Author's Note: Yes, I am a pervy R/D fancier. No, I will not get remedial help.
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"Bugger off."
Draco Malfoy's schooled features twisted into an all-too-familiar smirk as he glared down his pointed nose at Ron. The boy's excitement at the announcement he had a visitor had immediately dissipated at the realization of who it was, which led to the words snapped in fierce certainty.
"Harsh words, Weasley. How's the hand?"
"As if you care. How did you get them to let you in here, anyway?"
Draco paused to lean against the wall opposite Ron's bed, looking nonchalant. "Said I needed to borrow a book from you."
"And why would I lend you anything of mine?" The redhead's eyes blazed.
"Don't get excited, Weasley. I wouldn't lower myself to asking for something of yours." Draco sneered. "Besides, I wouldn't be so stingy, if I were you. Suppose I should tell Madam Pomfrey what really bit your hand?"
A low growl of warning escaped Ron's throat. "Malfoy, if you breathe a word-"
"Yes, I'm sure you're more than willing to describe your several methods of tearing me limb from limb in more than graphic detail. But honestly, Weasley, do you think you're capable of scaring me?"
"No, I'm threatening you for my own mental health," Ron replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Sometimes I wonder…"
"Don't strain your brain cell too hard, Malfoy."
"Madam Pom-"
"Shut your hole, Malfoy, I'm warning you. Why did you come here, anyway?"'
Cool grey eyes met questioning blue – and fell away.
A moment of awkward silence filled the room, disturbed only by the snores of a fifth-year sleeping elsewhere in the wing.
"Well, I thought it was quite obvious," Draco answered finally, mustering up his smooth composure once more.
Ron rolled his eyes and grabbed a book off his bedside table. "Here, Malfoy. Get your simpering Slytherin arse out before I change my mind and attack you with a ruddy giant green hand."
Malfoy snatched the book, scowled in reply, and stormed out of the Hospital Wing, his robes billowing behind him.
