Descent into Darkness

The Christmas holidays had been agony for Ron. He had managed to avoid Harry for most of the Christmas week, when he worked solidly on the Potions project that had been the cause of the argument in the library. Well, Ron admitted to himself, the actual cause is you going off with the enemy and Harry not even noticing. Thankfully he and Ginny had been called back to the burrow for the New Year. The invitation was extended to Harry, and Ron had used the opportunity to make an uneasy truce. He remained clueless as to the real reason for RonÂ’s distraction.

Ron had not forgotten Hermione and her face when she had stopped him in the library; she knew. It was beyond embarrassing; that he could have dealt with but the shock, the disbelief on her face betrayed a complexity of feelings beyond anything Ron wanted to understand. Seeing her on the first day back confirmed his worry. She was polite, but nothing more. Typically Harry failed to notice and sat between them in Potions, chatting amiably to Seamus on the desk in front, seemingly unaware of the silence between his two best friends. Under the pretence of getting another crystal phial from SnapeÂ’s bench, Ron glanced at Draco as he went back to his place, revelling in the familiar tingly feeling of fear and desire. Malfoy did not meet his gaze, although his mouth twisted in a wry grin.

As Ron returned to his place, Hermione met his eyes for the first time that term. She had seen his illicit stare. Ron looked away and occupied himself with his Potion for the rest of the lesson, the indirect result of which was an unusually successful infusion of wolfsbane and belladonna. Harry smiled in relief as they received a rare and much-needed good mark from Snape. Professor McGonagall had told the Quidditch team that despite their recent successes they would be expected to complete all their class assignments on time and to a high standard. Harry, as the captain, faced the double pressure of setting an example and spending extra time working out new tactics and strategies.

Potions ended and the 7^th years drifted out of the classroom, Ron was still shaken by HermioneÂ’s observation of his furtive glance at Draco. He lingered as long as possible, straining to overhear as Snape engaged Malfoy in an animated discussion on the rarer properties of alpine herbs. Although Hermione would loathe admitting it, Malfoy had always been as skilled as her when it came to concocting potions. He had an instinctive understanding of the complexities and qualities of magical ingredients and had a deft hand and calculating mind that was needed when combining them.

Ron was forced to leave when he could no longer ignore SnapeÂ’s glaring. He loitered in the corridor, pretending to be engrossed in a characteristically bizarre tapestry, which appeared to depict a unicorn having a picnic with a serpent. He heard Malfoy leave the classroom with the other Slytherins. After waiting a few seconds, he surreptitiously followed them. He kept MalfoyÂ’s blond head in view as he trailed them through the twisting passages of the dungeons. They turned a sharp corner and Ron waited a few extra moments before edging round the wall. The passage was empty, but the grating of stones as a gap in the wall closed made him assume that he had wandered, yet again, near to the Slytherin common room or some other secret place.

He walked cautiously along the passageway, examining the opposite wall for hinges or creases that would mark an entrance. Nothing. He leant forward, pressing sensitive fingers against the stones. Suddenly hands closed on his shoulders and with an indignant yelp he was pulled through a door on the opposite wall.

He heard the door click shut behind him as he was unceremoniously thrown against the far wall of what appeared to be a long-forgotten cleaning supplies closet. The torches flickered into life and he blinked against their glare. Draco stood with his back pressed against the door, one eyebrow arched elegantly. "Mr Weasley," he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "IÂ’ve been expecting you."

Ron pulled himself up from the pile of floor-polish boxes he had landed in and attempted to brush the spider webs from his robes, shuddering as he touched the sticky silken treads. "I had to talk to you," he mumbled, his eyes fixed on a particularly ancient bottle of Magical Mess-Remover.

"And you couldnÂ’t have owled me like a normal person?" Draco sighed.

Ron cringed, it hadnÂ’t even occurred to him. The silence stretched out and Ron dared to look directly at Draco for the first time in the year. In one swift assessment he reassured himself that all was as he remembered; the penetrating grey eyes, the delicate features and that sensual mouth. Right then his mouth was curled and the eyes softened as he regarded Ron fondly, "IÂ’ve missed you," he said simply. Ron smiled with relief and relaxed.

"ItÂ’s Hermione, she saw us in the library," he managed to say it without the memory paralysing him with fear, he was with Draco now, what could possibly harm him?

"So?" murmured Draco with arrogant self-assurance that on anyone but him would have seemed misplaced. He moved closer, his mind evidently elsewhere.

As attractive as the prospect of being shut in a cupboard with Draco Malfoy obviously was Ron would not allow himself to be distracted, "SheÂ’s going to tell Harry, sheÂ’ll have to," he exclaimed desperately, "Harry! What the hell am I going to do?"

Draco chuckled dryly, "Ron, if the twelve angry assassins donÂ’t get you, the paranoia certainly will."

"You shouldnÂ’t say that, IÂ’m serious." He stared intently at Draco, willing him to understand his apprehension. "HeÂ’s gotÂ… trust issues."

Draco shrugged, "What makes you think Granger will talk to him? Oh no, wait, forget that, for the expression of shattered disbelief IÂ’d tell him myself. Oh come on!" He exclaimed, seeing RonÂ’s eyes widen with incomprehension, "TheyÂ’re meant to be together. She just needs an excuse to get him while heÂ’s vulnerable. Standard operation procedure."

"No," Ron shook his head. "SheÂ’s not thatÂ…calculating. You make it sound like a conquest, sheÂ’s not into that."

Draco smiled wickedly, "Works for me."

"If Hermione tells Harry, then thatÂ’s it, I canÂ’t go back to Gryffindor."

At this Draco looked significantly more interested. "In that case, I hope she does tell him. You can come and live with us."

He said it jokingly and Ron responded in kind, "Do you have a spare bed then?"

"What do you mean, spare?" Draco raised both eyebrows insinuatingly. He was pleased to see that Ron had calmed significantly and would soon forget all about HermioneÂ… if Draco had his way, which he always did. He touched the soft skin of RonÂ’s face, "IÂ’ll sort something out, trust meÂ…"

****

Sometime later Ron made his way back to Gryffindor. Most of the students were at dinner but Ron wanted to use the quiet of the common room to start his Transfiguration essay.

He stepped through the portrait hole and went up to his dorm to collect the books and parchment. He headed back down and found Hermione settled in one of the overstuffed armchairs, reading by the light of the fire in the grate. She closed the book with a soft thud and looked up, her expression serious, "We need to talk," she said.

****

When Ginny reached the common room minutes later a crowd of Gryffindors gathered round the portrait met her. They were all chattering excitedly and Ginny searched for a familiar face among the crowd. "Seamus!" she called to the 7^th year that, like her, was a Chaser for the Quidditch team. The permanently cheerful Irishman pushed his way through the mob towards her. "WhatÂ’s going on?" she asked.

He grinned, "Thought you might know. Your brother and Hermione are shut up in there having the most almighty row. Colin tried to go in, but she barred the door with a locking charm. WeÂ’re putting bets on whoÂ’s going to come out alive."

"Hermione and Ron?" she asked incredulously. "Can you hear anything?"

"Well," began Seamus, keen to share the little gossip he had, "When Colin opened the door we heard Ron say, ‘I bloody well don’t!’ so he’s obviously in denial about something, we just don’t know what."

Ginny was intrigued but realistic, "TheyÂ’re best friends, it could go on for hours. Call me if they start throwing things. IÂ’m going to the library."

"Yeah? YouÂ’re probably right, IÂ’ll come with you." Seamus smiled genially and they began to walk down the corridor together. This, thought Ginny, I could get used to. Then Seamus stopped abruptly, his face strangely blank, "IÂ’ve forgotten something, sorry" he mumbled as he turned and headed back up to the common room.

Ginny hid her disappointment with confusion and walked alone down the maze of passages towards the library. "Maybe I just have that affect on men," she mused to herself. Out of the shadows stepped Draco, who began to walk alongside her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Malfoy", she said, both surprised and instantly suspicious, "What do you want?"

"Why, Miss Weasley," he said with mock offence, "YouÂ’re looking particularly lovely today." He smiled charmingly, "IÂ’d just like a few minutes of your time, nothing painful I promise."

Ginny laughed in spite of herself and allowed him to lead her into a deserted classroom.

****

Draco walked back to the dungeons whistling cheerfully. It was all going very well. He had persuaded little Ginny Weasley act as a spy for him, by the end sheÂ’d practically suggested it herself. With any luck she would fall off her broomstick at the mere sight of him, which was something he might use if the Quidditch Match did not go as smoothly as planned. And of course it meant that it really didnÂ’t matter if Hermione told Harry about how he had been corrupting his best friend for the past term. He paused, half-imagining HarryÂ’s face, his righteous disapproval. This time he, Draco Malfoy would win not Potter. HadnÂ’t he already snatched Ron without much protest? Plus, while Potter may be valiant and good, Draco, well Draco had style.

He stepped in to the study room, replaying his meeting with Ginny, marvelling at how the pure of heart were really the easiest to manipulate. "Infatuation" he said aloud, "is a most beautiful thing."

The fire flaring into life startled him. The head of Lucius Malfoy appeared in the flames. "Talking to yourself, Draco?" he said reprovingly by way of a greeting, "First sign of madness."

Really, thought Draco sardonically, I thought it was talking to you.

"Are you alone?" His fatherÂ’s flame-shot eyes scanned the room; "We have important things to discuss."

Draco felt the familiar dread associated with past dialogues with his father, "Like what?" he asked shortly disguise his unease.

"Your destiny, Draco. The MasterÂ’s ascension and your place in it."

"Oh, that."

To be continuedÂ…