by BlackRose, 2001
BlackRose's Page
Chapter 4 - Wheels in Motion
----- Draco -----
He finds me in the hallway after classes, his shoulder against mine 'accidentally' slamming me back against one wall. He's so furious his face is flushed almost as bright as his hair and his fists clench in handfuls of my robe as he tries to shake me. "Goddammit, Malfoy!"
I shove him back, pulling free and smoothing my robe back down. We've played these little games too often. "Something wrong, Weasley?" I ask. Oh yes, yes indeed, and the thrill of it sends a warmth down my spine in bright tingles; something wrong enough to call out the watchdog, with Potter and Granger nowhere in sight.
"Don't even try to make like you don't know," he hisses, voice dropping. "If you didn't do it, then you know who did. What's going on?"
I shrug carelessly. "Nothing. Classes. Paranoia getting the better of you, Weasley?"
He clenches his fist, shaking, a hair's breath from throwing himself at me again. "What the *hell* are you doing to Harry?"
"Nothing," I repeat with a sniff. "Not a single bloody thing to your precious Potter. Go away, Weasley. Take your delusions somewhere else."
Verbal roundabouts, and the sight of both of us bristling in the middle of the hallway must be so familiar that nobody comments. Weasley is stiff and angry, but he knows how far to take it. He's learned some restraint over the years. "Keep away from him," he snaps and the promise of retribution in his eyes is all too real. He holds my gaze for another moment, then spins away.
He's learned restraint, but not when to think. I reach out and grab the strap of his book bag when he turns away, jerking him to a halt. He swings on me, all hot fury, a wild blow I catch across my free arm, his knuckles grazing my shoulder.
"Idiot - would you just listen?" I hiss in a soft undertone. "Just listen to me for a minute!"
"We've all listened to enough from you, Malfoy," he spits back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
His second blow catches me by surprise - not a proper punch at all, just an open handed slap across my cheek, setting my ear to ringing with the sound of it and bringing a stinging flush to my skin. I gasp, letting him go.
He stays where he is, obviously spoiling for a fight. I wince and work my jaw for a minute - he's got a strong arm. "I suppose I deserved that."
"Damn right you do," he replies, but the sparks are dying down now. He jerks his book bag back onto his shoulder roughly. "Just stay away from Harry, dammit. Or I *will* beat you into next week."
"You wish," I mutter. "I'm trying to help!"
"Funny way of showing it," he shoots back. "Why would you help, anyways? What's in it for you?"
"Damn it, Weasley..." I hiss through clenched teeth, "this isn't about anyone, it's about all of us. And 'ALL' of us includes me, in case you didn't notice!"
He makes a scoffing noise. "Oh, imagine that. Draco Malfoy, out to save his own skin. Just call me our complete lack of surprise."
"All of us," I repeat stubbornly.
"You mean *you*," he snaps, jabbing a finger at me. "Leave off, Malfoy."
"I meant what I said," I reply. He's like a bulldog with a clenched jaw that just won't let go. "Where's your friend Granger, Weasley?"
"Leave her out of this!" he demands, reaching out to shove me again.
"Like hell." I push him away once more, holding him at arm's length. "Granger's the brains behind you lot. You want answers? Go see her, and quit bothering me."
He blinks at me, startled. "You heard me," I tell him quietly, my voice just between him and I. "You want to protect your golden boy? Go talk to Granger." I pull away and leave him there, mouth open, in the midst of the hallway. There's a tightness in my chest, just under my pounding heart. I don't look back.
----- Harry -----
Harry glanced up from his plate as Ron slid into the seat beside him, breathless and flushed. "I kept your spot," he pointed out, hastily licking a smear of gravy from his lip. "Did you get that paper turned in?"
Ron blinked at him for a moment, then nodded, breath blowing out in a rush. "Oh... yeah, I did, no problem." Dinner was already on the tables and the other boy reached automatically, hands filling his plate from the platters near him as he looked around distractedly. "Where's Hermione?"
"Library," Harry said around a mouthful of mashed potatos. "She said she had an extra credit report to do for History." He rolled his eyes. "As though she needs it. I promised I'd bring her a plate." Ron just waved slightly, his mouth full.
"Quidditch practice tonight," Harry reminded him. "You gonna come out and watch?"
Ron swallowed hastily, coughing a little. "Can't," he said. "That report for Dark Arts... I'm not done with it yet."
Harry made a face. "I thought you finished that."
"Not quite." Ron grabbed his drink, washing down the bite he had half inhaled. "I'll go to the library, see if I can get Hermione to help me. Bring her that plate. Meet you back at the tower after practice?"
"Sure," Harry said mildly. "Fred, George... could one of you pass the gravy?"
----- Ron -----
It's dim in the library, and musty, and I feel like an ass standing there. I don't have any business here. It's stupid.
Malfoy. Damn it. I should have just pounded his face into the wall and been done with it. Smirking little bastard.
But he *never* has anything nice to say about Hermione - him sending me to her, like an admission that she might know something he doesn't... all of this stinks, it stinks to high heaven and I'm so tired I can't think straight any more.
I find her tucked into a corner, books piled high around her table. She looks up at me, startled. "Ron? Where's Harry?"
"Quidditch practice," I remind her. I pull a wrapped package out of my pocket. "Brought you a sandwich."
"Oh, you're a life saver," she says, pushing papers out of the way to set it on the table. "I'm starving."
I just shake my head and glance at the piles of books. "All this for extra credit?"
She pauses in the act of taking a bite. I could be wrong - it's too dim to really tell, and shouldn't she have more light for studying? - but I think she flushes a little, the color spilling across her cheeks. "It's late," she mumbles under her breath, then takes a vicious bite of the sandwich as though it's to blame.
Late? Hermione, late with *any* assignment?
Hermione is watching me, her mouth full. Her face is pale, too pale, and the shadows under her eyes make her look older then her years. Worn and thin. She's lost weight, her cheekbones are sharper, and I hadn't ever noticed. Why hadn't I noticed? She looks ill.
I glance down, looking at her notes and scrolls and for one moment it's like deja vu... formulas and figures and reams of words written in the thin, uniform lines of an automated pen, marching neatly across pre-ruled white paper; I blink and it's gone. Only scrolls and parchment and Hermione's flowing cursive.
/Go see Granger,/ Malfoy had said. And here Hermione was, wane and pale and small looking, half buried behind a work load nobody should try to shoulder, because she was too smart and too stubborn for her own good. As though Malfoy would care.
Hermione swallows, clearing her mouth. "Ron? Are you alright?"
"Yeah," I hear myself say distantly. "Um... is there anything I can help you with?" I gesture vaguely around at the stacks of books.
She shakes her head. "No." She takes a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. "I'll get it done." She doesn't sound as confident as she should. She sounds more tired then I am.
"We'll be back at the tower," I tell her.
She's already bent over a book, sandwich in one hand as she scrawls notes with the other. "Don't wait up," she calls after me. "I don't know how late I'll be."
I turn to go, but find myself pausing and turning back. "Hermione," I call, and she glances up again. "If you need anything..." I trail off, unsure.
She waves me away. "Go on, Ron," she says tiredly. "I've got work to do."
Hermione always has work to do. Always.
/Go see Granger./
But Malfoy's a fool. There's got to be a better answer. There's got to be. But when the library door closes behind me and I slam my fist into the hard stones of the wall, scraping the skin off one knuckle, I have to admit that I don't know what the answer is. Just that there has to be one.
Quotes from last chapter:
Narrator: With insomnia, nothing is real.
Narrator: I want to destroy something beautiful.
Penguin totem animal: Slide!
-- Fight Club