What are you?

Fly With Me

When Ron heard the usual tapping on his window that he had grown all-to fond of he practically threw himself out of bed. He didn't care that he was dressed head to toe in his pj's, or even that Harry was snoring right across from him (which was odd considering that it was typically the other way around). He opened the window lightly, taking up the black parchment in his hands and patting the messenger on its head. He made sure to be quiet, avoiding the creaky floorboards, and staying as far away from Harry as possible. Because, if he had to make up one more lie he was sure that he would explode. He opened the letter, reading it's contents with a vehemence that purely shocked him.

Dear Ron,

Sorry that it took me until this time to answer your letter, although I'm sure you have less interesting things to spend your time doing. Did you know that you were wearing your tie backwards today? I know I should have told you during our session, but I thought it was too hilarious to bring up. Also, you like my poetry? I must say I am quite shocked, I didn't think you of all people to be fond of literature. I'll leave you with one here.

Hazel is the only thing I see

For your eyes, on mine

Is but a delicacy worthy

Of a thousand hungry knights

Chanting for sustenance.

You must know, because I

Must tell you that you are really

Quite an angel. And, it pains

Me so to watch the tenderness

With which you look at things.

Because, hazel, hazel is the only

Thing I see.

Meet me at the quidditch pitch, right now . . . oh, and bring your broom.

Yours, Draco

___

Ron did just as he asked, sneaking through his door with his broom in his pink-toned hand. He had changed in a thick sweater and a pair of trousers, his typical outfit of choice when he was home. He tried to avoid the paintings leering at him as best as he could, and fight the rising fear that Harry was watching his whereabouts on the Marauder's Map. To be honest, Ron hadn't a clue what he was doing. It seemed lately as if he never did.

The Lavender-business was one thing, the lying to Harry was another. But now, he was sneaking out at night. And, to meet whom you may ask? Draco bloody Malfoy. Where had his life gone so horribly wrong?

And that was just the thing too, Ron liked it. He liked being near Draco, he liked talking to him, and hearing his ridiculous insults, and hearing his breathing, and staring into his eyes. He liked how it felt when he was being held by him, and he was whispering into his ear. Was there something wrong with him? There absolutely had to be.

Because no one in their sain, coherent mind would feel what he was feeling. At least, that's what he thought. When he walked outside, the freezing air struck him like a blow to the face. He felt his entire body go cold with the chill of the wind, and he could see his breath like a puff of smoke in front of him. He had seriously underdressed. "Finally, I've been here for an hour!"

Draco said, walking up to him in a thick coat, accompanied by a hat and gloves. Ron stood there shivering, his arms becoming engrossed by goose-bumps. He was sure that if he looked in a mirror he would have seen his lips turning purple. "Hey, what's wrong?" Draco asked, suddenly concerned at his lack of non-chattery words.