Is This Desire?
Is This Desire?
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Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created
and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to
Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc.
Noey iey is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Draco is
joining the Death Eaters and Ron is strangely drawn to that sexy Dark Mark.
Pairings: Ron/Draco,
Ron/Hermione, Ron/Harry
Categories: Drama/Angst,
Romance
Notes: This story is
dedicated to Maud, So, Ta, Tas and Chaser. Love you all.
.....
Prologue
Another utterly, despicably boring day at Hogwarts. Transfiguration,
Arithmancy, and Potions, ah with the Gryffindors. Yes, I haven\'t seen them in
some time, we simply must catch up.
McGonagall is currently lecturing about turning a piccolo into a pineapple,
trying to sound impressive. I wonder what McGonagall was like when she was at
Hogwarts. The old bat was probably exactly the same, with that tight black bun,
and those stiff robes. How does the woman breathe? She was probably just like
Granger, the Mudblood, a fucking know-it-all.
I\'m practically snoozing here, this is ridiculously simple. I don\'t know why
I\'m forced to take this class with the people in my year. Father said I should
be taking advanced courses, but Dumbledore won\'t allow it. Muggle-lover.
***
"Watch it, Weasel," I say as I smash past him in the doorway. His
lanky body falls with a thud to the ground. I shove my hand in the pockets of
my robes. The second he pulls out his wand, it\'s over.
"S-Sorry," he stutters, picking himself up off the floor. What the
? I\? I\'ve waited all day for this. He can\'t just play the almighty Gryffindor
and walk away. Who does he think he is, Potter? He\'ll pay for that one too. He
brushes off his already tattered robes and sits as far away from me as
possible.
Snape is rambling about some ridiculously easy potion that I could have done
that in my first year.
"What\'s the most important thing to remember when using the hair of an
Oliphaunt?" Snape glares at the class. Immediately Granger\'s hand flies
into the air. Of course, I know the answer to this question; I just don\'t feel
the need to answer it. Snape purposely avoids her, and sighs. "The
Oliphaunt," he begins. A Snape speech like this can last hours. I tune him
out as I stare at the clock. There\'s fifty-three minutes left. Oh, God. Could
this clock go any slower? The steady ticking is affecting my brain. Bringing me
into its endless pattern. Something brings me out of my stupor. The feeling of
someone watching me. I turn around to eye the possibilities. I turn to my left,
Pansy Parkinson? No, she seems to be asleep. Some days this class can actually
be amusing, today is not one of those days. I look again to my right, maybe
it\'s Crabbe or Goyle. No, they\'re involved in a game of Patty Cake or some
shit. I began to search the class room. Thomas? No. Longbottom? No, thank god.
I can feel someone\'s eyes ping tng through my skin, it\'s eerie. Who is it?
Potter? No. Fucking Weasley? It\'s fucking Weasley.
I attempt to scowl back at him, shoving my hand around my wand again. He
blushes and turns away. What the fuck is he doing? Is he...no, no, that would
be too good. Maybe there\'s something on my face. I didn\'t look in the mirror
after last class. Fuck. "Goyle," I whisper. He turns to me as Crabbe
smacks him in the chest. (They were still playing Patty Cake.) I think I\'ve
disturbed their fun. He gives me a puzzled look. This isn\'t anything new; the
statement is practically tattooed on his face.
"Wha?" He asks.
"Do I have anything on my face?" I feel like such an ass. Not like
I care what he thinks though.
"Wha?" He asks again, brows knitting together. Excuse me, brow, he
only has one.
"Do-I-have-anything-on-my-fucking-face?" I ask, enunciating each
word.
"Oh," He laughs huskily. "Uh, no."
I roll my eyes and go back to glaring at Weasley. Again, again, he was
looking at me. Is he cursing me under the table? I better curse him, just to be
safe. "Aracunous," I say under my breath as I aim my wand at
his leg. A rather large black spider begins to crawl up his shin. He doesn\'t
notice it yet; he\'s pretending to look riveted by Snape\'s rambling. It\'s slowly
inching its way up his inner thigh. God, his legs are long.
"S-shit!" He screams as he jumps up from his desk. Pansy
Parkinson\'s head finally comes up off the desk, a bit of drool clinging to her
thin lips. Weasley jumps and screams, brushing off his robes violently. He keeps
giving these awful shudders, and turning a brutal shade of white. I think he
might puke. I can\'t help but crack a sadistic smile. Potter gets up to save the
day again. Too bad Father didn\'t finish him off when he had the chance. Oh
well, he says it will happen soon.
"What is it, Weasley?" Snape asks irritably as Ron lifts his robes
up, and shakes them.
"S-s-spi-d-der," he manages to spit out. I snicker loudly and the
other Slytherins follow cue. It\'s at this point I wish I had a button that says
"Weasley Stinks," as opposed to the Potter one I still carry around.
Snape looks suddenly very amused as the excitable redhead begins raking his
hands through his hair and shaking it.
"Sit down Mr. Weasley," Snape growls as he walks over to Weasley.
He looks down at the ground and sees the little black spider crawling across
the floor. He stomps on the the black six-legged creature, which makes a
horrible crunching noise, and says, "10 points from Gryffindor. Now, take
your seat Mr. Weasley." The Gryffindor sits down, looking thoroughly
mortified. Ah, my work here is done.
***
My room is cold tonight. Crabbe and Goyle lay snoring in their beds while I
try to block out the noise. It\'s a shame I don\'t know a spell for that. The
green coverings around our beds are thick, but apparently not thick enough. The
clock next to me reads 3:16 AM. I praise whatever God gives a shit that
tomorrow\'s Saturday. I\'m notoriously not a morning person. I hate the sun
pouring through a well-placed window. I hate those awful birds chirping in the
trees outside.
My mind keeps returning to Weasley. What the fuck did he want? Normally a
sneer or a stare from Weasley means a fist is about to fly, but today...
Something\'s up. Those do-good Gryffindors are plotting something. Weasley can\'t
hide a thing; that\'s why he was gaping at me. It must be revenge. Ever since
the little scuffle with my father and his friends last year those Gryffindors
have had something against me. Imagine, as though I had said, "Father. I
hate Potter. Go kill him for me." It\'s absurd. It was really the Dark Lord
saying that, or something similar to it. My father was just doing his bit to
help humankind. Well, wizardkind really.
That fucking Weasel. I need to do something. I can\'t just lie here like
people aren\'t plotting against me. I need to take a walk. A walk will clear my
mind.
***
Chapter One
Draco wondered why the school was always drafty. One could walk down a
hallway one knew contained no windows, and yet cold air would still whip wildly
at one\'s face. Draco felt like getting lost that night. He felt like wandering
aimlessly until by some odd chance he ended up back in the Slytherin common
room. He took a left at the suit of armor and walked up a staircase he\'d never
taken before.
As though footsteps were echoing in his mind, Draco began to hear something
coming down the stairs toward him. The Slytherin knew better that to mess with
Filch and leapt behind the nearest tapestry. He listened intently behind the
thick fabric, listening as the foeps eps clunked down the stairs. His breath
catching in his throat, Draco peered out from behind the curtain. Amazingly, no
one was there. Yet her was positive there was a considerable thud going down
the stairs. `Potter,\' he thought. `Stupid, fucking invisibility cloak. Thinks
he\'s so clever.\' Draco had discovered Potter\'s cloak one night when he had
taken one of his routine walks around the school. Potter wasn\'t very careful
with it, he had slid the cloak off his head to get a drink from the school
water fountain. He hadn\'t even checked to see if anyone was around.
Silently, Draco crept out from behind the curtain and stepped out on the
steps. Not a sound was made as he walked down the stairs. He put his arms out
in front of him and began to grope at the air. Then as if by some divine force
he stepped on the invisible fabric. Magically a bright red head appeared in
front of him, dancing by itself in the night.
***
He couldn\'t believe it. What could have triggered all of this? One minute he\'s
desperately wanting Fleur, the next Hermione, and now, now... Malfoy. He wanted
to puke just thinking about it. One morning he just woke up, and Malfoy was in
all his thoughts. Everything was about him. And for once it wasn\'t just hatred.
Oh God, what was he going to do?
Today had been awful. Not only was it impossible to hide his feelings from
Harry and Hermione, it seemed Malfoy had noticed them, too. When he ran into
the boy that afternoon he thought he\'d die right there. He wanted to kill him,
but that wasn\'t the only feeling present. The typical reaction would have been
"punch on sight," but the second Ron touched him he\'d have been in
way over his head. What would have happened if Ron grabbed the unsuspecting
Slytherin for a kiss? It would probably wipe that sneer off his pale pointed
face. Although, that was a significant part of the attraction. Oh god! What was
he talking about?
There was a sharpn inn in his stomach. Was he developing an ulcer? Oh, no,
wait, he was just hungry. He wondered briefly if Harry would mind if Ron
borrowed the invisibility cloak. This was an emergency, he was a growing boy,
and he needed food. He walked quietly to the foot of Harry\'s bed and pulled out
the familiar fabric of the cloak. He wrapped it tightly around himself, and
walked out the door. He quietly padded towards the opening of the Gryffindor
common room and began to walk down the hall. Curse his large feet for making so
much noise. Shame he hadn\'t picked up the Marauder\'s Map too. He thudded down
the long staircase trying to distract his rumbling stomach by thoughts of
Malfoy. Brrr. It was cold in these halls. His head was beginning to feel
uncommonly cold. Ron turned slowly behind him. He nearly passed out when he saw
the smirking face of Draco Malfoy staring back at him. "Malfoy!?"
"Weasel, just what are you doing here? And," he added with a smug
smile, "wearing an invisibility cloak. Which of your fire-haired,
Muggle-loving siblings did you have to sell to afford that?"
"Fuck off Malfoy," Ron replied, afraid that if he said too much he
might not be able to stop himself.
"Oh, Weasley. You\'re so predictable," Draco said, eyes squinted
into deadly slits. He began to inch closer to Ron. Their eyes were level only
because Draco was a step higher than Ron was.
"Fuck off, Malfoy," Ron repeated through gritted teeth.
"No," Draco replied, simply getting even closer to Ron. Ron tried
desperately hard not to shudder as the Slytherin kept inching closer and
closer. He couldn\'t fight this much longer. And why was Malfoy inching forward
like that? Did he want him too? Was it time to show that Gryffindor courage and
make a move? They were inches away from each other as it was, and Ron\'s heart
rate was steadily increasing with each breath. He couldn\'t help himself any longer.
Ron was a creature of impulse; too much thinking would spoil this. Ron placed
his hot lips against Malfoy\'s and pressed into the pale boy.
Immediately Malfoy\'s body tensed, as the Slytherin drew hastily away.
"What the fuck are you doing Weasley?!" Malfoy spat on the floor,
looking horrified. Oh shit, this wasn\'t the reaction Ron was hoping for.
"I\'m not a fucking queer! I can\'t believe you. You\'re sick! Fuck, Weasley,
I knew you were fucked up, but... How could you do such a disgusting thing?
Fucking pervert!" The enraged Slytherin was inching backwards, as though
Ron was the Black Plague.
"I- I..." Ron stammered. How was he going to fix this situation?
He\'d messed it all up now. Malfoy was going to tell everyone. He was going to
humiliate him in front of the entire school.
"Don\'t tell fucking anyone Weasel. I don\'t want anyone to know you
practically raped me!"
"I didn\'t rape you," Ron finally managed to say.
"Don\'t talk to me. You\'re sick. I would say you\'re going to pay for my
therapy, but I forgot who I was talking to. Don\'t so much as look at me,
Weasley; if you do, you\'ll fucking regret it." And with that, Draco
practically leapt back down the stairs.
`Oh, shit,\' Ron thought as he slumped down onto the step, and wrapped the
invisibility cloak around himself. This had to be the worst day of his life.
.....