Ok I have a question, should this story continue to be Ron's P.O.V, or
should I venture into some Draco P.O.Vs? What do you guys think? Plus
regular comments, praises, suggestions, constructive criticism are always
welcome.
***
It's the next day when I walk into the dining room for breakfast. Earlier Harry had left without me for the 8th time in the row, when I accuse him of doing it on purpose he claims I'm being daft.
So I walk in alone, and immediately all conversation halts. At first I think it's just my lack of sleep, or my overactive imagination that's making me think this. But with burning cheeks I realize this is not true. Kids are turning around and blatantly starring at me.
I do not know what is going on. With lowered head and eyes, I make my way towards where I usually sit with the rest of the Gryffindors, by Harry and Hermonie. Shuffling clumsily I sit down, the whole room is coming slowly back to life, snatches of conversation from lowered voices can be heard here and there.
"Hermonie? Harry?" I whisper.
Hermonie gives me a very disgusted stare; Harry pointedly looks the other way.
"What's wrong?" I ask, my voice still a murmur.
"We know all about you and Draco. There's no reason to deny it." Hermonie says maliciously.
I redden furiously.
"I don't understand." I say feeling tears sting my eyes. I'm so stupid.
"Don't you know what Malfoy is saying about you Ron?" It's Harry's voice, shocked, bewildered and with strong hints of repulsion.
Frantically, I see over Harry's shoulder. It's Draco, he's polished and beautiful, his refined features on display under the soft glow of the surrounding lights. There's a casual smirk on his face and he's encircled by a group of Slytherin boys, who are all grinning wildly and listening to Draco.
I look back at Harry and Hermonie and both of them are looking back at me, their mouths set in identical, hard and cold lines.
"What did he say?" I say finding my voice at last even though it is shaking and on the near verge of being hysterical.
"Only the truth Ron." Hermonie says. "At least Harry and I know where you have been all this time." She continues smugly.
"What did he say?" I repeat, the humiliation inside of myself rising to a crescendo.
"That he slept with you, no wait, I believe his words were that he "fucked" you." Her voice is curt and sarcastic. Biting to the bone.
"What?" I say. "But that never happened. . ." My voice falters, the next sentence is wobbly and unsteady.
"How can you believe him over me? You guys are supposed to be my friends!"
"Oh please Ron. You're never around anymore. You don't even come to Harry's Quidditch practices. Whenever I see you, you have this dreamy look all over your face; I'm just surprised it took me so long to piece it all together. I even knew before Draco started airing all the details, Madam Pomfrey actually sought Harry and me out yesterday and asked us if we noticed anything unusual about the two of you." She says.
This enrages me. My hands are moving into fists. I stand up.
"And so fucking what!" I yell. "Just because I have some sort of relationship with Draco you guys are just going to stop talking to me?"
"Just because?" Hermonie states. "Ron what you and Malfoy are doing is disgusting. It's wrong." She says frostily.
I look at Harry, he looks back and under my steady glare, he flinches.
I really look at Harry, hard for the first time in a long time. His black hair is wet from his morning shower; his green eyes look dead flat, no longer the animated, brightness I remember from our 1st year.
"Is that the way you feel too Harry? That I'm repulsive?" I say.
He hesitates; long enough for my heart to swell with something like hope.
"I think you should leave Ron. You're making a scene." He says after a moment.
And it's true, conversations around us were on a standstill, even Fred and George were paying attention to something other then themselves for a change.
Draco has even stopped talking lies about me to his friends from his corner of the dinning hall, his eyes are on my face, but I don't trust myself to make eye contact.
I pause before turning and running out the dining hall, and as soon as the doors shut behind me, I break into uncontrollable sobs.
I do not hear the doors slam again behind me, or the footsteps that follow it. The footfall of expensive shoes cautiously approaching me.
A hand grips my forearm, pulling me towards the owner.
"Ron?" He asks, his voice is soft.
I turn around; I already know who it is.
I punch Draco, hard. His face is knocked backward from the force of the blow and then he's sprawled on the ground. Dazed, and looking up at me, his pale hand reaches up and feels the freshly colored imperfection on his cheek.
Something dark deep inside of myself swells.
I can't stop myself; I'm on top of him punching that lovely, superior face into the ground over and over again with the bony knuckles of my fist. It fills me with a terrible type of satisfaction, to grind his face to the floor, to bloody his lips and bruise his cheeks with no sense of conscience.
I think I'm realizing what it means to ruin something beautiful.
Like in my dream, he makes no move to defend himself. There's the sound of Draco, making small noises at every volatile blow that rocks his head back from sheer strength. There's blood, and my hands are slicked shiny with it.
I am pummeling Draco's face and I'm not even aware that I'm doing it; the only meager reminder is the growing ache in my hands, it has a numbing, stunning effect on the beating and on my fury.
When my hands fall powerless, weakly to my sides, bruised from the repetitive impacts of my fist contacting with Draco's now battered face, I feel something inside myself break, something similar to the wanton sound of glass shattering and the final clatter of it hitting grass.
I grab Draco's chin, forcing his head up. His gray eyes blink, dazed, confused and my mouth meets his bruised excuse for one. I run my tongue forcefully over his, brutally pressing mouth against mouth. I stop the kiss almost as instantly as it began, and burry my head into his small, skinny shoulder.
My still hands, tightened to turn knuckles white. And all I can feel is what's inside of myself, the sensations that are amplified at every moment of my life. The things that trickle down my insides; hurt, pain, confusion.
Draco reaches up with frail, shaky hands and holds me as I cry wordlessly into his shoulder.
We stay like that for a long time.
***
Wish I was too dead to cry
My self-affliction fades
Stones to throw at my creator
Masochists to which I cater
You don't need to bother;
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on,
I won't let go 'til it bleeds
-Stone Sour "Bother"
It's the next day when I walk into the dining room for breakfast. Earlier Harry had left without me for the 8th time in the row, when I accuse him of doing it on purpose he claims I'm being daft.
So I walk in alone, and immediately all conversation halts. At first I think it's just my lack of sleep, or my overactive imagination that's making me think this. But with burning cheeks I realize this is not true. Kids are turning around and blatantly starring at me.
I do not know what is going on. With lowered head and eyes, I make my way towards where I usually sit with the rest of the Gryffindors, by Harry and Hermonie. Shuffling clumsily I sit down, the whole room is coming slowly back to life, snatches of conversation from lowered voices can be heard here and there.
"Hermonie? Harry?" I whisper.
Hermonie gives me a very disgusted stare; Harry pointedly looks the other way.
"What's wrong?" I ask, my voice still a murmur.
"We know all about you and Draco. There's no reason to deny it." Hermonie says maliciously.
I redden furiously.
"I don't understand." I say feeling tears sting my eyes. I'm so stupid.
"Don't you know what Malfoy is saying about you Ron?" It's Harry's voice, shocked, bewildered and with strong hints of repulsion.
Frantically, I see over Harry's shoulder. It's Draco, he's polished and beautiful, his refined features on display under the soft glow of the surrounding lights. There's a casual smirk on his face and he's encircled by a group of Slytherin boys, who are all grinning wildly and listening to Draco.
I look back at Harry and Hermonie and both of them are looking back at me, their mouths set in identical, hard and cold lines.
"What did he say?" I say finding my voice at last even though it is shaking and on the near verge of being hysterical.
"Only the truth Ron." Hermonie says. "At least Harry and I know where you have been all this time." She continues smugly.
"What did he say?" I repeat, the humiliation inside of myself rising to a crescendo.
"That he slept with you, no wait, I believe his words were that he "fucked" you." Her voice is curt and sarcastic. Biting to the bone.
"What?" I say. "But that never happened. . ." My voice falters, the next sentence is wobbly and unsteady.
"How can you believe him over me? You guys are supposed to be my friends!"
"Oh please Ron. You're never around anymore. You don't even come to Harry's Quidditch practices. Whenever I see you, you have this dreamy look all over your face; I'm just surprised it took me so long to piece it all together. I even knew before Draco started airing all the details, Madam Pomfrey actually sought Harry and me out yesterday and asked us if we noticed anything unusual about the two of you." She says.
This enrages me. My hands are moving into fists. I stand up.
"And so fucking what!" I yell. "Just because I have some sort of relationship with Draco you guys are just going to stop talking to me?"
"Just because?" Hermonie states. "Ron what you and Malfoy are doing is disgusting. It's wrong." She says frostily.
I look at Harry, he looks back and under my steady glare, he flinches.
I really look at Harry, hard for the first time in a long time. His black hair is wet from his morning shower; his green eyes look dead flat, no longer the animated, brightness I remember from our 1st year.
"Is that the way you feel too Harry? That I'm repulsive?" I say.
He hesitates; long enough for my heart to swell with something like hope.
"I think you should leave Ron. You're making a scene." He says after a moment.
And it's true, conversations around us were on a standstill, even Fred and George were paying attention to something other then themselves for a change.
Draco has even stopped talking lies about me to his friends from his corner of the dinning hall, his eyes are on my face, but I don't trust myself to make eye contact.
I pause before turning and running out the dining hall, and as soon as the doors shut behind me, I break into uncontrollable sobs.
I do not hear the doors slam again behind me, or the footsteps that follow it. The footfall of expensive shoes cautiously approaching me.
A hand grips my forearm, pulling me towards the owner.
"Ron?" He asks, his voice is soft.
I turn around; I already know who it is.
I punch Draco, hard. His face is knocked backward from the force of the blow and then he's sprawled on the ground. Dazed, and looking up at me, his pale hand reaches up and feels the freshly colored imperfection on his cheek.
Something dark deep inside of myself swells.
I can't stop myself; I'm on top of him punching that lovely, superior face into the ground over and over again with the bony knuckles of my fist. It fills me with a terrible type of satisfaction, to grind his face to the floor, to bloody his lips and bruise his cheeks with no sense of conscience.
I think I'm realizing what it means to ruin something beautiful.
Like in my dream, he makes no move to defend himself. There's the sound of Draco, making small noises at every volatile blow that rocks his head back from sheer strength. There's blood, and my hands are slicked shiny with it.
I am pummeling Draco's face and I'm not even aware that I'm doing it; the only meager reminder is the growing ache in my hands, it has a numbing, stunning effect on the beating and on my fury.
When my hands fall powerless, weakly to my sides, bruised from the repetitive impacts of my fist contacting with Draco's now battered face, I feel something inside myself break, something similar to the wanton sound of glass shattering and the final clatter of it hitting grass.
I grab Draco's chin, forcing his head up. His gray eyes blink, dazed, confused and my mouth meets his bruised excuse for one. I run my tongue forcefully over his, brutally pressing mouth against mouth. I stop the kiss almost as instantly as it began, and burry my head into his small, skinny shoulder.
My still hands, tightened to turn knuckles white. And all I can feel is what's inside of myself, the sensations that are amplified at every moment of my life. The things that trickle down my insides; hurt, pain, confusion.
Draco reaches up with frail, shaky hands and holds me as I cry wordlessly into his shoulder.
We stay like that for a long time.
***
Wish I was too dead to cry
My self-affliction fades
Stones to throw at my creator
Masochists to which I cater
You don't need to bother;
I don't need to be
I'll keep slipping farther
But once I hold on,
I won't let go 'til it bleeds
-Stone Sour "Bother"