Nothing Ever Lasts Forever, Part Two

[hull1984]

A few days later, Harry stepped out of the lift and instead of turning right to go to his own room, he turned left and walked over to Ron’s room.

He knew Ron had met Viktor (and Poliakoff - “the bastard tags along like a bad smell, Harry!”) for coffee a few times since the party, and that the previous night Viktor had invited Ron over to his room to watch a dvd.  Harry, was not a thirteen year old girl, and therefore was definitely not making his way to Ron’s room to find out how it had gone.

Not at all.

But, he had suddenly realised, that they hadn’t yet decided what they were going to wear for Halloween, and now seemed as good a time as any to discuss it, and oh God, he really was a thirteen old girl…

He was just about to turn the corner onto Ron’s side of the building, when he heard voices in the hall ahead.

“Take the coffee, Draco, and stop being a prick.”

That was Blaise’s voice.

“Oh well, as you put it so nicely.”

And that, that was definitely Malfoy.

Harry didn’t even know those two knew each other.  Huh.

Harry pressed himself up against the wall and peeked around the corner.

The fuck.  Malfoy had no clothes on.  Well, no outer clothes.  He was sitting in his boxer shorts and a white t-shirt, propped up against the wall right next to Ron’s room.  He had a cup in his hand and by the looks of things was sipping sullenly from it.  Blaise was standing in the doorway to the room, drinking from his own cup.

Well, there’s something you didn’t see every day.

Harry ducked back, not wanting to be seen, and decided to just listen.  It wasn’t eavesdropping, it was intelligence gathering.  Which yes, granted, probably made more sense in a war situation, but well, Harry had recently began to suspect Malfoy of harbouring certain feelings for Ron.  That meant anything Malfoy said, or did, could directly effect Harry’s best friend.  So fuck it.  Call it what you liked, but he was listening.

“I’ve already told you, Draco.  Ron has a class now.  He won’t be back for at least another hour.”

Malfoy didn’t reply.

“I don’t know why you’re even here.”  Blaise’s voice had taken on a teasing tone.  “I would have thought that by now you would know his timetable inside out.”

There was a pfft of disgust, that Harry assumed had come from Malfoy.

“I’m admitting nothing.  But if you think me ingenious enough to know his timetable, Blaise, then perhaps, I’m also ingenious enough to know when certain classes have been cancelled.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open just as he heard Blaise snort out a laugh.

Bloody hell.

He crept back along the hall to his own room.

~~~

“So, I figured you’d be back early, you know, after your text this morning saying your history class had been cancelled.”  Harry had decided that subtle was the way to go.

Ron looked up from his sandwich (they were eating lunch in Ron’s kitchen).  “Oh, I decided to stay behind after my Literature and Psyche class to talk to Professor Toro.”

“Oh,” Harry said.  “How’d that go?”

Ron popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth and wiped his hands on his napkin.  Harry waited patiently for him to finish eating (it gave him longer to come up with a way to introduce Malfoy into the conversation).

“It was good,” Ron finally answered.  “Toro’s a nice bloke and he didn’t laugh at me when I told him I didn’t understand a fucking word he said.”

Harry laughed. “I hope you worded it slightly differently,” he said.

Ron grinned, “I may have left out the swearing, but I also left him in no doubt that I am completely and utterly lost.”

He sighed and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.  “Take today, there I was nodding along happily, agreeing with what he was saying and feeling pretty good for actually knowing what he was talking about for once.”

Ron slumped back in his seat.  “Then he suddenly says ‘oh, and of course, you all got that it was a dream.’  And I’m sitting there thinking what the fuck?  No, I did not bloody get that it was a fucking dream!  Why would I?  There was no mention of anyone being asleep for a fucking start!”

(Harry was relieved that Ron had chosen to leave out all the swearing when he’d talked with Toro; the guy might have been laidback, but there were limits).

Ron brushed his hands through his hair and sighed.  “I swear, Harry, some of that stuff is just wrong.”

Harry nodded sympathetically.  “What did Toro say?”  He asked.

Ron looked up and smiled.  “He was great,” he said, sounding happier.  “Told me not to sweat it so much.  He said the reason why the rest of the class seemed to know so much about the psychological angle, was that most of them had been in therapy for years.”

Harry laughed.

“I know,”  Ron said, grinning.  “How cool is that?  He’s probably right too.  I’m easily the youngest in the class, all the others have a least ten/fifteen years on me.  He lent me this as well.”  And he reached into his messenger bag and brought out a thin paperback book.

Harry took it from him and looked at the front cover.  “Freud For Beginners,” he read out loud.

“Yeh,”  Ron said, nodding.  “He said not to take most of the stuff in it too seriously - he reckons Freud had some serious issues of his own - but that it would help explain some of the basic principles and terminology.”

“Have you read any of it yet?”  Harry asked, flipping through the pages.

“Nah, I’ll do it later,” Ron replied, taking the book from Harry and putting it back in his messenger bag.  “You want another coffee, Harry?”  He asked, as he got up from the table to re-fill his own cup from Blaise’s machine.

“No, I’m fine,”  Harry answered, absently.  He was thinking of Malfoy again, unsure of how much to tell Ron.  He waited for Ron to sit back down before asking, as casually as he could,  “so, um, did you let anyone else know that your class was cancelled this morning?”

Ron immediately turned bright red and ducked his head.

Ha ha.

Ron took a sip of his coffee, before mumbling softly, “ I may have texted Viktor.”

Oh.  Well then.  That was to be expected, Harry supposed.  The two of them were practically dating.  Or, well, they would be if Poliakoff ever left them alone long enough.

Ron had told Harry earlier, that the cosy evening he had hoped for the previous night, had been ruined, yet again, by the unwanted presence of Viktor’s horribly annoying room-mate.  The freak just seemed unwilling to leave Viktor’s side, at least if Ron was anywhere in sight.

Maybe he was gay after all, and hopelessly in love with Viktor (despite Poliakoff’s constant assertions, that he had a girlfriend waiting for him back in Bulgaria).  Maybe he was just jealous of anyone else getting laid, while his girlfriend was stuck on the other side of the world (or wherever Bulgaria was, Harry sucked at Geography).

Whatever the reason for Poliakoff’s behaviour, Harry found himself getting angry with Viktor.  Seriously, why didn’t he just tell the bloke to fuck off.  Or surely, he could ditch him for a few hours, if he really wanted to.  Harry was starting to feel worried for Ron; what if Viktor was just stringing him along, and actually had no intention of seeing this thing through?  He swore, if Viktor hurt Ron, then, Harry would just have to break him (which given the bloke’s size, might prove problematic, but Harry was willing to give it a try).

“So, why didn’t you guys go for coffee or something?”  He asked Ron now.  It seemed like the perfect opportunity for Ron and Viktor to finally have spent some time together; Poliakoff almost certainly would have had a class of his own to attend.  Why hadn’t Viktor seized the chance?

“Oh,” Ron shrugged, “Viktor had an Engineering class.”

Right.  Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  He would need to get a hold of Viktor’s timetable to check that out.  Perhaps, he could ask Malfoy how one went about obtaining copies of other people’s timetables…which reminded him.

“So you didn’t text Malfoy then?”  He blurted, wincing almost immediately after the words were out of his mouth (so much for subtle).

Ron looked up from his coffee and cocked his head to one side.  “Well, yeh, I think I did text him now that you mention it.  Why?”

“Um,” Harry tried to look nonchalant.  “No reason.  I, erm, just might have overheard him discussing your cancelled class with Blaise.”   So Ron and Malfoy texted now.  Huh.  Harry hadn’t even been sure that they’d exchanged numbers.

“Oh, okay.”  Ron didn’t sound surprised in the least, either at Malfoy and Blaise knowing each other, or the fact that they might have been talking about him.  Now, Harry was really intrigued.

“I didn’t know Blaise even knew Malfoy,” he said, trying for casual but probably sounding closer to annoyed.

Ron frowned at him.  “They’re actually really good friends, Harry.  They’ve known each other for years.”  He let out a frustrated sigh.  “I’ve said this before, but I really don’t understand what your problem is with Malfoy.  He’s a good bloke, Harry.  I don’t get why you don’t like him.”

Harry sighed too.  This was an old argument.  The Draco Malfoy Harry knew, seemed so completely different to the Draco Malfoy Ron knew.  Harry had stopped even trying to convince Ron that Malfoy was an obnoxious git, but sometimes, like now, he just couldn’t seem to hide his own dislike for the bloke.

“It’s not that I don’t like him (well, that was true, the feeling was much more akin to hate), so much that he doesn’t like me.”  Harry felt that he was making a fair point, lord knows, Malfoy had made no attempt to be nice to him.

Ron shook his head and stood up.  “You’re just being paranoid, Harry.  You think everyone dislikes you.”  He put his cup in the sink and turned to start cleaning out the coffee machine (Blaise was very clear about that; they were allowed to use it, as long as they cleaned it afterward).

Harry pouted at Ron’s back.  That was unfair.  Harry didn’t think everyone disliked him, some people just ignored him.

“Well, I still think it’s odd that he sits outside your door in just his underwear,” he said in a rush (once again, missing subtle by a country mile.  Harry was about ready to concede that he probably wasn’t very good at subtle).

“What?”  Ron turned around, slowly, looking slightly horrified and Harry finally felt vindicated.  At last, he’d got through to the stupid git.  Finally, Ron was going to realise what a freak Malfoy was, and admit that Harry’s instincts had been right all along.  Harry felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Exactly.”  Harry said, with a self-satisfied smile.  “I saw him,” he went on.  “He was sitting right next to your door, wearing only his boxer shorts and a t-shirt.  In the middle of the day.”  He nodded his head as if to underline the point.

Ron started to laugh.  “Oh, Harry, you freak.”

What.  How was Harry the freak?  But before he could get a word of protest out, Ron continued with, “Harry, he was only doing his laundry.”

Huh.

Ron shook his head, still chuckling.  “Or have you forgotten that my room is right opposite the laundry room?  Malfoy always sits outside while his clothes are in the machine.  He told me that he doesn’t trust people not to steal them, so he prefers to wait for them to be done, rather than going back to his room.”

Harry pouted again (he did that a lot where Malfoy was involved).  Okay, so that was one explanation that he hadn’t considered.  He paused thinking for a minute.  But that didn’t explain the underwear.

“But that doesn’t explain the underwear!”  Harry shouted.

Ron stopped laughing and looked slightly hurt all of a sudden.  “I really wish you weren’t so determined to think badly of him, Harry,” he said, softly.

And Harry suddenly felt guilty.  And confused; he wasn’t even sure what he was trying to accomplish anymore.  What did it matter if Malfoy liked Ron?  Or if Ron never figured out that he was being stalked?

“Did it ever occur to you, that Malfoy might have been down to his last clean t-shirt and boxers, Harry?”  Ron asked, before walking out of the kitchen.

And well, while Harry might have been feeling slightly bad for only thinking the worst of Malfoy, he definitely called bullshit on that one.  Malfoy certainly had his reasons for sitting half-naked outside Ron’s door, but running out of clean clothes definitely wasn’t fucking one of them.

~~~

The next day was Saturday and Harry was planning on sleeping all day, or until his stomach told him to get up.  So it was a bit of a shock when he was woken up by the sound of someone slamming open his door and shouting his name loudly into his ear.

Fuck.

Harry sat up and squinted blearily at the figure looming menacingly over his bed. Was that Ron?

“Harry fucking Potter,” he screamed into Harry’s confused face.  “I am going to fucking kill you.”

Harry scratched his head and frowned.  “Um.  Why?”  He asked, plaintively.  He felt he at least deserved an explanation.

“This!”  Ron cried.

And Harry suddenly noticed that he had a book in his hand, that he proceeded to wave in Harry’s face.  Harry grimaced and glanced at his clock - 9.20am - urgh, it was definitely too early for this.

“Ron,” he said, in the most reasonable voice he could muster.  “What the fuck are you talking about?  Or no, sorry.  Actually, what I meant to say there was - fuck off and let me sleep, you selfish git.”

“Selfish, Harry?”  Ron’s voice had grown rather strident.  “Selfish?  I’ll give you fucking selfish you complete and utter tosser!”

Something was definitely up.

Harry sighed, as he watched Ron pace up and down in front of his bed.  He had a funny feeling his sleep was over for the day.

~~~

When Jon walked in half an hour later, Harry was lying on his bed hugging his pillow, giggling hysterically, while Ron was sitting on the floor, propped up against Jon’s bed, laughing like a donkey.

Jon raised both eyebrows.  “Did I miss something?” he asked, with a grin.

When he had finally recovered enough to talk, Ron took a deep breath and announced,  “I need chocolate.”  He stood up.  “And Dr Pepper.”

Harry nodded his agreement between sniggers.

Jon shrugged, “I could handle some chocolate.”

They headed out the door and took the lift down to the ground floor, where they raided the vending machines that lined one wall of the T.V. lounge.  When they were satisfied with their purchases, they slumped into the nearest chairs.

“Okay,” Jon said, once they had all popped cans and opened packets.  “Which one of you is going to explain the giggle fit I just witnessed?”

Harry and Ron exchanged smirks.  Ron threw a peanut M&M at Harry’s head.  “That,” he said, “was caused by Harry’s total disregard for my pain.”

“Fuck off,” Harry replied, picking up the sweet from his lap and throwing it at Ron’s nose.  “I was embracing your pain, particularly the more comedic aspects.”

They both started giggling again.

“Yeh,” Jon said.  “I’m really going to need more than that.”

Ron stopped laughing and looked at Harry pointedly.

Harry sighed.  “Okay, I guess it’s down to me.  Jon, remember when I told you about The Big Gay Journal Freak Out Of Last Week, and how I had to jump in and save Ron’s ass, whilst also managing to make him look cool and interesting to Professor Toro,” he paused to place his hand to the side of his mouth and stage whispered, “that’s the one he’s got the big gay crush on.”

“Hey!” Ron sounded ridiculously offended.  Harry ignored him.

“Well, Toro recently lent Ron a book to help him with his class.”  Harry started to snigger.  “Only the dream interpretation chapter proved a bit of an eye-opener to our Ron here.”

“That’s a fucking understatement,” Ron blurted out, sitting forward in his chair.  “Jon, do you know what Freud thought knives represented in dreams?”

Jon was already laughing, so Ron guessed he probably had a pretty good idea.

“Right.  And did you also know, that Harry apparently spent his entire teenage years dreaming about grabbing hold of, or poking other people with his ‘knife’?   Bloody pervert!”  He threw another M&M at Harry, who caught it this time and popped it in his mouth with a wink.

“In fairness, Ron,” Jon said, still laughing.  “I think most teenaged boys spend their entire time dreaming about their ‘knives’ and exactly where they’d like to poke them.”

“Yeh?”  Ron said, clearly warming to his subject.  “Do they also dream about crashing through windows on a regular basis?  Because according to Freud that means that Harry is not only a sex fiend, but also a lesbian!”

Harry’s grin fell away and he started to frown.  “Hey, that’s not fair. Like a lot of teenagers I was confused about my sexuality.  I thought I was straight, so couldn’t understand why I kept wanting to, you know,” he blushed, “play with other people’s ‘knives’.”  (He honestly had no idea where the window jumping came into it).

Jon threw his empty can at Harry’s head.  “Okay, seriously guys.  I really need you to both stop talking about people’s knives and what they do, or don’t, want to do with them.”

All three started to giggle again.  Harry felt comforted; at least he wasn’t the only thirteen year old girl there.

“So okay,” Jon said, a moment later, still grinning.  “I get how hilarious it is that Harry is quite probably a lesbian, but what I don’t understand, is why you’re so pissed about it, Ron?  Well, unless you’re harbouring certain feelings towards him…”  He smirked evilly.

“Urgh, Jon, you sick fuck.  That would be like committing incest.”  Ron’s face was screwed up in disgust.

Harry was torn between feeling deeply offended that Ron found the thought of being with him so abhorrent, and strangely touched that Ron had also just implied, that he now looked upon Harry as a brother (or possibly a sister, given recent revelations).

“No,” Ron continued, looking sourly over at Harry.  “The reason I want to hit Harry in the head.  Repeatedly.  With a spade.  Is the fact that the dumb fuck wrote the details of all his freaky teenage dreams in my journal.  The journal that is currently in the hands of Professor Toro.  A man, whom I would like to point out, is more than a little conversant with Sigmund Freud’s theories on such matters.  I will never be able to look him in the eye again.”

Jon burst out laughing again.  “Oops,” he gasped out, looking over at Harry.

Of course, that set Harry off again.

“Never mind, Ron,” Jon said later, when they’d all recovered some modicum of control.  “Perhaps, Toro will offer to personally help you resolve your sexual conflict.”  He waggled his eyebrows.

Ron had no more M&Ms left, so he threw the empty packet instead.  It just wasn’t the same.

~~~

Harry peered through the haze that hung in the air between them.  “Jon, shouldn’t you be gone by now?”

Jon pouted from where he lay on his bed.  “Harry, are you trying to get rid of me?” he asked, sounding hurt.

Harry shook his head, fervently.  “No, no, mate.  Honestly.   It’s been brilliant hanging out with you.  We should do it more often.”  He nodded emphatically.

Jon smiled widely.  “Why, thank you, Harry.  I, too, have enjoyed hanging with you guys.  And yes, we should do it more often.”  He lit the freshly rolled joint in his hand and took a hit.

Jon was great.  Harry knew this to be true.  He used to think most of Jon’s awesomeness came from the fact that he was hardly ever there - what else could one wish for from a room-mate (ask Ron) - but now he was beginning to think that perhaps it went deeper than that.  Harry drew in a deep hit from the joint Jon had just handed to him, and nodded slowly.  Much deeper.

“I’ve got it!”  Ron sat up suddenly from where he’d been lying on the floor.  He turned to look at Harry.  “I’ve got it, Harry.  What we can wear for Halloween.”  His eyes were shining with inspiration (or it could have been the weed).

Harry wasn’t even aware they’d been trying to think of something to wear for Halloween, so Ron’s announcement came as a bit of a surprise.  Personally he’d have probably just gone with the tried and tested white sheet with eye holes.  But then there was that thing were they didn’t always follow the whole scary theme here.  Harry had found that very odd.  Wasn’t that the whole point of Halloween?  But no, so far he’d been told by various people that they were going as a surgeon, a cop, Zorro, Marilyn Monroe (he thought Mike was very brave) and a hobo.  Where were the witches?  Where were the ghouls?

Ron was standing up now, flapping his arms about in his enthusiasm.  “We’ll go as loud American tourists.  We’ll wear dreadful checked jackets over obnoxious shirts, gaudy Bermuda shorts and white socks with open-toed sandals.  We’ll carry cameras around our necks and smoke cigars.  And.  And.  We’ll keep pointing at everything and saying how much bigger they are at home.”  He looked up triumphantly.  “It will be hilarious, Harry.”

Harry stared at him wide eyed and speechless.

THEY.  WERE.  GOING.  TO.  DIE.

He dared a glance in Jon’s direction.  Jon stood up, a little unsteadily, and walked over to Ron.  Harry watched in morbid fascination and thought about closing his eyes.  And to think it had all been going so well.

“Dude,” Jon said to Ron, “that is a fucking awesome idea.”  And his face broke into a huge grin as he patted Ron on the back.

Oh, well.  That was unexpected.

Forty minutes later, they were in a thrift store down town.  For the princely sum of $12.80, Harry had purchased a jacket that hurt his eyes, shorts that would scare Chuck Norris, and a shirt that would probably scar him for life.  He and Jon were currently trying to persuade Ron to buy a pair of Jesus sandals.  Ron was being a total princess about it, complaining about his precious feet having to wear second-hand shoes (Harry was very grateful that they had no shoes in his size).

In the end, they all agreed to chip in and buy Ron some insoles from the pharmacy next door, and, assured that his toes wouldn’t be turning green and dropping off anytime soon, Ron finally bought the bloody sandals.

By mutual agreement they decided to go to Port of Subs afterward.  It was weird.  For lunch they’d eaten a huge frozen pizza each, washed down with several bags of cheetos, and yet, apparently, they were all starving again.  Must have been all the fresh air or something.

They ordered huge sandwiches stuffed with everything and still managed a couple of enormous cookies each for dessert.  That was definitely some good fucking fresh air.

When they got back to the dorm, Ron and Harry collapsed tiredly on Harry’s bed.  Jon had headed back to his friends’ apartment after dinner.

They spent the rest of the evening worrying about exactly how many people were going to want to kill them come Halloween.

With the judicious application of beer, it didn’t take them too long to come to the conclusion that it was all Jon’s fault.

~~~

The next day, Viktor invited Ron to a Halloween party.

“You’re coming too.” Ron had informed Harry later, in a no nonsense voice.

“But -” Harry had started to say.

Ron had held up a hand, then waved the second-hand sandals in Harry’s face.  And well, Harry really had nowhere to go with that.

Jon tried to reassure them several times over the next few days, that their outfits wouldn’t offend people.  “They’re ironic, Harry.  Would you be offended if someone turned up dressed in a suit and wearing a bowler hat?”  Harry of course had said no, but he also thought that Jon probably needed lessons in how to effectively insult a whole nation (Mike Myers could probably help him out with that).

Halloween arrived and Harry still wasn’t convinced.  He was still pretty sure they were going to die.  It was just a case of when, and by the hand of how many.  Personally, Harry didn’t fancy their chances of making it as far as the lift.

Of course, the real irony about the whole thing, was that for once, Ron was actually in a great mood.  He’d finally got his journal back the day before from Toro and had got an A- (Toro had also winked at him and asked him out on a date, but Ron said he was fairly sure he’d been joking).  He was also hoping that Viktor might finally make a move at the party and had made Harry promise to keep Poliakoff out of the way.

Harry was pleased for him.  Really.  But Harry also felt he would have been better able to convey all this happiness, had he not been edging his way towards the lift, dressed as a potential punching bag.  When they actually did make it to the lift without anyone attacking them, Harry couldn’t quite believe their luck.  His panicked jabbing of the lift call button was interrupted by a breathy voice behind him.

“Wow.”

Harry turned to see Malfoy standing next to Ron, staring at him in awe.

Ron turned to face Malfoy.  “Oh, hey, Malfoy,” he smiled, brightly at the other boy.  Then his eyes bugged out and he gulped.  “Erm,” he added, unhelpfully.

He had a point.

Bloody hell.

“Um, Malfoy,”  Harry said, trying not to stare.  “What -?”  He gestured wildly, trying to convey something.  He owed it to Ron.  Who had clearly lost the ability to talk.

“Oh,” Malfoy glanced down at himself and shrugged, looking embarrassed.  “Yeh, it was Blaise’s idea.  Apparently,” he blushed, “this is what The Chippendales wear.”  He blushed even deeper.  “Well, erm, at least before they -” Malfoy waved his hands around and looked very uncomfortable.

Ron just looked stunned.  There was a lot of leather.  And skin.

Harry bit his lip and tried not to laugh.  Oh dear.  He had a feeling his friend may have just been run over by the clue bus.  Harry started sniggering, he couldn’t help it.  Luckily neither Ron or Malfoy noticed.

“But you,” Malfoy, paused, gazing at Ron in wonder.  “You look amazing.”

Harry looked at Ron.  He was wearing a jacket that looked like someone had thrown up on it; a shirt that they could probably hear in Mexico; the silliest shorts Harry had ever seen (apart from his own); a tatty pair of Jesus sandals and white socks.

And Malfoy was looking at him with heart eyes.

Shit.

Harry was relieved when the lift arrived.  He pushed Ron into it, giving Malfoy an apologetic shrug as the doors closed.  Suddenly being hunted down by a rabid mob of patriotic Americans seemed the least of his worries.

Thankfully, by the time they got to Viktor’s door, Ron seemed to have recovered the power of speech.  Granted it mostly consisted of  “Whoa,” “Did you - ?” and “Meep.” But at least he’d stopped gaping like a deranged fish.

Things pretty much went downhill from there.

~~~

As Harry and Ron had made their way over to Viktor’s side of the building, it would be fair to say that Harry had expected some dissent to come their way (and possibly a goodly amount of violence).

What he hadn’t expected were backslaps, thumbs up, good-natured laughter and a whole new appreciation for self-deprecating humour.  And yet, that was exactly what they had got.  It seemed Jon had been right after all; Harry had been extremely relieved to have been proven wrong and for the first time that night, he’d actually began to relax.

When they arrived at Viktor’s door they knocked and waited.  It was opened a moment later by Viktor, dressed as a Blues Brother.  He immediately smiled goofily at Ron, who smiled goofily back.  Harry rolled his eyes behind Ron’s back.  Idiots.  Not that he had room to talk of course; Harry was starting to feel a bit of a prat himself, what with making all that fuss about their costumes.  Really, what had he been worried about?

And, then, Poliakoff happened.

And Poliakoff’s friends.

~~~

When they got back to the dorm a couple of hours later, the party on their block was in full force.

Harry couldn’t help but notice Malfoy’s hopeful look when Ron walked towards him in the hall; anymore than he could fail to see Malfoy’s disappointment when Ron continued right on past him, without so much as casting him a sideways glance.

Harry actually felt sorry for Malfoy.  Which was a bit of a revelation.  Seemed it was impossible to carry on hating someone who clearly thought your best friend had hung the moon.  Especially when your best friend had just had his heart trampled all over.

Viktor Krum was a complete shit.

And a coward.

Because there was no way Viktor didn’t want Ron.  It was fucking obvious.  And maybe, that was the problem.

Viktor had driven them to the party, Ron riding shotgun next to him.  Harry had been stuck in the back with Poliakoff, who had spent the entire ride criticising their choice of costume and accusing them of disrespect to their host country.  Which would have been slightly less ridiculous if Poliakoff hadn’t slagged off all things Western, and everything American in particular, pretty much constantly since they’d met him.

Unfortunately, the hosts of the party and every other guest there, seemed to share Poliakoff’s opinion.  Harry and Ron had been greeted with wide-eyed stares of horror on their arrival, and had swiftly been given the cold shoulder by everyone.  Harry would have preferred a few snotty comments to be honest, at least then he could have responded, but no one had caused a scene or made a fuss, he and Ron had just found themselves completely shut out.  Ignored.

If Viktor hadn’t been there, then, it would have been funny; they probably would have just laughed the whole thing off and made their way home.  But Viktor had been there.  Harry had silently vowed to kill Jon (in very slow and specific ways).

And then, Harry had thought perhaps it might not be such a bad thing after all.  In fact, this could be the perfect opportunity for Viktor to prove himself to Ron; all he had to do was stand by him and support him through this awkward moment.  So, Harry had ignored all the sour looks they had been getting from everyone else, and had turned hopeful eyes to Viktor.

Viktor had looked around the room at his scowling friends, and without a word or a glance at Ron, had walked away to stand on the other side of the room, turning his back on Ron and Harry.  Harry had seen the confused look Ron had thrown at the other boy, a look that had soon turned to hurt.

Harry had quickly grabbed a couple of beers, clearly no one else was going to offer them one, and had tried desperately to distract Ron from Viktor’s desertion and all the other cold looks they were getting.  Frankly, he would have preferred to just get out of there as quickly as possible, but he was damned if he was going to give the fuckers the satisfaction of thinking they’d scared them off.

Unfortunately, things hadn’t improved after that.  Ron, clearly upset by Viktor’s behaviour had been miserable, so it had been left to Harry to carry the conversation between them.
Occasionally, Viktor had cast them a pained look, but the bastard had remained steadfastly on the other side of the room.  After an hour, Harry had had enough, he had called a cab and got Ron out of there.

Ron hadn’t said a word on the way back in the car, and when Harry had tried to talk to him as they got into the lift, he’d just raised his hand in silent supplication and shaken his head.  Harry hadn’t had the heart to push it.

Then, he’d watched Ron walk past Malfoy, walk past everyone, with his head down and with his shoulders slumped and Harry found himself damning the day he’d encouraged Ron to stop moping in his room.  Some friend he’d turned out to be.  Ron would have been better off without him.

Harry walked disconsolately towards the beer keg.  He needed a drink.

~~~

Harry stayed up late, long after Ron had gone to bed.  Jon and his friends dropped by the party and Harry shared a few drinks and a smoke or two with them.  Of course, Jon asked how things had gone between Ron and Viktor, which naturally led to Harry relating the events of earlier.

Jon and his friends were awesome, calling Viktor, Poliakoff and the shower of shits that had been at the party, all sorts of horrible names and saying exactly what they’d like to do to them (none of it pretty).  By the time he’d gone to bed that night, Harry had felt a lot better about the whole situation.

He had hoped to sleep in late the next day, so when someone knocked at his door early that morning he was pissed as hell.  But really, why the fuck wasn’t he allowed to have a lie-in?  Just fucking once would be brilliant.

He was also surprised - Ron never knocked and Jon didn’t have to.  No one else ever came to his door.

Sighing heavily, Harry climbed out of bed.  He winced when his head throbbed in time with his movements and made his way slowly over to open the door.

“Blaise?”  Harry was shocked.  Why would Blaise be at his door?  Oh fuck.

“What’s happened to Ron?”  He asked, frantically.

Blaise snorted and pushed his way past Harry.

“Ron’s fine,”  He paused and considered the ceiling for a moment.  “Well, apart from walking around like someone stole his puppy.  But you and I, Harry, we’re going to change all that.  We,” he looked over at Harry with a huge grin on his face, “are going to be Ron’s fucking heroes."

Harry frowned.  “We are?”

Blaise nodded, as he settled himself on Jon’s bed.  “Oh, yeh,” he said, firmly.

Harry felt a little discombobulated (he briefly considered telling Blaise this, he’d always wanted a reason to say the word out loud).  Why was Blaise Zabini in his room talking about heroes?

“Harry!”  Blaise’s exasperated voice broke into his rattled thoughts.  Harry looked up and frowned at the boy on the bed.  “Blaise, what the fuck’s going on?”

Blaise grinned again.  “Good question, Harry.  I’m glad you asked me that,” he nodded to Harry’s bed.  “Pull up a seat and I’ll tell you.”

Harry wandered back to his bed and sat slowly down.  How he longed for those far-off hazy days when whole hours would go by without anyone barging into his room and talking bollocks at him.  He sighed and waited for Blaise to continue.

“Look,” Blaise looked serious now, leaning forward and frowning slightly at Harry.  “I heard what happened last night.  And I have to say I wasn’t surprised.”

“Hey, you said you liked our costumes.”  Harry said, feeling a little offended.

Blaise held up his hands palms out.  “I did, Harry,” he said, placatingly.  “I meant I wasn’t surprised by the reaction you got at the party.  I know a good few of the people that were there and they’re a bunch of stuck up bastards who wouldn’t know irony if it came up and bit them on the ass.”  He frowned deeper, “none of those assholes has a sense of humour, but even if they did, I’m sure Poliakoff had already primed them to react badly towards you both, whatever you wore.”

Harry frowned this time.  “But why?  I get that little shit doesn’t like us, but why turn everyone else against us too?  I mean surely, he knew that Viktor liked Ron?”

Blaise sat back, grimacing.  “Well, that’s kind of the problem.  While Poliakoff isn’t the most pleasant of blokes under any circumstances, he probably wouldn’t have been quite so vile to you guys, if he hadn’t seen exactly how much Viktor liked Ron.”

Harry wasn’t particularly surprised by that; after all it was what he’d suspected himself at the very start.

“So, Poliakoff really is gay, then.”  Harry nodded thoughtfully.  It all made sense now.

Blaise snorted loudly.  “God, no!”  He paused, chuckling to himself.

Harry let out a puff of frustrated breath and threw his hands up in the air.  “Okay.  I fucking give up!  What the hell is Poliakoff’s problem then?”

Blaise stopped laughing and looked suddenly serious.  “An old one, Harry.  Poliakoff’s problem is an old, but sadly, still all too frequent one.  He’s a bigot.  A homophobic bigot.”

Harry frowned in confusion.  While he could easily believe that Poliakoff was a homophobic arsehole, it made no sense that he would be friends with Viktor.  Unless…

“Shit.  Viktor isn’t straight, is he?”  Because, while that would be pretty hard to believe, what with all the inappropriate touching and blatant flirting with Ron, it would also explain an awful lot.

Again Blaise snorted, but softly this time.  “Oh, Harry, you really do have a gift for getting things completely and utterly wrong.”

“Hey!”  Harry complained.

Blaise ignored him.  “No, Viktor is definitely gay.  Unfortunately he is also so far back in the closet that Mr.Tumnus probably invites him to family reunions.”

“Fuck.”  Harry was thinking about how Ron was going to react to that news (and also wondering where he was going to borrow a ladder so he could punch Viktor in the face).

“Exactly,” Blaise said with a wry smile.  “But look, Harry, don’t be too hard on him.”

Harry looked up and scowled at Blaise.  Viktor had acted like a complete scumbag, why wouldn’t Harry be hard on him?  The shit deserved everything coming to him (even if Harry had a horrible feeling that the only thing actually coming to Viktor was having to watch as Ron cried over Harry’s broken and bloody body, after Harry and Viktor’s very uneven encounter).

Blaise sighed.  “I know you probably want to kill him for seemingly stringing Ron along, but honestly Harry, I don’t believe it was like that.”

“Oh,” Harry replied, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.  “How was it then, Blaise?  Please tell me how Viktor bloody Krum didn’t know what it was going to do to Ron when he found out that Viktor was too much of a coward to come out and admit that he liked him.  Or are you going to try and tell me that he didn’t realise what he was doing.  That he didn’t even realise that Ron was falling for him?”  Harry was standing up now and his voice had risen with his words.

“No, Harry,” Blaise shook his head sadly.  “I’m not going to claim any of that.  And believe me I’m bloody angry too.  I could quite cheerfully strangle Viktor for the way he’s treated Ron.  But you have to understand that the world that he comes from is very different to ours.  Bulgaria isn’t exactly known for its tolerance towards alternative lifestyles.”

Blaise frowned.  “Then there’s Poliakoff,” he practically spat the name.  “They’ve been friends for years, and while I’m sure that Poliakoff knows Viktor’s true orientation, I’m equally sure that he constantly whispers poison in his ear, constantly reminding Viktor of what he’s risking, of what he’s got to lose.  And always with the unspoken threat that any step out of line will be reported back home.  I happen to know that without the continued support of his family, Viktor will have to give up his degree and return to Bulgaria.  And believe me, Harry, if Viktor’s family find out he’s gay, then, they will most definitely withdraw their support.”

Harry sat back down on the bed and brushed his hands through his hair.  “I don’t understand it though, Blaise.  If Poliakoff is that much of a bigot, then how can he even be friends with Viktor?  I would have thought the little homophobe would be too disgusted.”

Blaise laughed derisively.  “Yeh, funny thing about that, Harry.  I’ve heard that he thinks it’s ‘just a phase’.”

Harry snorted.

“I know,” Blaise rolled his eyes.  “Heard that one much?  Poliakoff has told some of his equally bigoted friends, that once Viktor is safely married to Poliakoff’s sister, then he’ll forget all about his ‘unnatural’ tendencies.”

“Little fucker.”  Harry punched the wall behind him.  He was going to murder the bastard.

Blaise nodded.  “Yeh, I’ve got a few dents in my walls too.”

And something suddenly hit Harry.  “You like Ron, don’t you?”

Blaise looked confused, but also amused.  “Well, yeh, Harry.  Of course I like Ron.  He’s my room mate and a good friend.  I’m actually very fond of the miserable little shit.”

Harry shook his head and grinned.  “You do know he thinks you hate him?”  He said.

“I said I liked him, Harry.  Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy tormenting him.”  Blaise said, then started laughing.

Harry broke into chuckles of his own; he was really starting to warm to Blaise.

“Okay,” Harry said a moment later.  “So tell me how you’re going to go from zero to hero and win Ron over?”

Blaise smiled.  “Heroes, Harry, heroes. He’s going to love us both.”

Harry thought Ron already liked him fine, but then again after recent events, maybe he could do with currying some favour.  He sat up and leaned forward, ready to listen.

“Now, while I was hoping Viktor might prove worthy of Ron’s affection, I have to admit that I’ve always secretly been rooting for Draco.”  Blaise stopped, looking at Harry with a sly smile on his face.

Harry’s eyebrow’s crawled into his hairline.  “Really?”  He said, in an awed voice.  Blaise definitely had hidden depths.  “He’s been stalking Ron, hasn’t he?”  Harry continued, triumphantly.

“Oh, yeh,” Blaise grinned.  “Ever since the RA meeting the first week.”

Harry remembered that meeting, and now that he thought about it, he also remembered Malfoy walking out of his room with a snooty looking girl.  It had actually been really funny.  Malfoy had looked so appalled at finding all those people sitting unexpectedly outside his door.  He had immediately turned around and walked right back into his room, his friend following close behind.

“But Malfoy didn’t even come to the meeting,” Harry said to Blaise.

Blaise smiled wider.  “No, he didn’t stick around for the actual meeting, but he did notice Ron.  The stalking started very sooner after.”

Huh.  Harry was impressed, he hadn’t even noticed Malfoy looking in Ron’s direction that day.  He thought about Blaise’s earlier words.

“So, your plan is to get Ron and Malfoy together?”  he asked, sounding worried.  He really wasn’t sure that was such a great idea.  Harry knew Ron liked Malfoy well enough, and from last night’s reaction to the male stripper outfit, it could well become something more,  but he was also pretty sure that he didn’t want his best friend going out with Draco Malfoy.

Blaise shrugged.  “At this point it’s really just helping along the inevitable.  I’ve never known Draco to not get something he wanted.  And well,” he grinned over at Harry.  “I’ve never known him to want anything as much as he wants Ron.”

Harry frowned, noting Blaise’s surprise as he did so.  Well, fuck him.  Why wouldn’t he be annoyed at Ron being seen as just another ‘something’ that Draco Malfoy could acquire?

“Actually, Blaise,” he said.  “I think we should stay out of it.  Ron can look after his own love life just fine.  And maybe Malfoy will just have to get used to not always getting what he wants.”

Blaise looked nonplussed.  “But, Harry, I’m pretty sure Ron wants this as much as Draco.  He’s just been distracted by Viktor, and not noticed his true feelings for Draco creeping up on him.”

Harry was unconvinced; Ron had only ever talked about Malfoy as a friend (well, until his eyes had nearly popped out of his head last night, but frankly, Harry’s own eyeballs had made a valiant effort to leave their sockets too; it was just that sort of costume).  And besides, Malfoy was an obnoxious shit.  Just because he turned on the charm around Ron, didn’t mean he wouldn’t turn out to be the stuck-up little tit that Harry knew and loathed.  Ron could do so much better.

“Yeh, well, I happen to think Ron can do so much better than Draco fucking Malfoy.”

Blaise smiled and looked down.  “Ah.  Yes, dear Draco does have a certain way about him doesn’t he?”  He looked up at Harry with eyes sparkling with amusement.

Harry raised an eyebrow.  He didn’t think it was funny.

“Oh, Harry,”  Blaise shook his head.  “Think about it.  Has Ron ever mentioned Malfoy being an obnoxious little tit, with too much money and not enough manners?”

Well, Blaise knew the Malfoy Harry knew, that was for sure.  So, how come Ron couldn’t see it?

Oh, right.

Harry shrugged this time.  “Okay, so Malfoy’s putting on some sort of act.  Obviously trying to charm his way into Ron’s pants.  What does that prove?  Other than he can be a sneaky little bastard when he wants something.”

Blaise laughed out loud.  “Oh he can be sneaky alright,” he agreed.  “But he can also be fiercely protective of those he cares for, generous, funny and yes, charming. ”  He looked at Harry, suddenly serious.  “Harry, I have known Draco since we were kids.  I’ve seen just about every facet of his personality, good and bad.  Of course, he has his faults but I have never seen him so completely smitten.  He’s not trying to fool Ron.  What Ron sees is what Ron brings out in Draco.”  He started to snigger.  “Also,” Blaise said.  “His response to you, Harry, has largely been dictated by jealousy.”

Harry had been looking down at his carpet while Blaise spoke, but his head shot up at that.  “Jealousy?  Of what?”

Blaise rolled his eyes again.  “What do you think?  He sees you with Ron all the time.  He follows Ron to a bar (he nodded his head at Harry’s incredulous look - “I thought we’d already established Draco’s stalker credentials, Harry”) and Ron’s there to meet you.  He stakes out the shopping mall and you’re there looking at shoes with Ron.  You go to parties together.  You eat lunch, dinner and sometimes breakfast together.  Jesus, Harry, I’m jealous and I don’t even fancy Ron.”  He grinned at Harry.  “How did you think Draco would react?  At this point, I think he’s about one more encounter away from paying some one to make you disappear."

Harry’s eyes went comically wide at that.

“It’s okay, Harry.  I intend to make sure that the next encounter is one that Draco will be very grateful that you didn’t miss.”  Blaise stood up suddenly and walked over to Harry.  “Now, the question is, are you going to help me, Harry?”

Harry bit his lip and thought about everything Blaise had said.  He thought about Ron, about his face the night before when Viktor had walked away, the devastated look in his eyes as he’d walked back to his room.  Then, he thought about how Ron had looked every time they’d bumped into Malfoy recently.   How his eyes had lit up, and his smile had grown brighter.  Finally, he thought about the smiling, almost shy, softly spoken Malfoy he saw whenever Malfoy talked to Ron.  And he made his decision.

“Yeh,” he said with a grin.  “I’ll help.”

~~~

“Right, then,” said Harry, standing up.  “Time to go home.”

Ron looked up from his half-eaten ice cream.  “Harry, I swear I am going to stick this spoon somewhere you really, really don’t want me to, if you don’t sit the fuck down and let me finish this ice cream.”

Harry slumped back down in his seat and whined.  “Come on, Ron.  There’s a bus in ten minutes, if we leave now we’ll just make it.”

Ron reached over and hit Harry on the forehead with his spoon.  “Seriously, Harry, I will fuck you up, with, or without, the use of this spoon.”  And he waved it in Harry’s face.

Harry sighed.  “Okay, but hurry the fuck up.”

He watched Ron eat the ice cream and nervously glanced at his watch.  Blaise was going to fucking kill him if he didn’t get Ron back to their room in the next half hour.  It really shouldn’t have mattered what time they got back, as long as they got there before the party finished, except for one small but very important fact - Harry’s life sucked like a great big sucky thing that really fucking sucked.

Blaise had told Harry earlier, that he was going to throw an impromptu post-Halloween party and invite the whole floor, including Malfoy.  Harry had been given the task of getting Ron out of the room, long enough that Blaise could setup for the party.  They both knew that they had to keep the whole party thing from Ron; there was no way after the previous night’s disaster that he was willingly going to show up to another one the very next day.

It had taken a considerable amount of persuasion, but finally Harry had managed to lure him out with promises of unfeasibly large ice creams.  Unfortunately, they had walked right into Malfoy as they were coming out of the lift.  After several rounds of embarrassed sorrys and much awkward shuffling of feet, Malfoy had looked up at Ron, his eyes resting for a moment on Ron’s jacket.

“Oh, you’re going out?” Malfoy had asked, looking confused.

Crap.

“Erm, yeh,” Ron had glanced uneasily at Harry.  “We’re just going to get some ice cream.”

Fuck.  Ron was going to change his mind and go back upstairs any minute now.  Harry’s palms had begun to itch.

Malfoy’s shoulders had slumped visibly.  “Oh,” he’d said sounding disappointed.  “Well, enjoy.”  And with a last mournful look at Ron, and a narrowed eyed evil glare at Harry, he’d stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the seventh floor.

Ron had taken a step forward and looked like he was about to say something, but the doors had closed before he had been able to get a word out.  Harry had felt dizzy with relief.   Without any further preamble, he’d grabbed hold of Ron’s arm and pulled him out the doors and towards the bus stop.  Harry sincerely hoped there was going to be alcohol at the end of all this.

They’d been on a bus heading downtown, when he’d received a text from Blaise.

Wot the fuck did u do 2 D? he’s talking contract killer. get R back asap. not sure how long D will stay.

Seriously, Harry’s life sucked.

~~~

“Are you sure, Harry?  Only, mental health isn’t something to be taken lightly.”  Ron said, grinning at Harry.

“Fuck off, Ron,” Harry replied, deadpan.  They were on the bus going back to the dorm.

“But, no, really Harry, you’re behaviour has been a bit schizophrenic tonight.  First, you spend nearly an hour trying to persuade me to go and get bloody ice cream with you, and then, when I can’t stand your yapping anymore and give in, you can’t wait to drag me back to the dorm.  I mean, what’s up with that?”

“I told you,”  Harry replied, rolling his eyes,  “I just remembered that I had an essay due in tomorrow, that’s all.”

“Yeh, right.”  Ron didn’t sound convinced.  The bus pulled to a stop outside their dorm and Ron stood up and walked toward the exit.  Harry followed behind, praying that Malfoy would still be there when they got to the party.

When they stepped out of the lift on their floor, Ron turned to Harry.  “So,” he said.  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry shook his head.  “Actually, erm, I just need to borrow a book from Blaise.”  And he headed along the hall to Ron’s room.

“Really,” Ron said, behind him.  “I didn’t know you and Blaise shared any classes.”

“Um, no, I mean yeh.” Harry hadn’t thought this far ahead.  Luckily he was saved from having to come up with any further explanation, when they turned the corner and Ron was immediately distracted by the loud music coming from the open door of his room.

“What the fuck,” Ron mumbled, ducking through the door.  Harry followed warily behind.  This was where it could all got tits up.

The first person Ron encountered was Malfoy.  He looked like he was on his way out, but he stopped as soon as he saw Ron.

“Oh, you're back,” Malfoy said, and his face lit up.

“Yeh,” Ron said, and even from behind him, Harry could tell he was smiling.  “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” he went on, taking a step closer to Malfoy.

Harry’s mum had raised no fool; he swerved around the two of them and went in search of beer.

A short while later, when Harry walked out of the bathroom, he noticed Ron was sitting in one of the chairs in the study area, looking up at Malfoy who was sitting close to him on the desk.  Malfoy was leaning down towards Ron, who was leaning up to meet him.  Harry walked quickly back into the kitchen.

When Harry next headed for the bathroom, Malfoy was straddling Ron’s lap, he had both hands in Ron’s hair and was kissing Ron with all the pent up frustration of two months patient stalking.  Ron had his own hands shoved up the back of Malfoy’s shirt and was returning his kisses just as enthusiastically.

Harry decided he really didn’t need the bathroom, after all, and backed carefully away.

~~~

The next morning at exactly 9am, Harry walked into Ron’s room and jumped onto Blaise’s empty bed.  He looked at the lifeless lump lying under the covers on Ron’s bed and grinned.

“I know you’re awake under there, Ron.  Blaise just left, and we both know there’s no way you slept through the moisturising of the thighs.”

He picked up the rubber stress buster Blaise kept on his shelf, and threw it at where he thought Ron’s head was.

“Come on, you git.  Get up and tell me all about your new boyfriend.”

He sing-songed the last part in as annoying a voice as he could manage (he nodded happily to himself, he had to admit, it was pretty damn annoying).

There was a moment’s silence, followed by the sound of unhappy grunting, and then Ron’s head slowly emerged from the covers.

“Fuck off, Harry,” he said, grinning.

Harry grinned back.  He had a funny feeling the rest of the year was going to prove very interesting.

End