It was almost comical, though. The scene: two angry boys, one with pale hair and a pink face, and another one, with a purplish-red face and red hair. One was towering over the other. It was the one that looked like he was going to kill the shorter boy- not like any of them were particulary short.

Draco felt small.

Ugh. He hated feeling small. There was a reason why he ran away in the most unsatisfactory manner. He scowled deeply. His father. Fucker. The silence, a glowering sort of angry silence that was so solid you could slice into, was broken by Weasely's clearing of throat.
Got anything left to say, Malfoy?
Plenty about your face, Weasely, Draco spat, feeling dreadfully inadequate.
My fist has something to say to your face, Malfoy, Weasely drawled in an most unWeasely-like manner, which caused Malfoy to throw out his trademark sneer.
Oh, dear, I'm so scared. Is the big bully going to throw sand in my face?
Weasely said airily. This was pissing Draco off. Why wasn't he purple anymore? I can just leave you here. You don't have a wand.
I- I never said that, Draco spat. Since when did Weasely get so smart? Bloody Weasely. Draco hoped he would strangle on his fifty or so sweaters.
Well, it's obvious, Weasely said smugly. You would have used it on me by now if you had one. And you wouldn't be here in the first place. It was true. Fucking Weasely.
Borrowed Granger's brain, I see, Draco countered, trying desperately to think how to get out of this mess.

Aha! He had done it! A red shade passed over Weasely's face. Finally. Weasely sputtered for a bit, and fell silent.

Drat it.

Fucking Malfoy, Ron thought. He was having the time of his life, confusing Malfoy and pissing him off, and he had lost it. Ron did not want to talk about Hermione and Harry. The whole point of coming back home was to not think or talk about them. Something he was going to try to do was discover a talent and get Padma Patil to have a crush on him during this vacation. Obviously, it wasn't working. He didn't need to be reminded of his failure. Gah.
Still sputtering, he finally shut up, realizing how stupid he sounded.
Lost the brain, have you, Weasely, Malfoy smirked, obviously in control again.
Shut the fuck up, Malfoy, Ron snarled, losing patience. And have fun in the snow with the Muggles, he snapped, leaving the stupid git behind.

Go to hell, Weasely, he thought, until a good insult reached him. Go to hell, but you're living there all ready, with the real estate so cheap there, eh? Ah. Perfect. To bad Weasely was walking away from him. Draco worked out several plans. He could fly somewhere. He could go to Hogwarts, or he could follow Weasely. The last wasn't appetizing. At all. He realized, though, with a shock, that he wouldn't be able to find Hogwarts. He had overheard the bushy-haired Mudblood Granger when he was younger prattling about how Hogwarts was hidden. Oh, shit.

No. He would not follow Weasely. He had Malfoy pride. Malfoys did not follow Weaselys, especially a Weasely with fifty sweaters on. No... he would absolutely not. His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten for a while. At least Weaselys eat, he reminded himself. No... he would not think about following.

Fuck.

His legs had not obeyed his mind, and they were now following Weasely. He had to think. Was he sure that this was the only option besides staying here and starving to death? Ugh. Starving. Leaving his georeous body for dirty Muggles to recover. Nah, that for sure wasn't happening.

Ron paused. Was someone following him? He turned slightly around, and was highly uncomfortable when a pink Malfoy came up to him sputtering. It was sort of amusing actually.

Weasely. Er...ah...um-
Spit it out, Malfoy, Ron said, beaming happily.
Fuck you, Weasely, Malfoy spat, looking miserable. You're not making this any easier.
Ron said smugly, thoroughly enjoying himself.
Malfoy scowled, looking much like himself again. I need help. You know what I mean. I need to get back to Hogwarts.
Ron decided to say, something very Trelawny-ish. And I should help you... why?

Draco decided to chance it, and spit Weasely's words back at him: It's the right thing to do.
Weasely conceded. But maybe I don't feel like doing the right thing. You never even thanked me for saving your slimy little life.
Draco felt like smacking him, then thought better of it, looking up. This was very fustrating. Running away never did solve anything, he thought angrily. It ended up with looking up a redhead clown with sweaters. He put on his sneer but he felt dreadfully inaquedate. This was becoming all too common. Fine, Weasely. Thank you for throwing an object at me that caused me to run away from stupid Muggles and therefore saving my life. Happy now?
Weasely shrugged. And I thought you could afford ettiquette lessons, he said. And grinned. As in he wasn't being serious. Draco felt a flash of annoyance. What was he now, a friend of Weasely? As if he could sink no lower.

But he was hungry. Even the most beautiful aristocrat needs to eat. So Draco didn't bother replying. He followed Weasely back to his .

Ron knew exactly what he should have done. Snigger at Malfoy's attempted apology and waltz back home, humming loudly. But, no, his stupid conscience. Again. So he whacked his conscience in his head and went back home, slowly. Malfoy followed him, slowly, at a cautious distance of about ten feet. He grinned. Malfoy was afraid of him. Because Malfoy couldn't hex him, he knew, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

Draco fumed. This was such an obvious transparent Gryffindor trick. Stupid Weasely looked like he was prancing in the snow. He mentally whacked himself; apologizing to Weasely. Ugh. Yuckyuckyuck... He kicked a stone with his expensive shoes. Stupid Weasely. His feet hurt. He was not made for such physical efforts. That was for minions that you could throw in the stove, not him. He was... indespensible. Yes, that was an OWL vocabulary word. He congradulated himself. If he kept this up, he could beat Granger soon. He knew he was always smarter than her anyway. His feet hurt more.

Bloody Weasely.