A/N: Yes. Back. FInally. Technical difficulties, and once again reality had to intrude. WHY does it always DO that?
Warning: Slash. Fluff. Humor of the dirty sort.
Dedication: Happy ChristmaHannuKwanziSolstiSaturnalia-ka to all and sundry! Also much thanks to Linn-chan, who very kindly allowed me to twiddle with the final line. It was originally in one of her lovely Fruits Basket fics. Thank youuu!
Right. Enough chit-chat. I am sleepy. Here is your story.
"Ron? Ron, are you in here?" Harry asked, sticking his head through the doorway of the bloody enormous pantry. The thing was nearly a third the size of the Great Hall. At least, the part he could see. It was probably bigger than that; a sense of space was about the place.
Admittedly, the sense was of an incredibly crowded space. The room was packed wall-to-damn-enormous-wall with sixty different types of bread, colorful pasta in interesting shapes, meat from every animal Harry had heard of, and more barrels of potatoes than Harry wanted to think about. Dried herbs of every imaginable type hung from the ceiling.
And that was within a mere ten meter radius.
Harry decided to give it another try, then continue his search elsewhere. The House Elves had reported seeing Ron go in nearly an hour ago. He must've left by now. The elves had once shown the boys a secret passage that lead to the Great Hall, right by Dumbledore's chair. Against urgent need, they'd said.
Also if Dumbledore needed more sweeties. For some reason, candy could not be transferred to the Hall in the same way food could, except during the proper course. Dumbledore did not like waiting for dessert for his candy. The old wanker barely ate anything else, apparently.
It wasn't exactly a secret passage, the elves had told him. More a servant's entrance. Which lead right from the candy barrels to the Staff Table.
Ron might be in the Library, Harry mused. He'd not checked there yet, and they did have an essay due the day before that Ron had talked himself an extra day to do.
Just one more try, he decided, then a handful of sweets and off to the next floor.
"OI! RON!" came the bellow.
"Wha?" came the slightly muffled reply.
"Are you stuffing your face? I want to go over some Quidditch strategies! You can eat later!"
"I'll be uh ih--" Ron swallowed. "I mean, I'll be up in a bit. Just let me finish and clean up, okay?" Ron called back.
"All right, fine. Common Room. If that's the bloody birthday cake for next week you've found, don't eat the whole thing, you great pig," Harry added in the odd, offensive sort of affection teenagers use amongst each other. "Laters."
"Ih no'. La'eh!"
Ron heard the pantry door close.
Well…okay, he didn't. He was otherwise occupied. A pale hand fisted in Ron's hair, the other holding the shelf behind a shoulder for support. The owner of these hands spoke then, amused, breathing heavily. "Cake…? How absurd. Quidditch…Ah-!"
A laugh. Or was it a choke? Perhaps both.
A minute later, Ron stood to face him, grinning somewhat sheepishly.
"Really, though, Weasley…" Draco said, gulping air, hand still entwined in the other boy's hair. He pulled Ron closer with his other arm, leaned in. He whispered to the other boy with a grin: "Didn't your mother teach you not to talk with your mouth full?"