked away to Harry's empty bed, remembering that night that he'd
gotten so close to kissing him,chinching him, and he wondered if it would ever
be like that again.

"Promise me," Draco pleaded a second time, now staring into his
eyes.

Ron looked down a moment, then gazed back into the crystalline grey eyes.
"I," he swallowed, "I promise."

*~ *~ * Lucius Malfoy *~ * ~*

"I do not want to be disturbed today, Dinky."

"Yes, sir," the small house elf replied, bowing and shutting the
door behind her. She'd been employed at the office for nearly fifteen years,
and had never ceased to get on Lucius Malfoy's last nerve, reminiscent of
Dobby, but without the pure entertainment of self-mutilation.

He calmly adjusted his long pony-tail and sat behind his large dark mahogany
desk, examining the various pieces of parchment that had been left there by
Dinky earlier that morning. He calmly picked up a waste paper basket and threw
them all away; it wasn't as though he had time for these silly problems, there
were more pressing matters at hand, like time to read The Daily Prophet. He
picked up the paper, and began to peruse the various articles, finally finding
what he was interested in.

Is Harry Potter Safe?

- - By Elica Maravillas, Special Reporter for The Daily Prophet
The world over wizards are beginning to feel the presence of Dark Magic. The
Daily Prophet itself has received over three hundred letters from accredited
seers Britain-wide that insist Dark happenings are afoot.

I began to wonder where this left our own Harry Potter, now a
fifteen-year-old fifth year at Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft
and Wizardry under the care of Albus Dumbledore, possibly one of the oldest
Head Masters the school has ever had. What precautions are being taken to
ensure our littlest Hero's safety?

Sources have told this reporter that the boy has no special security, no
bodyguards, and is treated just like any other student. Well, is that what we
want for our hero? The Boy Who Lived? Some may have forgotten that Sirius
Black, convicted killer of nine Muggles, but The Daily Prophet has not. We
wonder, is little Harry being given the attention he deserves?

When asked to comment Professor Albus Dumbledore said, "Mr. Potter
is perfectly safe." Oh, is he Professor? Is he really?

Lucius chuckled at the article, as his large black owl Damian swooped
through the open window, a drop of the rain from the storm outside dripping off
his wing. The bird dropped a parcel into Lucius' clean, white palm, gave a
regal ruffle of its feathers, and then flew back through the open window.

He looked down at the crinkled, and wet envelope, the ink which had been
messy to began with, was now completely illegible as black ink dripped from the
paper and onto Lucius' hand. He silently cursed the foul paper, and opened the
parchment.

Dear Lucius Malfoy,

I've decided to take you up on your offer. I want to become a Death
Eater. Please tell me what I have to do.

Ronald Weasley

A cruel smirk spread across Lucius' face, Potter may be safe now, but that
wouldn't last long, he could guarantee Dumbledore that.