Chapter Four: Feelings

Warnings/Notes: This chapter gets a little…intense…If that pleases you you've probably sped on already, if it squicks you go away. SLASH Ron/Draco (in case anyone missed that). They are not mine, but they're on my list to Santa, so who knows?

Thanks to all reviewers so far - it helps so much to know it's all appreciated * g *

This is a pretty long instalment, but I wanted it to run together and not be broken up. Trust me to hit the chunky part just when the Christmas frantic fest hits and I have to go off and pass people tinsel every few minutes. Due to Christmas etc there may be no more instalments until December 27th - or there may be, just to warn you…

Happy Festive Season!

~~***~~

This has to stop.

After the fiasco of my last visit I feel that I never want to see Weasely again. And that in itself is nothing unusual.

What's unusual is the reason - I'm not angry with him, I'm angry with myself.

But also angry with him because I still don't like him, why should I?

But angry with myself because I was weak.

Because I lashed out in anger.

Because I got so irritated that I tried to hurt him.

But does that annoy me because Malfoys don't allow themselves to get that emotional? Or simply because of the way he was so pale against the covers and so * drained * looking and when I insulted him I could see the hurt in his eyes and he looked so disappointed, and fingers grasping the duvet but shakily and it's all my fault and…

Stop.

Stop that.

Now.

It doesn't matter anyway. I have to see him again today - Trelawny has to check that I go and she won't forget.

I don't want to see him. I just want to go away and bury all this mess deep inside and never look at it again. I want to be cruel and aloof and uncaring, I always have. But it's never felt forced before.

It's never felt wrong before.

It doesn't matter. This has to stop.

~~***~~

You're an evil bastard - act like one. Be like Lucius; be like the Malfoy you truly are. Nothing can ever change; you can't lose that identity. What does Ron Weasely matter compared to your reputation?

I want to obey my logic. I know it is right. But in the face of logic there is confusion and muddle, and the memory of how he looked last time I behaved 'properly'.

I'm * sorry * Father, but I can't do that to him again. I nearly killed him. I * can't * be that cruel - however much I wish I could….

So I say nothing when I walk in, and he makes no comment. Today he is sitting up in bed folding bandages to help out in the Infirmary, and so I sit down by the bed again and just pick one up and start folding.

Silence is very much underrated. He says nothing, I say nothing - we risk no insults.

In the silence I can hear his steady breathing, calming, regular.

I get good at folding quickly and no longer need to watch my bandage, and my eyes are drawn to his long, careful fingers as they twist and fold on the blankets. Each hand is covered in freckles, just like his face. I suddenly wonder if he's freckled all over - How far do the freckles go? Are they * everywhere *?

I look up and find he is staring at me, and I hope the blush I can feel doesn't show as much as I think.

It takes extraordinary willpower, but I stay quiet and go back to my folding.

So does he.

Silences can be awkward, but they can also be comfortable.

At the end of my free period I stand up to go, and place the last bandage on the pile we have constructed together.

Just as I walk out of the door he mutters 'See ya'

So polite, must be his upbringing. The question is, can I ignore mine?

I turn around and meet his gaze.

'Same time tomorrow' I answer

It is boring, but for us it is a miracle. I've discovered that there's no shame in simply not arguing with someone. Then no one can answer back.

And parts of today were not boring at * all *. Now, who can I ask about freckles?

~~***~~

Damn freckles.

Everywhere I go these past few days it's all I think about. Freckles, people with freckles, freckled skin, freckled skin in particular places.

Weasely's freckles.

We've spent another three sessions in almost total silence, just working at a task. And every time it gets worse, watching his hands and thinking about…freckles.

It would feel stupid now, to start acting mean again. So there's really no good reason to, not yet. I will when he's out, when he's stronger, some other day when I can't see the bruises I've caused any more…

Today when I went he was stacking packets of herbs and tying them up in tens with string. I set to it, but halfway through the back leg of the rickety old chair finally gave out and I collapsed unceremoniously on the ground, along with twenty packets of assorted herbs.

He laughed out loud, which irritated me, but then he reached out a hand and said

'You OK?' still smiling and half-chuckling

He smiles at Potter, at Granger, at half the world given the chance. He doesn't smile at me.

'Nobody laughs at a Malfoy and lives'

Those were my Father's words, but laughing just made Weasely look so * alive * and his eyes are even better when they smile than when they glare.

I grasped his hand and stood up, and I couldn't resist moving my finger to see if I could feel the patterning on his hand.

'Do these tickle when they appear?' I asked, half to myself

'Of course not!' He looked bewildered 'Does your hair tickle from growing blond, I presume it does grow blond?'

I glared at him, and opened my mouth…but…

…but one part of me * was * tickling, the hand that still held his, two pale skins together, so alike…

'It only grows longer, Weasely, what else would it do?'

He looks shocked for half a second. Then he laughs again, with me this time.

I never laugh, but I hadn't realised how long it had been since I'd smiled…

~~***~~

The next fortnight rolls by, and I barely notice it. Something cold and tight and painful inside me has gone, and until it left I didn't know it was there.

But it * mustn't * go, that's all I have. See the way they stare at you in lessons, the way they hate you? That's who you are - change that and you can't be better than them any more. Don't you want that? Don't you want to crush them down?

//Red-headed body, falling, collapsing, crushing under my influence//

Don't you like inflicting pain any more?

The feeling is probably just that I'm no longer guilty over Weasely - I mean, that I no longer need to feel I owe him. After all, he's getting up in a few days. Then he has all holiday to recuperate before the term begins and lessons start again in three weeks. He says wants to visit Hogsmeade, and drink a gallon of butterbeer to make up for all the time that he's lost.

'And then I'll visit every shop - twice! Oh…sorry Malfoy, I forgot…'

'That I'm in detention till Hell freezes over? I don't like sweets anyway'

'You really are evil aren't you? Sheesh'

See - no change there. So show him he's right

I get down from the bed where I'd been sitting helping him with a jigsaw. He looks up, surprised.

'Malfoy?'

There is a dent on the bed where I sat, and I notice he moves his legs into it instinctively to warm them…

Go on! Show that nothing's changed

I look at him, sitting there in bed, looking shorter than me although I know he isn't. Have you ever known someone vaguely, as a kind of cardboard cutout personality, and then looked at them again and discovered they've become a person to you without you noticing how?

That when you look at their eyes they look back and you can't read them because you know the richness of the feelings behind that look?

That they deserve…something…respect maybe?

'You know that I didn't want to really hurt you, don't you?'

I didn't know I could speak that quietly…or feel so nervous about an answer

He looks down, and speaks in a new tone, one I haven't heard before.

'You wanted to make the entire world ignore me, that would have hurt pretty bad'

'I…'

'Why do you do it? You can act…differently; I've seen it - here. So you had a choice, and you chose to try and ruin my life and that of my friends. I've been ignoring that these past few weeks because I know I have to see you and not make a fuss, but don't think anything's changed'

'But it has!' I answer

You fool! Don't you care about power? About your own dignity? Stop grovelling to this idiot!

He looks up again, quickly. Questioning.

I take a deep breath and ignore my inner voice with every part of me…

'Look, after that lesson…I never want to live through that again. I don't want that to happen again ever. My spell backfired, but it could have happened to you too - don't think I don't know about the Polyjuice potion or that time you and Potter enchanted the Slytherin's robes to show the Gryffindor sign.'

No…angry isn't right. I owe him more than that

'But, I was wrong. I'm sorry. When I saw you…lying there, that night. I…I've never felt like that. It was horrible. I thought…. Well, you know what we thought.'

'You didn't see me that night…I was in this room and no one came in except Harry and Hermione'

'I didn't come in'

And across his face I can see the idea forming, and he almost instantly glances at the window. It's scary if someone knows you that well, scary * not * pleasant and warm whatever my skin thinks.

He turns back and we appraise each other for a moment. I can see the reservation in his eyes, and that same old look of mistrust, just like at that Quidditch match which seems like years ago now.

Whatever else happens I * don't * want to go back to that…to what that made me do….but…

What else is there? What else could there possibly be for you?

…but we have to. This situation can't continue. I can't live my life feeling this way. We have to get back to the petty hatred and jibes. And I know how…

'Hit me'

'Pardon?' He wasn't expecting that at any rate.

I move right up close to him and sit on the bed again. I lean forward.

'Hit me, punch me, whatever. Go on. I deserve it'

Blank. Eyes wide, and up close they are even more delicate.

'I hurt you, hurt me back, let's just keep it going. Give and take. I don't want to feel this way any more, please just even it out'

Pain. Anger. You know about this. This is good; this is normal and manageable.

He actually raises a hand, but slowly, and I curse whatever tenderness in him stays his hand against his worst enemy

'I can take corporal punishment, you know. No need for guilt trips, just lay into me for a bit and see if it makes you feel better, I have a good record'

I mean it to be mildly sarcastic, irritating enough to force him into it. But as we sit there, faces inches apart, breathing in the air between too rapidly, I think he reads the memories behind my words better than I imagined anyone could.

His expression softens, to something so beautiful and tender…

The hand reaches out and - ever so gently - strokes my hair.

'Oh Draco, whose screwed-up past are we acting out?'

A current of…something…seems to run through his hand and rush through my stomach, my legs and twitch where they meet in the middle…

His eyelids are dotted with tiny pale freckles, flicking over the deep, dark, kindly eyes.

His hair is gold and red and every colour of the sunset.

His mouth unlined, and full, and nearer, and nearer…

BANG!

I spring off the bed just in time as the Weasely brothers plus Potter and Granger and half of Gryffindor rush in. Evidently it is someone's birthday, but I don't bother even trying to see whose. Voices twist around me…

'Oh god, it's Malfoy the Ferret'

'Ron, how do you bear it?'

'Don't you have a slime-infested tunnel to return to?'

This is * right *. This is good. Soak up their hatred and use it against them in the future. They will regret saying these things, and you can be the one that teaches the lesson. Isn't this right for you?

More right than rushing heat and shining eyes? More right than warmth and smiling?

What do you know about warmth and smiling 'Ferret'?

At least if they're busy ignoring me they probably haven't noticed my crotch area doubling for a sorting hat…

~~***~~

Both Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasely have been cursed with nightmares over the past few weeks, but tonight there is a respite.

For Ron, sleep simply refuses to come. All he can see in the dark of the Infirmary room are two shining blue eyes, full of anger and passion, although maybe the passion isn't hatred as he always thought.

Ron worries that he made a fool of himself. He worries that Draco will think he was joking. He worries that his friends noticed how absentminded he was, or how his bloodless cheeks had flushed deeper than his freckles.

Freckles.

He runs his fingers lightly over his right hand and remembers and feels…what?

At the very least, not sleepy at all.

Across the school Draco Malfoy is buried deep in sleep and dreams. He has thrown the covers half off the bed and his hair is tangled from movement. Beneath his eyelids the pupils can be seen moving swiftly, droplets of sweat decorate his forehead.

He squirms on the sheets and whimpers softly.

Hands clench/unclench.

Then he tenses for a moment - Bites lip - Arched back - ' * Ron * '

...before relaxing once more with a gentle smile on his lips that would surprise none more than him.

Time only will tell which of them will feel worse in the morning…

~~***~~

Next Chapter: Five: Instincts: I wonder what happens in a fic with a title like that?