I'm not in Denial

Ron – Sweet Payback

“Are you looking for something, Mr Weasley?”

His ears were beating with such force due to his initial anger that the voice was barely distinguishable. His head continued to spin and his eyes were aching as they attempted to deal with the wild kaleidoscope of colours enthralling his currently weakened mind. He blinked repeatedly until they went away but all he saw as a replacement was Malfoy’s empty bed, and the very absence of that git was actually paining him as he put his finger gingerly to his throbbing, red freckled temple.

He was in utter confusion. Malfoy should be in that bed. But he was not. And Ron’s head wasn’t sure if it could deal with such a twist in its present condition.

Am I looking for something…? He mentally answered the voice. Yeah. A ferret-faced little something… Seen one about?

With a creased brow and a perplexed bite of his healing lips, Ron pondered in genuine befuddlement.

Where the heck was that stupid prick?

Not knowing that he wasn’t actually well enough to put that phrase anywhere but his inner monologue, Ron waited for a response, anger dying down as he simply scratched his puzzled, dizzy head and watched the unmade sheets in frustration, just in case Malfoy popped out from that tiny little fold in the corner there… However, hearing Hermione’s gasp and practically heeding Harry’s jaw hitting the floor, Ron turned his still flustered gaze to the doorway. He stopped in his tracks. There stood the object of his inflictions.

Malfoy.

All he saw was Malfoy.

And an oddly happy looking Malfoy at that.

Ron scowled, his face contorting with rage as confusion ebbed away immediately.

Yeah, he knew why the bastard was happy. He was happy because he’d put Ron in the Infirmary. He was glowing with the knowledge that he’d beaten senseless not only a bigger and tougher boy, but a Weasley at that. God, Malfoy was practically laughing at his luck. Laughing at the way he’d only damaged his knuckles. Laughing at the way he was going to tell the whole school what a sap Ron was as soon as they got out of the infirmary. Laughing at the fact that Ron had lost his memory of the fight when they talked last night. Laughing at Ron’s weakness. The bloody ferret-face was laughing at Ron.

The redhead knew the symptoms.

Malfoy had used them on him countless times in the past and he had risen to every single one of them, even with Harry trying to hold him back and Hermione politely telling the blond to ‘Sod Off…’ and today was no exception. Ron was going to get that smug little shite who stood there with not a scratch on his pale, flawless self. He was going to see the contrast of a swollen black eye and a fat purple lip on snow-white skin and imprint it into his mind. He was going smash Malfoy’s pretty little face and show him that Weasley’s may have been poor, but they were still twice whatever a stinking, filthy Malfoy was…

And by God, he was going to prove it.

The Gryffindor didn’t actually recall running across the room, but he knew that he had somehow managed, in his condition, to grasp Malfoy’s collar roughly and had slammed the pasty-faced git’s back damn hard against the nearest wall, causing both Harry and Hermione to simultaneously cry out,

“Ron… No!”

However, Ron barely heard his two best friends. His steaming scarlet and furious face peered in pure hatred at the utterly taken aback Slytherin as both Ron’s hands tightening their grasp around the collar of that darn ugly bathrobe he was wearing.

Just the look on Malfoy’s face was worth it.

The untouchable, cool and arrogant prick looked absolutely gobsmacked.

His normally narrowed, pale grey eyes were now wide and clouded with subtle alarm. His mouth was hanging slightly open in surprise, as though every cutting sentence he’d ever known had suddenly escaped him and he had paled even more than should have been legal. The boy looked like he’d been Petrified. And Ron was utterly delighted.

God, was that the way Ron looked when Malfoy had attacked him? No wonder the little sadist had looked so smug when he first walked in.

Unfortunately for Ron, it took only a few seconds for the Slytherin to rediscover his usual composure and Malfoy’s initial surprise was very soon replaced by a vicious snarl as he attempted to wriggle furiously from Ron’s grasp, hissing as the Gryffindor’s hands twisted tighter around his collar and pushed him further up the wall so his flailing feet barely scraped the ground. Malfoy jerked about angrily in the redhead’s mighty grasp, snarling and swearing but still managing to subtly look warily down at where his feet should have been resting.

Ron felt himself growing even angrier as he held him up with shaking hands. What was wrong with the stupid git? Why wasn’t he using his hands to push him off? Why wasn’t the slimy creep using his knees to kick Ron right where it hurt? Why wouldn’t the bastard just punch him again so Ron could punch him back? All he needed to do was to insult him and Ron would pounce… why wouldn’t he just fucking let him?

Ron looked up in scornful revulsion at the now taller Malfoy as the pale blond glowered down to catch his bright, incensed eye with his own feline slits, his struggles slowly ceasing until he was completely still.

It must have been hours. They simply glared at each other; both strangely out of breath and gasping for air.

Nobody moved. Not Harry and Hermione behind him, who Ron had completely forgotten about or Dumbledore, who the redhead hadn’t even noticed. And especially not Draco Malfoy, who was still pinned slightly above the ground and against the infirmary wall

The bastard soon smiled in faint malice.

“You going to punch me, Weasel?” The Slytherin shit rasped with a pained smirk, breaking the stony, prolonged silence. Ron took no time at all in releasing one side of Malfoy’s collar and swiftly raising that fist in the air, the other hand twisting tighter around the fabric without the support of the first as it successfully kept him above the ground.

“I should wipe that smirk off your face, you git!” He spat out in rage.

“You should be thanking me, Weasley,” Malfoy sneered, still out of breath though composed as his wicked eyes glinted malevolently down at the redhead. “I improved that ugly mug of yours.”

“One more fucking word, Malfoy…” Ron hissed dangerously as his hand tightened even further, causing Malfoy to grimace; his clenched fist, now shaking in midair, was held with enormous restraint. “Just one more…” Even going blue from lack of air, the Slytherin was still fighting for cool control and was absolutely driving Ron up the wall.

“How articulate, Weasley.” Malfoy struggled for breath but managed to smirk - how the heck did he do it? Why didn’t he just wheeze and splutter like everyone else? His arctic eyes danced. “Did that lump you call a mother teach you that?”

Oh, that was it. That was the final straw.

Without a second thought or hearing both Harry’s and Hermione’s cries, Ron punched the blond with all his strength in the gut then finally let his collar go, causing the git to fall lifelessly on his knees to the floor, clutching his stomach in agony. Ron had truly never seen anything so brilliant. He had never felt so content in his life but just then, looking down at a heaped Draco Malfoy, crying out in pain because of him. He even managed to smile smugly as he leaned down breathlessly, his palms flat on his thighs; Malfoy’s moans like a Phoenix’s song to his ears.

“Sorry, Malfoy. I got distracted. What were you saying?”

Draco – Not the face…

That stupid little fuck.

He may have been absolutely stunning but that wouldn’t stop Draco from rearranging his face… again. Who the hell did the Weasel think he was? Punching a Malfoy? And the best looking one at that? Draco looked up at him through his silver-blond strands of hair and growled, cradling his pained stomach with both hands. The bastard was looking down at him with a fucking smug smile, like a lustrous and luminous saint looking down at a common man.

The fucking cheek.

Draco was far from common.

Oh, Weasley was going to get it for even daring to think that he could take him on. He was going to break that perfect nose again and again and again until it would never heal and then kiss down on it so viciously that tears would spring to the boy’s eyes and pained moans would escape him.

He was going to wipe that smirk off of Weasley’s lips and teach him that the only person allowed to look so self-satisfied was him.

Draco grabbed the bare legs in front of him and pulled them so hard towards him that Weasley, completely taken by surprise, fell straight flat on his back with a loud thump. The Slytherin, though should have been trying to plan very un-sexual things to do to Weasley from his position, couldn’t help himself from stopping and appreciating the scene. From this angle, he could nearly see up Weasley’s robe.

Bugger.

Only nearly.

The redhead lifted his head up to look at Draco with a mixture of anger, confusion and shock. If he only knew the things that the blond was seeing in his head.

Hands really were such versatile limbs.

The Slytherin shuddered in slight pleasure at the imagery. Oh the possibilities…

Looking back on the situation now, Draco would berate himself for being so weak and for letting Weasley’s allurements distract him, because his lengthily pause allowed the Gryffindor to pounce and seize his pale, slender throat with both his strong, large hands.

Oh fuck.

“Want a piece of me, Malfoy?” The redhead growled, his hands tightening as Draco merely watched him, unsure whether to be extremely peeved off or very turned on.

Oh yes, please. Can I choose which?

Shit.

He was being distracted again.

Fucking Weasley. It was all his fault.

Scowl. Make a face. Show your fucking teeth… His head instructed and Draco readily followed as best he could as he squirmed under Weasley’s weight.

“It’s not like I couldn’t afford it, Weasley,” Draco sneered back spitefully, though he really had to work hard to get his words out. Why the fuck did Weasley always have to go after his neck? And who did he think he was by climbing on top? Malfoys were always on top.

Weasley lifted his fist again and Draco paled with sudden dread, shifting and squirming and trying to escape the larger boy’s grasp in almost desperation.

Oh shit. Not the face. Not the face. Not the face. He’d better not touch the face… He better pray for his life that he doesn’t touch the face…

Weasley hit the face.

Draco could taste the blood on his stinging bottom lip as Weasley hit him again, this time right into his eye, making it thunder with pain. He blinked back the tears in that one, blurred eye as he looked up at Weasley through the other. You didn’t need Draco’s intelligence to know that both hits were going to leave ugly bruises and cuts. He could feel the anger bubbling up inside him like Longbottom’s cauldron in Potions.

Weasley was dead.

With a furious hiss, he kneed the Gryffindor harshly with a sharp kneecap right in the groin, causing Weasley to squeeze shut his eyes, clench his teeth and roll off the Slytherin… grabbing said part of his anatomy and trying not to howl with agony.

Even wheezing for breath, Draco managed to get gracefully to his feet and pulled out his wand from his robe pocket. With his luck and current circumstances, he knew never to go anywhere without it. However, as soon as he turned to aim it at the lying form of the redheaded boy, several things happened at once.

Granger screamed “Ron!” to warn her friend.

Potter suddenly lunged at Draco, grabbing his waist and pushing him to the floor.

Dumbledore, deciding enough was enough, shouted out “Expelliarmus!” and caught Draco’s wand effortlessly with one hand.

And Draco had realised that, with his wand steady, that he didn’t actually want to harm the Gryffindor.

And it was the last thought that was absolutely tormenting him. Draco had no conscience… so why the hell didn’t he blast the boy into chunks of loose flesh? The Gryffindor bastard had touched the face. Ordinarily, the little redheaded fuck would have been a pile of dust.

Fuck you, Weasley. He was even affecting the Slytherin’s evil thoughts.

The irate blond pushed Potter’s skinny mass off of himself viciously, causing the boy to fall backwards and his glasses to fall slightly askew. Draco was tempted to do more to the annoying little Half-blood for having the gall to touch and sully him, mainly involving his fist and Potter’s face, but a voice that could make even Voldemort shake in his evil little boots halted him.

“That’s enough, Mr Malfoy.” He heard Dumbledore’s stern voice directly above him; the old man’s feet suddenly by his left leg. “Do not make me have to stupefy you.” He then promptly offered a hand, shaking his head softly, implying to Draco that he was disappointed in him. The Slytherin snorted but, reluctantly, took it anyway. He was becoming such a proficient in accepting help that it was beginning to fucking sicken him.

“I didn’t see you trying to pull him off me, Dumbledore,” Draco snarled as he was lifted onto his feet, still trying to get back his breath. Dumbledore wasn’t fazed by the look of pure venom as he shrugged slightly.

“Well, I did believe that expulsion should have been enough to atone for your sins, Mr Malfoy… however, I now deliberate, considering the situation we discussed…” Here he raised his eyebrows conspiratorially at Draco. “…That Mr Weasley at least deserved a good swing at you.” His blue eyes were gleaming with amusement behind his spectacles.

It seemed that the redheaded Gryffindor, still sprawled on the floor next to his best friend, had suddenly snapped out of his stupor to only to be forced into another. God, he was fucking sexy when he was completely dense.

“Expulsion?” Ron spluttered in obvious shock, blinking through his surprise.

“What the fuck do you care, Weasley,” Draco sneered, dusting the dust off his already permanently tainted bathrobe in an almost aristocratic fashion, glaring piercingly at the wide-eyed boy. “You and your Gryffindor camp can go and fucking celebrate now, can’t they?”

“Language, Mr Malfoy,” Dumbledore said in a slightly harsher, no-nonsense tone that Draco knew not to defy as he merely crossed his arms and growled at the headmaster. “And I suggest you had better knock on Madam Pomfrey’s door to wake her. You may need to spend even more time in her healing influence.”

Fucking Dumbledore.

And Fucking Madam Pomfrey, too. That stupid old bat. If she even tried to give him anymore Skele-Gro he’d force-feed her an Exploding Cracker.

He snarled again.

“Lucky me,” Draco hissed sardonically under his breath, then turned sharply, hitting a still trembling Granger on his way, and headed reluctantly towards the door at the far end. As he knocked in bitter anger on the door, he glared across the room to see Dumbledore turn to Weasley, who was still sprawled on the ground. What a nice image…

“Now, if you are finished being reacquainted with the floor, Mr Weasley,” The old man said as he chuckled down at the redhead’s still dazed expression. “I have an important matter to discuss with you in my office.”