Title: #7 - Invidia

Pairing: Ron Weasley / Draco Malfoy

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned specifically by J.K. Rowling. Those who produce the movies are merely pawns.

Rating: Mature (Only for language, really.)

Summary: Draco figures if he's going to hell anyway, he might as well make the most of his life first. A series of Ron/Draco minifics based on the seven deadly sins.

Note: Draco feels angsty and unloved, because he is just the essence of drama queen. (He should try out for Top Model, eh~ *le gasp*) Last chapter.

Word Count: 844

Invidia [Envy]

It's not like he was jealous or anything. Completely the opposite. Draco wanted Ron to have friends. He didn't want to be a nagging girlfriend-type bloke who latched onto every tender moment like the next day wasn't going to roll around. Ron would drop him like a potato sack if he was like that. One of the reasons Ron dealt with Draco was because of his ability to act completely indifferent to his charm, intellect, and extremely well-endowed set of freckles, all the while still managing to be the sweetest, most endearing main squeeze a guy could have. (That last part Draco avidly denied on a daily basis, but Ron knew better.)

So it was healthy for him – for a Gryffindor to follow his humble, if not slightly conceited instinct and bask in the glory that was the aftermath of a heroic accomplishment.

Nevertheless, Draco couldn't help digging his fingers into his goblet of pumpkin juice as he watched Harry high-five his surreptitious lover again. He ground his teeth and snorted a puff of smoke from his nostrils. (Figuratively speaking.)

Pansy sighed heavily. "Disgusting, isn't it?"

He didn't answer. She snorted. "I said-"

"I heard you, Parkinson." He tore his gaze away from the back of Ron's head and cast her a disdainful glare. "Don't you have to go and make some little girls cry, or something?"

"You wound me, Draco," Pansy replied dryly; studying her nails.

Over on the Gryffindor table, Ron laughed loudly. Draco sighed heavily and attempted to avert his stare. What he wouldn't give to be backing that heroic little ass into a corner and showing him how Malfoys celebrated their accomplishments.

Wait, that sounds wrong. Or does it? Draco closed his eyes. This bloody commemoration banquet was taking far too long.

"Stomachache?"

So much for a depressing three-second powernap. He opened his eyes again. "What?"

Pansy blinked her long eyelashes at him; her expression more or less relaying that he was a dimwit. "You look sick." She peered around the table. "Where are Crabbe and Goyle?"

"I am sick," Draco retorted. "And I could care less where those numbskulls spend their time."

"Really?" The Slytherin girl smirked. "Interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"How oblivious you are." She trailed off, looking at him closely as if he were a Potions experiment.

"To what? Honestly, if you don't have anything better to do, do it somewhere else. I haven't got the time." He waved Pansy away, only provoking her to lean closer and whisper into his ear.

"It's fairly obvious, Draco, that your mind is on someone else. And you are a fool if you think the rest of the world doesn't notice." With smug, knowing smile on her face, she jumped up from the table and sauntered away.

Draco's heart dropped into his stomach. She couldn't possibly...

Oh, fuck.

He was so busy fuming to himself, Draco barely noticed when nearly the entire Great Hall fell silent, apart from a few gasps and muttered comments.

Come to think of it, it was almost deathly quiet. Draco looked up and his mouth promptly fell open.

Ronald Weasley was sitting in front of him. Grinning.

On the Slytherin table.

"Oh, hello, Draco." Ron propped his elbows up and cocked his head to the side. "So, does this table have any food, or do you lot just sit around and groom yourselves?"

Actually, I'm trying to keep my girlish figure- Wait. Just. A. Minute. Either Ron was joking, or this was all some horrible daydream.

Ron leaned forward and whispered in a lower tone, "Draco, come on. Work with me here."

Or not.

"You can't be here," Draco hissed. "This isn't your table."

"Of course it isn't." Ron gazed into his reflective silver eyes. "I've never been one for rules."

"Yes, you have. Everyone's going to-"

"To what? Put two-and-two together? Because even if I go back to my table, I think we're a little past that. Don't you think?"

Draco twisted his lips together and tried not to smile. "Why?"

Ron shrugged. "Why not? I think..." He reached over and interlaced Draco's fingers in his own. Half the hall shrieked (mostly girls), and a couple fainted. Draco turned bright red. "...that I'd like to spend the rest of this feast with you."

"You...you..."

"Single-handedly destroyed any chances of our relationship staying a secret?" Ron chuckled. "Yeah. Brilliant, aren't I?"

"Merlin, I love you."

"Who doesn't?" Ron smirked, and Draco instantly knew that somewhere Pansy Parkinson was doing the same thing. "Now, are you going to invite me to sit next to you, or have I worn out my welcome?"

Draco finally allowed himself a smile. "Never. Come here..." He caught Harry Potter's eye a few tables over, and his smile faded. However, Harry merely nodded and gave a thumbs-up.

And just like that, even though no one knew about it, Draco's jealously was instantly forgiven. As he ignored the incredulous stares hot on the back of his neck and chivalrously patted the spot next to him, he felt a surge of happiness that would last a lifetime...

Note: Thanks for reading~