Sorry, this ones a little short! You'd be amazed by the massive number of swear words in the last 20 reviews all directed at Ron, and encouraging Draco to "KICK HIS FUCKING ASS IN!". I couldn't agree more, of course.

The big secret is coming up. A few of you have guessed it (none of you have exactly figured it out, but some have come close). So, can anyone tell me: What do you think is causing Ronald Weasley to act like a total dickface?

Anyway, thank you guys so much for all the reviews. I would really love to see another batch like the one I just got. So many of you took the time out of your day to review for little old me, and it made me so happy!

ON WITH THE ASS KICKING OF RONALD WEASLEY! GO DRACO, GO!

-Icyou

Weasley roared violently as he sent his balled up fist into Malfoy's perfectly straight nose, leaving it crooked and with drops of crimson blood dribbling down from his nostrils. Draco snarled in rage. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione's horror stricken face as his fist soared through the air, landing squarely in Weasely's eye. He hoped it would be bruised and black by morning.

"Stop it, Malfoy!" Granger gasped.

Not for every single galleon in this world, mudblood... Draco thought silently to himself as he continued on with his fight.

This had nothing to do with Hermione Granger. This was a matter of Draco's pride. He wasn't about to let someone insult him like that without paying a price. If protecting her was one of the inadvertent results brought upon by kicking Ronald Weasley's ass, then so be it, but defending her still wasn't at the top of his priority list. Though, he didn't mind saving her a beating or two. Despite her loathsomeness, she didn't deserve any of that shit. Especially not from a despicable git like Ronald Weasley.

Perhaps, it was the look in the Weasel's eyes that compelled him into action. Something in their depths reminded him of his own father, and his lost childhood. This wasn't for Hermione. It wasn't even for Draco. No, this was for Patches, and Draco's lost innocence.

He knew, of course, that the man he was kicking the living shit out of wasn't his father in any way shape or form. But beating this abusive little fucker's ass in would probably be the closest he'd ever get to even scratching his father... the look in his eyes... it was just so similar. The eyes of an abusive bastard with nothing to live for but causing suffering.

The feel of Ron Weasley's tender flesh meeting his violent fist was an unbelievable sensation. This wasn't a classy wizard's duel, or a fiery argument. This was something else entirely. This was a fight. A hand to hand, toe to toe, nose to nose, battle of pure strength. It was bloody and gruesome and the most beautiful act of violence that Draco had ever known.

It felt like he was getting revenge for himself, for all the years of indignities he himself had suffered, for his beloved dog, and the three mudblooded girls that hadn't deserved their destinies. For all the little things that no one else would ever know about, and for all the things that Weasley had absolutely nothing to do with. Draco glanced over to Granger, and knew that even if he hadn't set out for it to be, this was her revenge to, the revenge that she never wanted.

The two sparring men didn't say a word, make a sound, even yelp in pain when blow upon blow hit them. They just hit, kicked, scratched, spat, and bit. It was the battle of two primal animals locked in a life or death struggle that no one on the outside would ever be able to comprehend, except, perhaps Hermione Granger. But not even she, Draco thought to himself, would ever fully be able to understand.

Sometimes Draco's secrets were things that he tried to hide from even himself. All the atrocities that he had personally witnessed or played part in. Sure, he was a pretty heartless bastard himself, but someone even more heartless than him had made him that way. It wasn't his fault.

It was over in just a few minutes. Weasley was larger than the Slytherin, but his size was nothing but a vulnerability when facing an opponent such as Draco. It impeded his motion and kept him always a little out of balance, whereas Draco was lithe and speedy, with the precession of a striking viper unlike the lumbering lion.

Draco clocked him as hard as he could on his red haired noggin, sending him flying to the floor. The victor huffed and puffed, exhausted but triumphant.

Granger rushed to an unconscious Weasley's side, blood dripping out of his mouth, and tears flowing from her eyes.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, MALFOY? Why would you do this?" Granger gritted her teeth and turned to face him.

"He insulted me and antagonized me."

"That's no excuse for this level of violence!"

"May I remind you, that in our third you punched me in the nose for calling you a mudblood."

"That was different!"

"How so, Granger? Enlighten me with your wisdom." Draco smirked sarcastically.

Hermione Granger trembled, shaking, as she glared at him.

"The difference is that we were CHILDREN then. I've grown up! I'm past the petty insults and even pettier violence! I've become a fucking adult! But I guess that's expecting too much from someone like you, you bloody git!"

"I have grown up as well, Granger. And despite what you say about being an adult, you still cry and shiver like a little girl, a victim, nothing more. The difference between a child and an adult is the ability to stand up for yourself. I can obviously do a much better job on that front than you can, mudblood." Draco obnoxiously drawled.

With a blank, mechanical look on her face, Granger padded towards him. He made no move to back away, or move take action towards her. He merely stared at her, quirking an eyebrow, wondering what she was planning. She got so close to him their toes met each other, and their noses brushed. He found himself strangely not repulsed by her close proximity, nor disgusted by her mudblood stench. He'd never been near enough to smell her before. He'd always assumed it would be nasty, like feces or wet dog. He'd been wrong... as he inhaled deeply he couldn't help but notice the difference between his expectations and reality. She didn't smell like a pig pen or sewage pipe or even rotten eggs. Her aroma was more vanilla, lavender, and the essence of a midsummer night. It was stunning, and took his very breath away. It was another one of those dark little secrets that he filed away, and tried to keep even from himself: He liked Hermione Granger's scent.

Without a word Granger, the girl that did not smell like a dirty toilet, slapped him harshly across his cheek. It stung. It left a handprint shaped welt on his face, red and angry and full of shame.

Just as quickly as she had stuck him, she went back to her beloved abusive bastard, slung him over her shoulder, and stumbled away with him in tow. Malfoy watched her leave with an unreadable expression. She only glanced back once. When she did, she raised her middle finger high in his direction, almost like she wanted the tip to touch the ceiling. Like a robber with their pistol.

Draco observed in stunned silence and she dragged his victim away.

Seeing no point in remaining here, he gathered his thoughts, brushed himself off, chanted a few healing spells, and stomped away in the opposite direction. He didn't care where he was headed, as long as it was far enough away that Hermione Granger's strangely pleasant scent no longer lingered in his nostrils, and his cheek no longer throbbed with such sharp pain.