The Respect of a Malfoy

"Ron! Really, what are you doing to yourself? Why...?" She lashed out, imploring him with questions, her eyes full of betrayal and shock. Her mind was playing tricks on her, demanding to know why she hadn't picked up on any of the signs. Were there any at all, a small voice questioned in her head, that could have let her stop it before- this.

"I'm telling you for the last time," a small smile curved on his lips, "I don't need help." He stated it as if his words were entirely, unquestionably factual. "Also, Hermione, I don't have time for this," he said gesturing around the dark, musty classroom they stood in.

The footprints left by Hermione's worried pacing could still be traced in the dust, short puffs of dust rising to ankle-height at her every step. She looked sharply up at Ron, studying him for signs of potential fallacy.

"I'm just-" Ron nervously touched his already loosened tie, closing his eyes briefly, and Hermione wondered what he could be thinking about so furiously, with such a strained expression on his face. She averted her eyes, as though believing she had witnessed something forbidden, not that she knew quite what it was. She reached forward, her fingers nearly brushing against the deep red blood running freely from his arm.

"Ron, I just want you to explain this to me. I'm afraid for you, and," Hermione fidgeted with her skirt, and finally looked up at him, "I don't want to worry if there's nothing to worry over." Despite what she said, the look in her eyes pleaded with him to tell her everything. He could tell that she would continue to worry about him until she knew that she, for certain, knew everything, and especially that it wasn't her fault in any way, shape, or fashion.

Ron arched an eyebrow at her. "Hermione, you're always worried about something. And this time there's no need to be. I'm fine," he said coolly, his bright eyes briefly making contact with her own before he brushed past her whilst exiting the abandoned room.

* * * * *

Of all things for Hermione to be paranoid about now, Ron thought angrily, it would have to be this. He quietly walked into his dorm, careful not to trip over any of the various items strewn throughout it. Tugging open the curtains to his four-poster bed, he smirked at the body stretched out on it.

"Move over," Ron hissed, pushing his bed partner roughly. Draco Malfoy rolled over onto his back and grinned up at Ron, who glowered at him. "Hermione had a right fit, thanks to your insistence upon carrying evil knives that like to jab-" Ron began his rant, trying to keep his voice quiet, for the most part unsuccessfully.

"My knives do not jab. They strike at those who venture too close," Malfoy simply said, eyes shining mischievously, a small smirk starting to form on his face.

"You're amused?! Hermione thinks I'm suicidal, or self-destructive, or-" Ron gesticulated wildly, something he did habitually when frustrated that his point was being missed.

"You probably are, to be spending so much time around me," said Malfoy, yawning.

"Well, it's your fault she's now going to be following me around twice as often, on the alert for any suspicious activities I might be involved in. You know what that means, don't you? She's going to find out-"

"When Granger finds out about this, it will be because I want her to know. Besides, it's been months, and she still thinks we hate each other," Malfoy looked at Ron as if he were looking at a first year Hufflepuff that had stepped on his shoe. "Not that we don't still hate each other or anything," Malfoy added after considering their situation for a few moments.

"I told you she could find me wherever I was, but you still left me to clean up the room! Harry'd loan her the map any day," Ron frowned, something Malfoy didn't miss. It wasn't the first time that he was worried about Harry or Hermione looking at the map while he and Malfoy were...entertaining themselves.

"Naturally Potter's completely smitten with her. Don't know why. You're much sexier. The whole sputtering, awkward, uncontrollable temper you posses is quite attractive, after all," Draco drawled in that voice Ron thought- no knew- was fake. He'd heard Malfoy, whispering in a quiet voice that Ron knew he wasn't meant to hear, late at night. It was a voice Malfoy had most likely forgotten he contained, and to use it instead of the drawl that was his trademark would have been a shock to all of the students that heard him. Ron knew it hadn't been audible to others for years.

As he lay entwined with Malfoy in a positively scandalous manner, Ron knew that his relationship wasn't one any denizens of Hogwarts would be able to understand, nor even accept; there were times that even he couldn't understand it as well. He knew Malfoy probably had nefarious motives for staying with him, that Malfoy would give him over to his father the moment it seemed like doing so would produce empowering results.

Ron knew the Dark perpetually called to Malfoy, its alluring voice mellifluous despite the harsh cruelty inherently tied to it, and that the Dark would take him whenever it pleased, too. Ron felt Malfoy running his tongue lightly over the wound he inflicted hours before, reopening the gash while simultaneously giving enough pleasure to cause ripples of exultation to encompass his body.

And, as he had thought so many times before and would likely think again, maybe he just didn't care what Malfoy planned to do with his- their?- future. At least, not now while Malfoy was spreading unbelievable bliss through his spirit. Not now when Draco, not "Malfoy", made Ron forget Harry's dark new secretiveness, Hermione's usual irritating brilliance, and the accomplishments of his plethora of family members.

For once, Ron had something no one remotely related to him had succeeded in achieving, the respect of a Malfoy. And that was more than enough to satiate him for now.

Finis.