Complicated

CHAPTER FOUR

Ron smiled as he heard the common room frame open. Someone was here! Finally, relief from this homework, he thought. He had been working on the Transfiguration for hours, it seemed. Dinner was still far away, and Hermione had been nagging at him all yesterday and today to work on it, so he had started working on it after lunch. The idea of a relieving sight was like a gulp of water in a desert.

However, the sight that greeted Ron when he looked up did not relieve him.

Standing in the doorway was Hermione. She looked weary. Dark circles were under her eyes, and there was a rare slumping to her posture.

What horrified him most to see, though, was Harry. The boy looked totally ruined. His glasses were perched crookedly on his nose, the middle part put together with tape, and blood streaked his jaw and forehead. The dark circle around his right eye was obviously not from weariness--someone had given him a black eye. This was a bit relieving to Ron: he couldn't imagine You-Know-Who punching Harry; the picture was so ridiculous, it almost made him laugh. Almost. Furthermore, there were multiple gashes and bruises littered on Harry's arms, what Ron could see of them, and pink marks on the brunette's neck. And was it just Ron, or did his leg look a bit...twisted wrongly?

Before Ron could even say anything, Harry collapsed in front of Ron's very eyes.

Rushing over to his friend, Ron helped Hermione pick Harry up, and rush him to the hospital wing. Running down the hallway as fast as he could with one arm supporting an unconscious Harry, Ron asked Hermione grimly, "Who did this to him?"

"I don't know, Ron. Maybe it was Malfoy?"

It was only when Harry crawled into bed and lay down on his stomach, face buried in the pillow, when Ron noticed the worst thing: A word carved on Harry's back, colored the red of blood. It wasn't that the word was cut deep--just enough to draw blood and make it stay there--but rather, the word itself, and what it made Ron realize in a moment of horror. Hermione had been right. This was Malfoy's doing. Ron stood staring at the word for a long time, wondering...why? But the answer stared him the face, in the form of the word on Harry's back:

REVENGE.

Burying his head in his hands, Ron closed his eyes shut tight against the stinging.

It's all my fault.

~~~~~*~~~~~

"Knight to E-6."

Draco smirked. He would recognize that voice anywhere! And who else would be playing Chess at midnight in an empty classroom? Only Ron. The boy never got sick of chess, did he? He could play anywhere, any time.

"Queen to D-3."

Turning the corner into the room, Draco smiled as Ron looked up at him from his Chess game. His smiled widened as he saw the shocked look on Ron's face. The redhead sat at a desk, crouched over the Chessboard, his fingers hovering over a pawn. Draco almost laughed to see the bed head hair that Ron sported--that red hair was pointing every which way in an eerie resemblance to Potter's usual 'do. Mouth hanging open, Ron stared at Draco for a moment, before raising a quizzical brow at Draco and snarling, "What're you doing here, Malfoy?"

Sitting down at the edge of the desk, narrowly avoiding bumping into the chess pieces on the board, Draco sighed, saying, "Insomnia. I couldn't sleep, so I figured I might as well take a walk."

Ron turned back to looking at the chessboard, and whispered an order to the pawn his hand had been hovering over. For a moment, all was silent, and Draco surveyed the board before him. It was obvious to his eyes that the redhead was skilled--very skilled!

Both white and black teams had set up multiple traps; currently, black was winning. But one or two good moves by white, and white could get the advantage. Draco eyed Ron with respect.

Finally, Ron replied. Still looking at the board, he said firmly, "Why don't you go walk somewhere else, Malfoy." It wasn't a question out of curiosity, or a courteous request. Draco's pride kicked in. Frowning, he tapped at the corner of the chessboard, and said quietly, "I'll do whatever I want, Weasley."

It happened too fast for Draco to keep track of. One moment he was staring at Ron's head of unruly hair, wishing he could rake his fingers through the flaming mop, and the next, he found himself sprawled against a desk, Ron's angry figure looming over him, two large hands at his throat.

Draco gulped. He usually wasn't one to be intimidated, and had faced Ron many a time, but with his eyes blazing hatred and his grip on Draco's neck tightening by the second, Ron was fucking scary! Draco struggled to free himself from the other boy, squirming and grabbing at the other boy's wrists, trying to knee the other boy away. Nothing worked though. He forced himself to look up into the other boy's eyes, knowing already what he would find there: Hatred.

There was hatred in Ron's eyes. Hatred so pure, so strong, Draco knew even he had never felt the like. Ron's eyes were filled with it, filled so deep that Draco felt if he looked too long into those eyes he would be burnt to ashes. With those hands around his throat, nails digging into his skin, every muscle of the other boy's tight in anger, Draco had no escape.

The grip on Draco's throat loosened, and Draco found he could breathe again. As Ron stepped back, Draco closed his eyes, gulping in deep breaths of air. Damn, he'd thought the boy was going to kill him! Slowly, Draco sat up. He watched as Ron packed away his Chess set, that mouth turned down into a frown of dismay. The boy had spilled the pieces and wrecked his game when he'd gone for Draco's throat.

Feeling a bit guilty, Draco leant down to pick up a Bishop that lay on the floor. He leant down at the same time that Ron did, however, and the result was the two boys bumping heads.

"Ow!" Draco rubbed his head even as Ron did the same.

Frowning, Ron growled, "Look what you made me do, Malfoy!" Then he grabbed the Bishop from Draco. It was with regret that Draco let it go--his only excuse for touching Ron that night, gone.

"I didn't make you do anything! You jumped at me and wrecked your game, I didn't do anything!"

Both boys stood up to their full heights. Draco looked up at Ron defiantly. Those eyes were blazing with anger once more. His teeth grit, Ron snarled, "Shut up, Malfoy."

Turning away, Draco said, "Well, it's true. It's your fault. I did absolutely nothing."

"I said, shut UP! If you hadn't started being stupid, I wouldn't've gone for your fucking neck!"

"Don't blame it on me. You made yourself go for my neck!"

"DAMNIT, Malfoy, just admit you're wrong, for once! Admit that it was your fault, and that you shouldn't have taken out your anger on my friends! Why do you go behind my back and hurt my friends, why not face me like a man? If you're angry at being rejected, come to me! To ME! You...you didn't have to hurt Harry like that, damnit. You really didn't."

Draco turned around, and uncrossed his arms. The frown dropped from his face. Ron sat on the desk, his box with the chessboard and set in his lap. Draco couldn't see that face, but he could tell by the slump of the shoulders, and the droop of the head, that the other boy wasn't angry anymore.

Immediately Draco regretted what he'd done and said. Moving to stand behind the other boy, Draco stared at Ron's neck. What to do to express that he felt sorry for what he'd done? What to do to show that he realized he was in the wrong? He didn't want to say sorry, didn't want to have the other boy grin in triumph, but it was worse to be the cause of Ron's sadness. Draco was used to making people feel negative, to inducing bad thoughts in people, but not bad thoughts that were sad, just angry thoughts.

Draco was about to place his hand on the other boy's shoulder when Ron whirled around. Face contorted in fury, Ron yelled, "Not even a SORRY?! I don't even hear a sorry for what you did? Your silence is answer enough, Malfoy. You deserve this!"

A wand dug into Draco's chest, and the next he knew, he was blasted across the room. Too pained to be shocked, he lay on the floor, wheezing.

Before he closed his eyes to blackness and pain, he thought he heard a small, "Even if you aren't...I'm sorry. Sorry that it had to be like this."

~~~~~*~~~~~

Ron hobbled slowly into the Hospital Wing, cringing with every step. It had been a few days since Harry's recovery, and all was normal back in Gryffindor tower. Neville had spilt a few drops of his potion on Ron during Potions, and as a result, Ron's leg was littered with many burning, stinging boils. Sitting down, and feeling proud he'd reached the Hospital Wing to achieve such a feat, Ron waited for Madam Pomfrey to appear.

It appeared to be an unusually busy day at the Hospital Wing, Ron noticed. There were a few beds here and there, most with their curtains open--Ron winced to see the damage a particular two Ravenclaw Quidditch players had--and some with them closed. Ron looked up as he heard a sound of pain coming from the bed to his left; the curtains around the bed were closed, so Ron couldn't see who it was.

Ron sat still. He tried not to blink or breathe, so that the person who was grumbling and moaning in pain wouldn't know he was there: he had absolutely no experience with nursing, and didn't want to be asked for help and then make a mistake. Besides, he'd heard that if Madam Pomfrey saw a student helping a patient, she would make them be a volunteer nurse for a week or so. He didn't want to end up being one of them.

Finally, however, it got to be too much. The person was making a lot of noise, and apparently, whoever it was couldn't reach the bottle of medicine Madam Pomfrey had put on the bedside table. This caused them to growl a few choice swearwords than Ron couldn't help but grin to hear. Who but a Quidditch player could think of such uses for a broomstick?

Grinning still, Ron stood up and pulled back the curtain. As soon as he saw who it was, however, his grin dropped immediately. Frozen in position, he looked straight into the patient's eyes.

"...Malfoy? What are you doing here?"

Ron almost laughed, once he realized who it was. So, this was why Malfoy hadn't been around during Potions! How funny! There Malfoy sat, a gash on one leg, multiple bruises and scratches to be seen on him, a particularly nasty lump by his temple, and a bad twitch in his right eye, to boot. And here was Ron, standing there, with great opportunity to laugh, and nothing to feel threatened by for doing so.

But suddenly, looking closer, and thinking deeply, Ron did not feel like laughing at all. For even as Malfoy replied, "I'm sitting here wondering how many detentions you have from Professor Snape; Weasley, what does it look like?!" Ron, staring off into space, realized that the reason Malfoy was in the hospital was because of the spell Ron had cast on him a few nights back.

Ron jumped as Malfoy snapped his fingers in front of his face. He felt the rage begin to boil hot inside him, even as he stared at Malfoy. He was remembering what Malfoy had done to Harry. He stared, and stared, and wondered why a boy who actually did have the ability to be kind (which Ron had seen), and was intelligent, would be so stupid! Then again, Ron should've expected it, right? After all, Malfoy was a bastard; he lived to bother people. It was always the same thing, with Malfoy: the stupid Slytherin thought that he was better than everyone else, and could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, with no consequences whatsoever! Forget the night they had talked; obviously, the real Malfoy was shown on the surface, and all the good ideas Ron had considered and been told by Malfoy about Malfoy were lies! To think that Ron had actually liked Malfoy, the night they had talked; he had actually enjoyed talking to Malfoy, for the most part, had liked talking to someone new with a different perspective and with interesting questions to ask. That entire talk though, for Malfoy, had apparently been all lies. Malfoy didn't care what Ron thought of him, and did not have the ability to be a pleasant person.

For a moment, all was silent, as both boys glared at each other, fuming. Then, unusually enough, Malfoy exploded.

"DON'T YOU HAVE ANY RESPECT FOR PEOPLE," he yelled, "ANY CONSIDERATION AT ALL? I was about to apologize! I was silent because I was...I was trying to think of what to say! If you had looked, you would have seen the apologetic look on my face. What gives you a reason to blast that spell at me like that? Why can't you, Potter and that Mudblood of yours tolerate some pain, sometimes?"

Gritting his teeth, Ron managed to keep some of his temper in. He managed to. Just a little. The anger pulsed hot and quick in his veins, his knuckles whitened from being clenched in fury, but he held most of it in. Speaking quietly for as long as he could manage, Ron said, "Don't you DARE call Hermione that, you git! Don't you DARE! I'll blast you again; you bastard, if you dare say that, I'll blast your fucking HEAD OFF! And don't you even dare mention Harry, you little shit. I won't stand for that, no way! Now you shut your damn trap, you shut it tight, or I'll make sure you don't get a chance to even blink again!"

Why was Malfoy making a big deal about the whole thing, anyway, yelling like that? It's not like it wasn't normal, him getting a bit pushed around! Why, Ron had all the right to give Malfoy some of his own medicine, what with all the taunts and cruelness he had treated Ron and his friends to over the past six years. Malfoy deserved to get a bit hurt back, to feel a little pain! Besides, after showing a bit of kindness, after talking to Ron, the Slytherin had stabbed Ron in the back! He'd thought that he was great, hadn't he? Thought he could beat on Harry with no consequences from Ron. What a fool Malfoy was! Did he just think Ron would forget about that night they'd talked? That Ron would dismiss it as nothing, and go about like things were the same between them? If he'd realized that I knew something had changed between us when we talked, if he hadn't hurt Harry, it would be different now! No way, Ron thought, no way he expects me to just pretend it's all like it used to be. He can't expect me to do that! No! But then...why is he doing that? He's doing that. He's pretending like nothing happened. WHY?!

~~~~~*~~~~~

"OW!"

Ron cringed, rubbing the spot on the back of his head where the tip of the quill had hit him. Stupid Malfoy, he thought. I didn't DO anything! First, he tosses paper at me, then a rat's head, then a salamander foot, then Pufflurf slime, and now a fucking QUILL! What, is he three years old, or something?

That quill had hit him hard on the back of the head; the SHARP end of the quill, at that! And everyone around him, including Snape, had noticed it bounce off of his head, fly into the air, and land on Seamus's desk. But of course, Snape was predictably unfair. Drooping his greasy head and hook-nosed face to Ron's level, the Potions masters said curtly, "Five points, Mr. Weasley, for disrupting the class."

Ron kept his mouth shut. When Snape turned away, however, he grumbled to himself. Five MORE points? Already he had lost Gryffindor 10--he had spilled a few drops of his finished potion as he turned it in at the lesson's start, and later he had chucked an onion at Malfoy's head--and now five more! The lesson had only been going on for about 20 minutes!

Leaning down to pretend to take notes, Ron sighed. Regardless of all the annoyances during Potions and Quidditch practices--the Slytherins still tried to steal the field from the Gryffindors during practice time--he still couldn't manage to channel purely hateful energy and feeling towards Malfoy. There was still something more, something not malicious, that he felt towards Malfoy. He suspected that--although he tried to push the memory away as much as possible--his confusion had to do with the kiss Malfoy had tried giving him, that first night in the room, when Malfoy had disguised himself. Why, Ron wondered, would Malfoy do attempt the kiss and show affection, but then be a total bastard the next time Ron saw him? It had become a pattern of sorts--Malfoy would be his hateful, snarky self for a while, and then he would show his true colors for a short interval of time, and then he would go back to being snarky, and so it would go, on and on and on... Why couldn't the Slytherin just make up his MIND to hate Ron, or not to hate Ron?

There were moments when Ron glanced at the other boy, and found the Slytherin glancing back. Ron always quickly looked away. It happened so quickly that Ron never realized he hadn't even glared or frowned until afterwards. The other day, he had bumped into the blonde on the way into the Great Hall, and could have almost sworn a sincere smile had shown itself upon that face. An unusual lack of appetite had hit him afterwards.

Tearing a corner off his notepaper, Ron scribbled down:

Malfoy - you're still trying to scrape away those feelings with dishonesty, huh? Prat, you think I'm stupid or something? I see the way you stare at me. And stop throwing quills at me. I get the symbolism behind throwing something long and sharp and pointy at me, you dumbass.

Then he sent the note over to Malfoy. He couldn't stop a grin from lighting his face as he saw the shocked look on Malfoy's face when he read the letter, and the suspicious glance he shot at Ron as he opened it.

After class, Ron found himself pulled back into the classroom. As he'd expected, it was Malfoy. The other boy slammed the door shut behind Ron, and then pushed him down to sit at the desk across from him. Ron jumped a little as Draco stood up suddenly, a booted foot slamming hard against the floor. He realized that the Slytherin was angry. Not just annoyed, but angry - not quite furious, yet. Draco held up the note Ron had written, waving it in front of Ron's face. His voice loud in anger, Draco asked, "What the fuck are you talking about, Weasley? You babble on and on, and then you toss all these accusations at me, think you know what I mean when I do things, think you know what goes on in my head, but don't back up your theories with any proof except for your no-good, two-Knut-worth opinion!"

Ron couldn't help but laugh, seeing Draco. Those sharp gray eyes were narrowed to slits, that face paler than usual, those hands balled into fists in an unusual show of almost physical aggression, placed girlishly on his hips. Ron knew that the Slytherin was trying to hide the fact that part of the anger shown, and most of the external Malfoy people saw in public, was a fake. He was trying to prove to Ron that he was what Ron had once thought he was--a worthless bastard--because Draco felt that by being wrong (and about himself, especially), he had lost. Draco did not like the idea of Ron being right about Draco, even though what Ron said about who Draco really was inside was the only way Draco could get to Ron, could have a chance with Ron at all. Ron wasn't quite sure how he knew this, but somehow, he did.

Laughing loudly, Ron felt his anger at the other boy and at so many other things that had happened recently drift away. This idea that the Malfoy Ron hated was real was all in Draco's head, in his mind - it was up to the Malfoy to make the fraud, the lie of what he was like, go away forever. Only Malfoy could banish his demons, the concepts that had been haunting rather than gifting him, for years. It was up to Draco to decide whether to be honest with himself, or not.

Before Malfoy could make a move to punish Ron for laughing, Ron got up, saying quietly, "You know that I know you. You showed yourself, how you wish you could be all the time, to me, so I probably know you better than you know yourself, now! So, don't go acting like my opinion is nothing. What I say makes sense, and you know it. What doesn't make sense is YOU! Make up your mind whether you hate me, or at least if you want to go on pretending to hate me or if you want to give in to...to..." Ron took a deep breath, finishing, "To whatever it is you feel."

He walked out of the room then, without another word.