Draco felt better than he had in a long time. Talking to Hermione, getting his fears off his chest—it had lightened the weight within him, had loosened the fist crushing his heart.

He tucked a hand into his trouser pocket, his other gliding through his disheveled hair.

"You've always been right messed up. You know that?"

Ron leaned against one of the statues in the corridor, arms crossed, face half-hidden in shadow. His red hair stood out; made him identifiable.

It didn't matter that Draco had chosen Hogwarts over the Dark Lord because Weasley would always see him as a Malfoy. Draco didn't blame him entirely, but now, hearing the condescension in his voice—it stung a bit.

Draco paused, considering him. "Oh?" he said, sliding both hands into his pockets. Casual, arrogant. Exactly what Draco had always been. "Do explain how, Weasley."

Ron pushed off the statue and stalked right up to Draco.

Draco blinked.

Not an ounce of fear or trepidation showed in Ron's eyes. He was bigger than Draco remembered. Sturdier, perhaps. And at the moment—pissed.

"Since day one of school, you've tried to make our lives miserable. Always acting like a bloody fool, taking a piss at us, at the professors, using your father as an excuse to act like a brat. Cause that's what you are—a right spoiled brat."

Draco reigned in his temper. He took a breath, making sure his mask of cool surety stayed together.

Ron continued. "And then you became a Death Eater. That should have sealed your fate, but somehow, Draco Malfoy is allowed back at Hogwarts. And then, to seal the deal," Ron said, pointing a hand at Draco, "you're trying to steal my girl."

He raised a brow. "Is that so? Last I heard, you and Granger weren't a thing."

Ron's brows narrowed. "Of course we're a thing. And don't act stupid. Hermione has been blowing me off to spend time with you."

"Has she said so?"

"No, but I know it."

"Well, I would ask her about it. You may be mistaken."

Ron glared, his eyes sharp. "I am not a fool, Draco."

"I didn't say you were. I said that you should ask Granger yourself. She'll certainly tell you the truth."

"And you won't?"

Draco sighed. "There is nothing between Granger and I."

"But you did just come from seeing her, right?"

"I won't do this—ask her. Anything I say you won't believe, anyway."

"Of course, oh righteous one," Ron spat. "Draco Malfoy, always looking out for his friends."

"Granger and I—"

"You leave her name out of your mouth," Ron hissed, sticking a finger in Draco's face. He pulled away, disgust engraved on his face. "Why did you come back, anyway? It's not like you don't live in a mansion. What do you gain from coming back to Hogwarts? Trying to take down the new Headmaster as one of the Dark Lord's faithful servants?"

"Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it," Draco whispered.

"Help?" Ron scoffed. "You didn't need help. You publicly rejected the Dark Lord and suddenly you expect everyone to just accept the new and reformed you?" He shook his head. "No. I know you, Malfoy. Whatever this—" he gestured vaguely at Draco "—is, might have everyone else fooled, but not me."

Draco let out a dry chuckle. "And what exactly am I doing, oh wise Weasley?"

"You're playing the victim card," Ron spat. "You've got this broody, silent thing going on as if that's going to get people to think you've changed?"

The events of the forest flashed through his mind. His temper spiked, his stomach heating. "There are things I have seen which would torture your waking moments."

Ron scoffed. "Right."

Draco faced Ron fully, arms folded over his chest. He tried to be gentle with it, but his words came out bitter and cold. "I watched Harry die." Ron's eyes flashed. "I watched Voldemort kill him twice. He saved me. He saved everyone."

The corner of Ron's upper lip pulled into a sneer. "You didn't deserve it."

Draco stepped closer, staring down Ron. "I'm sure you believe that."

"My best mate sacrificed himself to end a war, so yeah, I would love to know what you did exactly to deserve being saved after all you've done."

Ron's anger was palpable, but Draco didn't care. He was tired of everyone assuming the worst of him. "We'd had an…understanding."

"An understanding?" Ron laughed. "I guess because the Chosen One became mates with Draco Malfoy, I should too, right? Because we all should be like the Chosen One, right?"

Draco tilted his head. "This isn't about me, Weasley, is it?"

"Don't act like you know anything about me, Malfoy."

Draco shook his head. "I'm not."

"I lost my best friend that day! I lost my brother, my friend, and professor! People that I loved, died! Don't talk to me like you know what it's like!"

Draco clenched his fists, willing himself to calm down.

"You've never lost anything in your life! Everything has been handed to you on a silver platter! You and your stupid parents have never felt loss—"

Draco snapped. He took two fistfuls of Ron's collar and slammed him against the wall. His breaths were ragged, his voice little more than a growl in his throat. "You know nothing." He leaned closer, his blood heating his ears, and hissed, "Nothing."

He gave Ron one last shove and then turned down the corridor, hands in his pockets, hair in his eyes.

"Stay away from Hermione," Ron called after him.

Draco gave him a lewd gesture from behind his back and kept walking.

Perhaps they were right to assume the worst of him.