Fic: HP: "Much Worse Nights"

[daiseechain]

A few weeks ago I was trawling through my WIP folders figuring out which was the next best candidate to continue when I came across this.

It was the 'Author's Note', the first three paragraphs, and... nothing else.

The prompt, apparently, that sparked the story was the first line: "Ginny got back together with Dean their second seventh year."

Now, clearly I had some idea where this was going when I began, but along with forgetting where it was going, I've also forgotten when I began writing it - it's been that long since I started. Obviously the story has now become something other than originally intended, but I hope you still enjoy it Cassie.

Title: Much Worse Nights
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash, Gratuitous use of Room of Requirements, Not A Lot Of Plot
Author’s note: This is for cassie_black12 who needed 'more blond Slytherin' in her slash than my previous attempt. Hope this meets your requirements ;-D

Ginny got back together with Dean their second seventh year. Once the battle was over and everyone had some time to reflect, it became obvious that things weren't quite right between the two of them. It turned out they worked really well together when they were fighting, and if there wasn't a power-mad psychotic dark wizard to fight, Harry and Ginny fought each other instead.

Harry spent most of the last six months of school feeling alternately sick and glad. Sick that he wasn't with Ginny anymore but glad it was over and they weren't fighting. And truthfully she was happier than he'd seen her in a long time which lessened the guilt. Hermione and Ron were still happy together so Harry could at least be happy for them.

It came as a bit of a shock then, when Hermione announced she'd received a scholarship to Cambridge's Wizard college and promptly left Ron behind to pursue her academic career. Well, it came as a shock to Harry. Ron handled it surprisingly well. Harry figured he was probably in denial.

On the fourth weekend of trying to persuade Ron to join him at Hogsmead for some cheering up, Ron finally snapped at him. "Look I can’t come with you! I have other plans." And so saying he stormed off leaving Harry standing dumbly in the hall.

How could Ron have other plans? He and Ron and Hermione were a team and without Hermione there were just the two of them. Harry and Ron. Ron and Harry. Everyone said their names as if they were a run on sentence. And now it was just Harry?

What other plans? Since when did Ron have plans of his own? He wasn't seeing anyone, was he?

Though they had classes together for the rest of the week, they barely spoke. Their rift didn't go unnoticed by the other students but no one talked about him much anymore when he glared at them. In fact they barely spoke to him when Ron wasn't around. Harry knew why, he just preferred not to dwell on it.

He and Ron still sat opposite each other at meals, more from force of habit than any other reason. There were fewer older students than there had been in previous years and even when they fell out with each other they all still sat together. Safety in numbers, Harry supposed. There might as well have been a glass wall between themselves and the younger classes. The top of each table seemed to have a fugue around it, something that was missing from their hyperactive counterparts further down. We, Harry, would sometimes catch himself thinking, were never that excitable.

Another sleepless night without any conversation from Ron left him grumpy. Sod Ron. If he wouldn't divulge what was was annoying him, then Harry was just going to have to find out for himself. Waiting till Ron left, he stood, pulled out the invisibility cloak and threw it over himself. Looking down he realised his shins and feet were still obvious so he cast on it a lengthening charm Hermione had shown him earlier in the year. It wasn't permanent but hopefully it would last long enough to find out what the hell was going on with Ron.

Scurrying downstairs and through the common room with the practised skill of years of skullduggery, he easily caught Ron up and fell into step behind him. Ron was a bit rubbish at stealth really. Harry'd thought he would have picked up a thing or two over the last seven years but it was obvious he was trying to be clandestine. Then again, maybe it was just obvious to Harry, he thought, noting none of the other students they passed seemed to pay him any attention. Maybe it was just that he knew Ron so well, which bought him back to why Ron hadn't felt able to trust him enough to tell him what he doing. He was so busy fuming about the situation that he nearly walked into Ron, who had stopped and was checking the cross hall for witnesses.

They had to be getting close now, which was odd. If Harry didn’t know better he'd think Ron was heading to... No. Why would he need that? A few twist and turns later proved his suspicions correct; they were walking to the Room of Requirement.

As Ron walked toward the wall the door appeared and Harry panicked. If he didn't get close enough he’d be shut out, but getting too close would let Ron know he was there.

He was still frantically thinking through his options when Ron stopped halfway through the door, holding it open with his arm. "Well," he said, his head turning to look at the supposedly empty hallway, "Come in if you’re coming then."

Harry said nothing.

Ron shook his head. "I know you're there, Harry. I can hear you breathing, you daft git."

The cloak was in a ball and flying at Ron's head before Harry really knew what he was doing. "Then why didn't you say so earlier!"

Ron blocked the cloth missile with Quidditch reflexes and turned a half-grin on Harry. "Couldn't let you have everything completely your own way, could I? You'd get bigheaded if I did."

"Sure. Just call me Harry the Ego."

"Okay, Mr Ego. After you." Ron made a sweeping gesture with his free arm.

Harry folded his arms and stood his ground. "I'm not going in till you tell me what this is about."

"Out here in the open? Are you mad?" Ron shook his head. "Harry mate, this room isn't a secret for nothing."

Harry continued to glare at him.

"And it won't be for much longer if we stand around with the door open. I hear footsteps. Do you hear footsteps?"

Harry cocked his head, scowling at Ron. There really were footsteps headed their way, and Harry hadn't thought to bring his map. Grunting, he stalked past Ron and into the room, stopping short when he saw what lay ahead.

Ron shunted him gently forward, shutting the door behind them. He skirted around Harry and set about arranging items to his satisfaction. Dimly, Harry was aware of Ron lighting candles, and pouring what looked suspiciously like red wine. His gaze took in the crystal chandelier, while a part of his brain wondered what part of Ron thought that was a good idea. Mostly though, his eyes kept flitting back to the really large bed in the centre of the room.

It was a nice enough bed in it’s way, he supposed. Personally, Harry would never have chosen oxblood-red sheets, and he probably would go for a solid wood headboard; something minimalist, rather than the ornate wrought-iron job Ron seemed to suddenly and unexpectedly favour. And if he was going to decorate a bed with anything, which he never would, but if he did, he would be much more likely to use something like a woollen blanket for cold nights. He would certainly never ever adorn the headboard with manacles.

What he wanted to ask was, "Ron, have you completely lost what was left of your mind? This looks like something out of those bloody awful romance novels Aunt Marg would read. I mean, red sheets and iron head-boards, okay, I suppose if you really like that sort of thing, but a chandelier? Seriously? And what’s with the... with the... with..."

He settled instead for saying, "Gnfwha?", while running his hand through his hair, and knocking his glasses askew.

Ron grinned and it was a slightly evil grin of the sort Harry was more used to seeing on George or... on George. Not just strange to see it turn up on Ron's face, but also alarming. "You're not possessed are you?”"

"What? No! Of course not. Where'd you get that rubbish idea from?"

"The secrets and the grinning and the... all this stuff." He gestured toward the... stuff.

Ron rolled his eyes, lit the chandelier, and dimmed the main lights. A soft glow dappled the room, and the crystals hanging above the bed coruscated like diamonds.

A phrase of Uncle Vernon's about a 'tart’s boudoir' popped unbidden and unwelcome into Harry's mind. He shook his head. "So who is she then?"

"Who"s who?"

Harry shrugged. "Look I know it's been a bit weird for us both lately, but if you're going to tell me this is all just for yourself I might have to call Madam Pomfrey in to have a look at you."

"What a revolting thought!" Ron said.

It didn't sound quite like Ron. It did sound a bit like someone else, but Harry couldn't quite put his finger on who. He was still chewing that over when he noticed Ron walking toward him with a bit of cloth in his hands.

"Sorry mate," Ron said, sounding reassuringly like himself again, "but you're going to have to put this on," and held up the cloth, sounding worryingly unlike Ron.

"Then why let me see all this?"

"You wanted to see where I was going, didn't you?"

"Well yeah, but-"

"And now you have." Ron pushed the blindfold in front of Harry's face.

Harry struck it away. "Don"t be stupid, Ron. I'm not wearing a blindfold."

"And you're not watching us either."

"So there is an 'us' then. That's a relief."

"Of course there's an 'us'. I'd hardly go to all this effort just for myself, would I?"

"How the hell would I know what you'd do? You’ve hardly spoken to me in weeks!"

Ron lowered his arms and stared at the blindfold, picking at the hem. "Yeah. I suppose I have been a bit preoccupied. Sorry about that."

"Yeah, well." Harry scratched his arm. "Just don't do it again."

"So we're good then?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

"Great."

The chandelier twinkled. Harry and Ron looked anywhere but at each other for a while. Harry realised he could smell some sort of perfume coming from further in the room.

"You're still going to have to wear this, though," Ron said.

Harry flung up his arms. "What! Why? I thought we were good now?"

"We are, we are!" Ron rubbed his ear. "It's just that, well, my company won't want you to see."

"Well no problem then, I'll just leave." He turned and walked to the door - which wasn't there anymore. Behind him, Ron coughed.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry about that too."

Harry's head and shoulders drooped. "Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"How long before the room will let me out?"

"Um..."

"How," Harry enunciated through gritted teeth, "long?"

"Coupl'a hours?"

"A couple of hours! Are you insane? What the hell did you do to the room?"

Ron's face scrunched. "Don’t yell at me! It's the room's idea!"

"What's the room's idea?"

"It won't let you go until you've, you know."

"No, I don't know-" But Harry stopped short, a horrible suspicion forming. "You mean I'm stuck here until you and, and, and... whoever it is are, are, are... done!"

"Yes."

"Well bollocks to that."

"Yup."

Silence fell as Harry contemplated the awkwardness of the situation and tried to come up with a solution. Eventually he grabbed the blindfold and tied it around his own head. "You'd better know a bloody good silencing spell."

"Yeah, about that..."

"Damn it, Ron. What now?"

"I can promise you won't hear anything."

"Good."

"Only my other half won't be happy if they can't scream so I'm going to have to deafen you. Muffilato!"

"No wai-", but the sound died in Harry’s ears to be replaced by low buzzing noise. He reached up and ripped off the blindfold to get a good look so he could swing at Ron, but Ron ducked and the buzzing was so disorienting that Harry ended up stumbling over his own feet.

When Ron caught him, Harry shoved him away causing his friend to stumble backward onto the mattress. Harry subsided a bit. He didn't really want to hurt anyone, and it wasn't Ron's fault he'd been followed here. It seemed there was no choice but to wait events out. 'Where?', he mouthed at Ron, who frowned first, then, understanding dawning, pointed to a chair. Harry stomped to it, sat, repositioned the blindfold, then crossed his arms and settled in for a short wait.

After a couple of minutes it occurred to him that the wait was probably going to be quite long given that the other party hadn't turned up yet, and he slumped, straightening again as a shadow fell across him.

The shadow took hold of one of his hands and pressed something smooth and cold into it. Exploring it with his hands, Harry realised it was a glass. He felt the blindfold move a bit, blinked, and saw Ron peering at him. Ron made a drinking gesture with one hand, then pointed at the glass, which Harry saw was filled with wine. What the hell. He shrugged and took a sip. It was good. He gave Ron a thumb up and Ron let the blindfold slip back into position.

So here he was, blindfolded, deaf, stuck in a room while his best friend shagged some unknown bit, and all he had to pass the time was a glass of good red wine. He sipped some more.

All in all, he acknowledged, he’d had much worse nights in recent years.

He wasn't sure how long they'd been waiting when he noticed a change in the light levels in the room. Turning his head he could vaguely make out through the fabric, a rectangle of light about where the door should be. There was a shape in the doorway, but other than that Harry couldn't make out anything about the situation. The shape moved and the light from the doorway was slowly squeezed out.

Eventually a shadow fell over him again, then another. Small breezes wafted past him, confusing him, till he understood that Ron and the mystery partner were probably arguing about having him in the room.

The breeze stopped and the shadows departed. He sipped his wine and waited.

The sharp flick of his chin as he jolted told him he'd dozed off. He blinked groggily, wondering why the room was so dark, and understood with a start that it must have been the wine falling over his trouser hem that had woken him. In his stupor he'd let go of the glass. Grimacing, he reached down and slapped ineffectually at the wet fabric. A sudden sogginess around the toes told him he'd managed to throw wine over his trainers too. Sighing, he felt for the lace and tugged at the ends. Nothing happened. Tracing the lace, his fingers found the knot was now a sodden lump. He tried pushing at the ends of the lace to loosen the knot which got him nothing but resistance. Just as he was about to reach for his wand, something warm brushed his fingers and he froze.

Rat? Spider? What was it? Other disquieting possibilities occurred to him. Any number of nasty creatures had been loosed during the battle, and not all of them had yet been caught, despite Finch and Mrs Norris' best efforts. Whatever it was brushed his fingers again.

Another movement, heavier this time, slower, and a picture of what was happening outside his blindfold resolved itself in his mind. Not a creature but a hand. Someone was toying with him. They were slight, he realised; small hands. He frowned. Why should that surprise him? Whoever it was knelt between his legs which meant they were quite small, but that could describe any number of people at the school.

His pulse pounded. Who the hell had Ron gotten himself involved with? He couldn't believe that his best friend would be okay with this. Sitting slowly up in the chair, he frowned, just to show he wasn’t impressed. Ron was clearly off somewhere, showering or... or... um.

There hadn't been any smaller rooms when he'd walked in. No hidden entrances. He hadn't noticed any screens to get changed behind or furniture that might obscure a view of the bed, or the chair. Which meant... No. No, that just couldn't be.

Even in his own head the protest sounded lame. He hadn't survived this long by lying to himself. Ron was out there, on the bed probably, in full view of what was going on. Perhaps he was asleep?

Sitting bolt upright in the chair the back of his head thudded against something small, rectangular and metal; a belt buckle. Someone was standing behind him.

The room spun for a split second. Forcing himself to take in air, he tried to relax against every instinct telling him to run like hell. A hand rested fully on his shoe, and he fought the urge to kick whoever it was; he'd only hit them in the teeth and he didn't even know who it was. He was trapped, and he didn’t have the first clue who he was dealing with.

No, that wasn't right either. He did have the first clue, and it was Ron. Ron was still here. Unless it hadn't been Ron. What if had been someone polyjuiced up to look like Ron? Or what if Ron was lying unconscious on the bed? What if they'd duped him and let someone else in when they got the chance?

As his heart thumped and juddered, he felt strong hands pressing down on his shoulders. A moment's panic passed before he understood they just wanted him to relax a bit. Easy for them to not say, he thought, but with an effort he dropped his shoulders and was rewarded with the not unpleasant sensation of a finger stroking the nape of his neck. Crazy though it was, it relaxed him enough to help him think clearly for a moment. He could drive himself insane worrying about Ron, but they'd been through much worse together. He hoped. Ron knew how to look after himself, so for the moment he'd have to work from the assumption that Ron knew what was going on. The room spun again, so he thought about his wet clothes again, and what to do about that shoelace. Just as he'd gotten as far as thinking about trying a simple wordless spell, the knot eased, then undid itself. He wasn't the only one trying to deal with his shoes. His shoulders attempted to crawl up beside his ears again, but whoever stood behind him started running fingers through his hair and massaging his shoulder with the other hand. He'd never even considered how good that might feel. So good, in fact, that he was only mildly annoyed at being distracted from thinking of the best way out of the situation.

The hand on the shoe was joined by another, and together they undid each shoe in turn, then levered them off his feet. What if his socks smelled bad? Someone was down there by his sweaty fe... God, this was ridiculous. He refused to be worried that someone unknown, attempting to undress him, was put off by his socks. Too bad. He hadn't started this. And if he had, he would have made sure that he'd put a self-cleaning spell on his feet. Not that he would have. Because he didn't do this sort of thing.

Except that here he was, doing this sort of thing, feeling less and less reluctant to fight it by the minute. Freeing his feet of his socks seemed to be some sort of signal to his body, giving his toes room to relish the cool air on them and the ability to stretch. He stopped. He was not giving in to this. Let them work for it. He didn't just think that. He had to put a stop to this. A finger trailed from his hair down the back of his neck, setting off a shiver than ran straight from his nape to his knees and out through his toes. Strong hands moved over his shoulders, kneading them. They'd have their work cut out for them. There were knots there that hadn't loosened off since the final battle. Not even Ginny had been able to relax them.

He frowned. Ginny's hands were quite small. They couldn't get quite the same grip on his shoulders which is probably why this was working. Slowly, muscles eased under the influence of rough... Quidditch... fingers. Bugger.

A small memory hove into view, of the belt Ron'd worn this morning. He'd noticed it at the time; thought it was a bit smarter than Ron's usual style, but figured George had maybe sent him a gift. The buckle was small and rectangular and metal. Which meant it really was Ron standing behind him.

Okay, so Ron literally had his back, but who had his front? Who was on his hands and knees in front- The vision was so strong it caused him. There was someone kneeling at his feet, stroking them, looking expectantly at Ron, waiting for Ron to give the word. He felt Ron change stance slightly and knew instinctively that Ron had just given that word. Fingertips walking lightly up his feet confirmed his suspicions.

Once the hands reached his knees they pushed lightly but firmly telling him to spread his legs, then they waited patiently for him to comply.

He hesitated, breath tight in his chest.

Ron leant forward, arms wrapped round his chest, head resting on Harry's shoulder. He squeezed lightly, and Harry felt Ron angle in to nuzzle as his neck.

He didn't have to trust whoever else was here; Ron was asking him to trust his judgement. For almost anyone else the answer would have been an emphatic no, but Ron wasn't anyone else. There were only two people in the world who understood Harry as well as Ron did, and for them he would do almost anything.

He nodded and did his best to relax.

Ron let his arms slip from Harry's chest and stood. It was much colder without him draped there, but his attention was caught again by hands moving up his legs, the movements slower, more hesitant by the inch. When they reached the top of his thighs, everything - the hands, the room, Harry’s breath - paused. He felt a small charge like static, building under his skin and wondered how long he could hold out. Not long if they kept this up.

The hands withdrew from his legs and he drew in a huge breath, blowing it out again in relief, only to jump when the hands found their way to his waistband and his own belt buckle. Steadily the buckle came undone, followed by the clasp, then his trousers. Usually at this point he was scrambling to get his clothes off with lightening speed, his patience on a hair-trigger. This time was clearly going to be different. Obviously, as he had no control. Ginny had always been in charge, but she'd usually let him have some say in what happened. He thought of her red hair, then of Ron's. Um. That wasn't helpful. Should he say something? No, better to wait. If they did something he really didn't like, he trusted that Ron would stop things going any further.

With that he realised that he really was going to give himself over completely. Funny, he thought, the way things turn out sometimes.

Ron's hands moved back to his shoulders and resumed kneading, just a slight hitch telling Harry that another signal had been passed. With more confidence now, the hands at his waist began exploring. As nimble fingers stretched the elastic on his underwear he shuddered. When they lightly stroked him, he flinched and they paused before trying again. He flinched again, and again each time they resumed. One hand stopped kneading his shoulder and moved up to trace an earlobe. This time the shudder shook his whole body, as whoever was in front of him leaned in and breathed lightly. Dammit. If they weren't careful the show would be over before it began. He let his head fall back against Ron's stomach, and Ron ran a hand through his hair. Cloth moved at his waist and someone's tongue ran over his cock. He would have jumped off the chair, if Ron hadn't held him down by one shoulder and gripped at his hair. Another swipe of the tongue and he was engulfed. A shout he couldn't hear ripped from him and he felt Ron shaking slightly behind him. It took a second to work out that Ron was laughing. Bastard. He'd pay him back for that. As soon as he could think again. Gnh. Yeah, he could tell why Ron had been so distracted lately. Mmpf. It was a wonder he’d got any work done at all if this was going all the- Oh God!

Despite Ron's grip, the shudder nearly threw him off the chair as he was drained of everything he could give.

For the second time that evening, the reason for the fuzzy darkness was confusing, but this time he couldn’t summon the energy to care.

Lying down. He was lying down, which was probably just as well as he didn't think he could sit or stand just now. Had someone removed his bones again? Experimentally he flopped an arm against the mattress. No. Too solid. That must be good. Muzzily he tried rolling over only to come up against something bulky. A yawn that threatened to break his jaw escaped him, sounding unnaturally loud to his ears.

The spell had been lifted. He blinked as events returned to their usual places in a hurry. The bulky thing at his side had to be Ron. Quickly he rolled the other way, only to come up against a smaller, smoother body.

"Do you mind, Potter? Some of us are still trying to sleep," said a voice sounding horribly like Draco Malfoy.

He froze. "Malfoy?"

There was a yawning noise and then a sleepy, "Yes?"

Harry's left foot connected with something as he scrambled down the bed. His right foot caught in the cover and he tripped and fell, sprawling. It occurred to him it might be easier without the blindfold, so he ripped it off and threw it away. "What the fuck?" He demanded to know as he hauled himself up off the cold flagstones.

"Yes?" Malfoy blinked hazily at him, lying carelessly propped on one elbow. He yawned again, and licked his pale-pink lips. After a few seconds they curled up in a smirk.

Harry couldn't stop staring at them. "You bastard," he said. Somehow it came out sounding like 'How do you find the weather today?'

Malfoy's smirk broadened, then split into an impish grin. "You didn’t dislike me so much last night."

"I!" Harry cut himself short, blood rushing to his cheeks. "I didn't know who you were last night."

"You mean you've forgotten who I am?"

"No-"

"Then you were happy with any old stranger just as long as you didn't know who it was?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "That's not what I-"

"Ah. So you were happy with any student as long as it wasn't Draco Malfoy?"

Harry's fingernails cut into his palms as his hands curled into fists. "No! That wasn't..." He looked over at Ron who was still snoring, and swore at him. "Ron! Bloody hell! Wake up, Ron!" He kicked Ron's foot, but Ron just shook his leg, rolled a bit and carried on snoring.

"It's no good. Only food or Quidditch can wake him up at this point." Malfoy sounded unreasonably reasonable as he sat up and the sheet slid off him. Harry chose to look elsewhere. "Really? You're going to play coy now? Honestly, Potter, that puritan streak of yours will be the death of you."

"I'm doing just fine with it, thank you."

"Which is why you practically shot through the roof last night whenever we touched you."

Harry swung his gaze back to glare at Malfoy. "That's none of your business."

Malfoy just raised an eyebrow.

Harry sighed. "Well, okay. Maybe it is now. A bit." He rubbed his hair. "Christ. I don't know. Where are my glasses?"

Draco rolled over so that he hung over the edge of the mattress. When he rolled back he had his wand. "Accio glasses!" They landed by his hip and he shuffled down in the bed and handed them to Harry.

Harry grunted a sulky thanks.

"You're welcome."

Silence descended between them. On Ron’s side of the bed it continued to be punctuated by soft snoring and occasional snuffles.

Malfoy stretched both arms above his head and yawned again. Harry tried not to stare at the lines of blue running through the pale wrists, and the red chafe marks bisecting them, as he ran back through what he could remember of last night. There'd been the waiting and the drinking, and the dozing and the incident in the chair, and, oh god yes, there had been the handcuffs, and also um, something about a wand? God. What the hell else had they done?

Malfoy cut across his thoughts. "Yes, we really did, and we did the thing as well, and yes you really did that other thing too, and you’re welcome."

He looked - Hermione would have used the word debauched and meant it as an insult. Right now it didn't seem like an insult, it just seemed inviting. Harry shook his head. Now he had to deal with the two completely different versions of Malfoy in his head. The old insecure bully, and this new one. "Why?"

"Why not?" Malfoy shrugged.

Harry glanced at Ron.

"No, I didn't imperio, obliviate, or put any kind of spell on him. It was his idea."

Harry's forehead furrowed. "Oh come on."

"You can ask him when he wakes up." Malfoy frowned, leaned over and thumped Ron. "God. He could sleep as a national sport."

Harry snorted. "You should see him after a big Christmas dinner." He blurted before he could stop himself. As an afterthought he glared at Malfoy again.

"Oh what's that for? It's not like you didn't enjoy yourself."

The lie was on the tip of his tongue when he realised Draco had already seen right through it last night. "True. I just can't figure you out." Energy he hadn't had moments earlier surged through him and he paced at the foot of the bed. "I mean, one minute you're an enemy, the next you're seducing me..."

"The two are not mutually exclusive." The sheet rustled as Draco changed positions, hugging his knees. Something on the bed seemed catch his attention; he plucked at some minute particles, head cradled in his arm. "Anyway. You're one to talk. One minute you're hating me, the next you're saving me..."'
The energy dissipated in a rush. "That’s what this is about? You're thanking me by... by..."

"Sucking cock?" Malfoy frowned. "You make it sound like a bad thing." He peered slyly at Harry from the crook of his elbow. "Was it a bad thing?"

"Hell no."

Draco relaxed, clearly relieved, leaning back against the bed. "Then what's the problem?"

"Yeah, Harry. What's the problem?" Ron shook his head, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, then shuffled over to sit behind Draco, pulling him in. Draco squawked but made no protest. "You two could wake the dead."

Harry shared a glance with Draco who grinned and shook his head. "The problem is that Harry's having a morning after. You should be familiar with that." Draco leaned back in to Ron, and let his head fall on Ron’s shoulder. Harry scowled, rethought, and sighed. Clearly they were comfortable with each other. Who the hell was he to interfere?

"Besides," Draco interrupted himself to yawn, "You didn't have to stay. You could have left."

"There wasn't a door!"

"Oh, Potter you moron. Of course there was a door. How do you think I got in here?"

Right. The door. Of course. Hold on... That meant... "Hey! You could have let me out when Draco arrived!"

"No I couldn't." Ron nibbled on Draco's earlobe. "That wasn't the plan."

"Plan? What plan? That's right!" He looked at Ron. "You said you had plans."

Draco nodded, flinched, and batted Ron away from his ear.

"I said I had plans. Never said they weren't with you or for you though." Ron grinned.

Harry gaped.

"If you're not going to close your mouth, Potter, then get over here. I can think of better uses for it."

Harry snapped his jaw shut. Draco pouted and shrugged, while Ron patted the mattress. "C'mon, Harry. Come back to bed."

"You set me up," Harry grumbled.

Ron's grin threatened to break his jaw. "Yeah. How'd I do?"

"Magnificently," Draco beamed at him.

"Cool." Ron glanced sheepishly at Harry. "We still good?"

Harry frowned. On the one hand, he'd been duped and seduced by his best friend and an old enemy. On the other hand, he'd been seduced by an old enemy and his best friend.

"Hmph," he grunted. "Wasn't too bad I suppose."

Draco opened his mouth, but Ron smothered the protest with his hand. Draco settled for glaring at Harry over a freckled thumb.

"So," Harry said flinging himself across the end of the bed, "show me that thing with the wand again."

All in all, he conceded, he'd had much worse nights in recent years.