Complicated

CHAPTER TWO

Draco looked up. He hated being distracted from his thoughts. It happened far too often for his liking.

Letting Crabbe know that he was quite disinterested in whatever the burly boy had to say, Draco shot the other boy a menacing glare. Not noticing, Crabbe repeated his question, saying quietly to Draco, "Draco...do you really want that toast? I think...I think..."

Draco smirked. The boy didn't think enough to have anything to say after the words 'I think,' which was a lie for both Crabbe and Goyle to say. But Draco let the other boy continue, nodding lazily to show that he was listening, however boring it was.

"Uh...well, Draco...that toast is, um...um...unhealthy, right? You don't want it, right? I mean...do you like jam? I mean, well, I like jam, but maybe you don't want it, 'cause jam is too...uh..." The boy's brows furrowed in confusion, before Crabbe remembered, "Oh! Right...unhealthy. Right. Jam's unhealthy."

Rolling his eyes, Draco shoved his plate with the toast on it towards Crabbe without a word. Then, he promptly rested his head on his arms, feeling his stomach growl with anger at the lack of food and the queasiness that ailed it. Ever since this morning, he'd felt a bit queasy. He had to admit to himself that part of it was nervousness at the prospect of seeing the Weasley boy at breakfast--problem was, there was no Weasley to see. The boy was absent for breakfast.

Draco had been unable to shove away his affinity towards the youngest Weasley son ever since he had first seen him on the train that day so many years ago. But, honestly, it wasn't just the red hair (which he definitely had a weakness for)! He wasn't quite sure what it was. There was a mix of feelings that made him attracted to the redhead. Part of it, of course, was simply male hormones; it was amazing how out of control they could get, and for Draco, who was used to being able to control himself, they left him quite uneasy. Not only was he uneasy in regards to hormonal issues, however, but also he was uneasy even just when nearby the Weasley boy.

Draco hated the sense of powerlessness that came with being nearby Ron. It took all his willpower to not lose his composure around the redhead, and often he blurted out some awful, quite horrid thing that was even worse than the original insult he'd meant to say to the boy. Blurting out was not a common Malfoy characteristic, and nor was being kind, but around Ron, Draco did one and always wanted to do the other.

Yesterday, he had done the other. He had been kind. And what had Ron done? He'd shoved Draco's hand away like it was a spider (well, maybe not spider, Draco mused, since Ron would shove one of those away in fear, not anger). But Draco supposed it was understandable that Ron would distrust him. After all, Draco had given him every reason to.

Draco had been prepared to meet the Weasley boy in the corridor, but he hadn't known that Ron would be running. Even then, rather than move, Draco had thought he could stop Ron. He had, but the consequences had been worse than he'd estimated: his head had hit the floor a bit hard, earning him a purplish bruise that was luckily covered by hair, one elbow had gotten scraped, and his overall body had gotten quite sore from the impact. He hadn't expected the Gryffindor to be so bloody HEAVY! It was amazing how the redhead managed to be so heavy and yet still stay in good shape.

And how appealing that shape was! Not only was there the red hair, but also Ron was tall, and thin, and stayed thin no matter how much he ate. That soft tanned skin...each freckle upon it not a blemish, but a speck that accentuated his beauty, and caused Draco to be curious--the freckles speckled more than the boy's face, neck, arms, yes, but how far down south did they go? Did they cover his entire body? A shiver ran through Draco just thinking about someday finding out the answer to that question.

A violent shove startled Draco away from his thoughts, and he stood up reluctantly. Frowning, he glanced up at the clock. It was time to go, but he didn't feel like it. Double Potions with Snape, who Draco knew wouldn't be upset if he was tardy. Sitting back down, Draco watched the rest of the student body moving out of the Great Hall, unconsciously checking for a glimpse of red hair reigning tall over all--it was a habit he was unable to break, after having practiced it for so long.

Nope, no tall redhead was in sight. Hefting his bag over his shoulder, Draco ran a ring-bedecked hand through his hair--time to go. The Great Hall emptied quickly, and he knew that if he left a minute later, he'd be a bit too late. It was a long walk down to the dungeons.

~~~~~*~~~~~

"DAMN IT! Why does this always happen to me? Why did they let me be late? Bollocks to this all, I hate Potions, anyway!"

"Ron! Ron!"

Ron looked to his left, and groaned. Why? Why oh why did Hermione HAVE to wait for me at the corner? I wish she didn't know me so well. I wouldn't have skipped ALL of Double Potions with the Slytherins! Just the first half...so I could sleep some more, maybe...or at least avoid Malfoy...

Ron decided to run. Hermione was already gone, and he only had a few more corridors to go through. Quickly running a hand through his hair, but knowing it was impossible to fix it now, he grumbled to himself. This was the result of getting up five minutes before his first class started: No breakfast, just enough time to get clean quickly and pick a pair of clothes, and start to put them on! So hurried was he, he hadn't even gotten a shirt on yet!

Ron didn't think he'd run quite so fast before. Okay, actually, I think I ran faster back in second year when those spiders were after Harry and me. Ron shuddered at the memory. Wheeling around the last corner, he managed to yank both sleeves over his arms, so that his shoulders were covered, but then...it happened.

The doorway to the Potions classrooms was directly to his right. All he had to do was slip on his shirt, button it, and dive in the classroom. But, of course, it didn't happen like that. It seemed that simple, but it wasn't. Just as he was turning the corner, simultaneously trying to put his shirt on, three other people were turning the corner opposite of him. Ron skidded to a halt a moment too late, and tripped over a stray shoelace just as the three others approached.

He fell hard, bag flying from his shoulder, books and parchment sliding out of it in a row like dominoes. Ron winced as the heard the tinkle of glass breaking--there went the new ink holder Hermione had gotten him last month for Christmas, with the Chudley-Cannons-Orange colored ink he'd liked so much. To make matters worse, his stomach groaned loudly. Oh, what he'd give for a snack just now! He felt he could eat a Blast-Ended Skrewt, so hungry he was.

Falling backwards was always the worst; Ron had learned this from years of experience in the 'art' of tripping. His large feet had given him trouble at first, causing him to stumble about like a madman before getting a growth spurt that made his big feet fit with the rest of him.

Falling backwards meant one had a harder time stopping the fall with one's hands. It meant a possible head injury, and a very sore bum, and most definitely scraped elbows. Ron received all of these except the head injury when he fell, but that was replaced quite well with the sting of humiliation.

Opening his eyes, he was met with an unwelcome sight: Draco Malfoy, standing over him. This time, no hand was offered in assistance.

Getting up quickly, Ron almost bumped into the other boy, but missed it by a hair, because the Slytherin took a tactful step back. The irony of it all hit Ron, when yesterday, Malfoy had been too close for comfort, as if he wanted to do just the opposite of avoiding Ron!

Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering in the shadows. Pansy Parkinson peeked her head out the door and cackled before going back into the classroom. Ron felt a raging headache coming on, even as he slowly finished donning his shirt, making sure to button every single one, this time. It had been a relief to be able to control his body after the years of clumsiness he'd gone through! Yes, he still stomped, but at least he didn't stumble! Stupid shoelaces...

Stuffing his belongings back into his bag, Ron hefted it over his shoulder as if it weighed only a few pounds, even though it noticeably sagged at the bottom from the weight. He turned around, about to give Malfoy and his cronies a glare they deserved, a glare that promised revenge, but the look on Malfoy's face stopped him short.

Malfoy was the only one not laughing at Ron! The look on his face was solemn, rather, as solemn as if he was attending a funeral. And indeed, Ron felt as if some part of him had died--and he wondered why Malfoy would mourn it. For the part that died, that shriveled up like a plant without sunlight, was Ron's conviction--his conviction that, no matter what, Malfoy was evil and had no good intentions, or if it ever seemed he did, they were never genuine.

Staring into that face though, his gaze the only shovels that had struck gold, struck truth, discovered anything at all in the tunnels of Malfoy's piercing eyes, Ron felt doubtful. Perhaps Malfoy wasn't all that bad? Perhaps he did have the ability to be kind? Maybe, just because he liked green, just because he was under the flag of the serpent, didn't mean anything. After all, no matter what colors he wore, Malfoy would always be just that: Malfoy. A person.

Shaking his head, Ron walked into the classroom, wondering if he even knew who Malfoy was anymore.

~~~~~*~~~~~

Draco licked his lips, tipping back his head to swallow the cure for his dry throat--a goblet of pumpkin juice. Smiling, he leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head as a pillow. He closed his eyes, feeling if he were a cat that he would purr.

The morning had been delightful, once breakfast was over. It was with surprise that Draco had seen Weasley jet around the corner, even though the redhead being late to Potions was a normal occurrence. He hadn't expected to have such an opportunity--to be able to lay his eyes on such a feast!

Never had Draco seen the Weasley boy so exposed, literally or figuratively. In those precious moments, in which Draco stood over Ron, looking at him, he had seen more of the Weasley boy, deeper into that soul, than he ever had before. There was a multitude of words and feelings to be found in Ron's face. Each part of it had its own meaning, its own hidden secrets, it words and feeling expressed and not expressed, seen and unseen. Draco had never known Ron's face, his soul, had so much depth to it.

Somehow, Draco had found the only thing he'd been able to compare that face to was a gift box. It was simple, perhaps even plain, on the outside, but truly beautiful on the inside, by the good intention behind the handing of the box from one to another, by the love the gift inside the box represented. Inside that soul, deep within, expressed most strongly by Ron's face when he had fallen, because it was a moment where he had bared his weaknesses, Draco had seen many emotions, many things he had never imagined the redhead could contain. Upon that face, all the mysteries of Ronald Weasley were etched.

In that mouth, full, pink, pouting, Draco had seen anger--the wrath that Draco was so familiar with, a strong emotion the boy had difficulty reigning in. Atop slender brows, well situated, had sat ambition, determination--a willpower, and a passion that Draco had always been fascinated with, and never stopped wondering what made it immortal. No matter what happened, Ron always fought for whom he loved, and what he believed in, or what he wanted. The Gryffindor never stopping fighting until he got what he wanted. This was a quality of his that Draco admired.

And in those cheekbones--slender, gentle curves, the structure of a well-formed young man, Draco had seen tenderness. There was the fondness, the love that Ron showed by his passion for people and his beliefs, by his unbreakable defense of those whom he held dear. But this love was also the love that rarely ever showed itself in any form that could be called gentle.

Draco saw all this, and multitudes more, in every curve and plane of Ron's face. And when Ron had opened his eyes, Draco had seen each of the many emotions and mysterious threads that made up the web of Ron's experiences and life, which formed Ron into the person he was. It had awed Draco, and made him even surer that if there were anyone he would fight to get, to understand, to be close to, it was Ron Weasley. Fate had rolled the dice, and there was no picking them up. It was too late to turn back.

But how could Draco possibly make Ron understand all of this? He felt so much, he wasn't sure he even understood it, so how could Ron understand it?

He decided the first step was making Ron trust him, making Ron see that he was more than enemy, more than a Slytherin, more than a devilish serpent whose fangs could deliver the bite of death.