Chapter Fifteen
The Bar Brawl
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A/N: Thanks to Vapid, for counseling us on the physical truths about brawling. Everybody go and read Vapid's "Broken Bottles, Broken Hearts".
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It was the first time since Goldie had employed him that Ron really hadn't felt like going to work. Usually, Ron looked forward to his shifts – he enjoyed the rowdy, sometimes terribly rude customers. He liked having free rein to crack at them once they were lit. And he loved the sense of freedom it gave him to have a payslip at the end of every week. Sometimes Hermione visited and watched him work, which made him nervous and happy at once. Sometimes Harry showed up after Quidditch practices and kept him company. Even Ginny came down for a butterbeer, once in awhile. In any case, Ron's shifts at the pub usually flew.
But tonight he was just plain tired. He wanted to get back to Hermione and try to clear things up – their earlier fight about the Thinker had him badly rattled, and he needed to see her face. Not to mention that the whole house had been up all night with Remus, on edge about Ginny's attempt at the Wolfsbane Potion. Ron was still in shock that she had really pulled it off. Everybody said it was the most complex potion on record, and Ginny had made it work. That was definitely incredible, and Ron was more than a little bit proud. But his natural brotherly pride was mixed with deep personal annoyance, and Ron couldn't get rid of it however he tried. His little sister was making complicated potions, while he worked in a pub. There was something dead wrong about that.
"Hey, Red – two more this end."
"Got it."
Ron shook off the haze in his brain and sent two shots of fizzing purple liquor to the end of the bar with an expert flick of his wand. He then craned his head over the buzzing crowd of the Snout's Fair to check that Lipsett wasn't getting in over his head. There were a few customers whom he'd grown accustomed to keeping an eye on, and Lipsett was one of them; his wife had hauled him out of the bar on Ron's first night at work, whacking Lipsett over the head with his own broom when he'd claimed to be sober enough to ride it home. Thankfully, at the moment, Lipsett seemed to be in high spirits, and Ron went back to filling the shouted orders that were coming from all sides of him.
"Two pints of stout –"
"Double gillywater –"
"Tankard of mulled mead, here."
Ron worked to keep up, not too tired to remember that mead had been Hagrid's drink of choice. He always wanted to give the mead drinkers a tankard on the house, and sometimes, when Goldie wasn't watching, he did. But not tonight. He wasn't in a great mood. Ginny had been successful with the Wolfsbane Potion. Not that it was a bad thing, but now Ginny was one more person with something to do. She had her lessons coming up, and Remus needed her for something important – he even wanted to keep Ginny at Lupin Lodge for the school year, and teach her himself.
"Six butterbeers."
The voice broke into Ron's thoughts. He looked up. It was Lipsett, and he was swaying precariously from left to right. "Nothing doing," Ron returned flatly. "Here's one. If you can make it back to the bar after that, we'll go for two."
"Ruddy pain in the arse you are, Red. Bet you were a pain in the arse prefect, too. Bet you were a right buggering pain in the arse Head Boy as well."
Ron groaned. He took a lot of flack, in this crowd, for having held those particular titles. It had been pretty great of Hermione to brag all about it to Goldie, but Ron had a feeling that Goldie had then deliberately leaked the information to a few of the Snout's more loudmouthed patrons. It was now a joke among the regulars, and Goldie laughed as well, watching Ron from his seat at the far end of the bar. Goldie had quite a sense of humor – fortunately, so did Ron, though he was feeling snappish about it tonight.
"Yeah I was," he told Lipsett evenly, waving him off the bar. "Sit down or I'll owl your wife. Next order –"
"A butterbeer, two shots of Liquid Curse, and a Lucky Lady."
Ron sent the butterbeer on its way, set up two shots of the green liquor that had given him his own first taste of drunkenness, and pulled a bottle of ruby red liquid from the shelves behind him, grinning for the first time all evening.
"If she's with you, MacMillan, how lucky can she be?" he cracked. The crowd guffawed good-naturedly as the subject of the joke turned a bit red.
Jimmy MacMillan had been in Ginny's class; he lived in the next town over and was constantly at the Snout's Fair with his friends. They seemed to be attempting to have a summer much like Ron's own; everyone was trying to forget the war and move on. It had to be doubly hard for Jimmy, Ron knew, because his older brother Ernie had been working for the Owl Office in Diagon Alley and had lost his life in the blast last year. Ron knew with unfortunate precision just how difficult it was to weather a loss like that, but he pushed the memory of Percy away before he could begin to think about it.
Jimmy grinned. "Just give me the drinks and shut it, Weasley. I've got a friend to get back to."
Ron plunked the shot glass onto the wooden bar, and followed Jimmy's gesture across the pub. At the large, round table in the back, he saw another of Ginny's old classmates, Andrew Quinn, who had his wand stuck out the window and was listening intently to whatever was outside. Two pretty girls that Ron didn't know sat watching Andrew and whispering. The blonde laughed and the brunette shook her head at Andrew in what looked like exasperation, though she was smiling.
"Which one's yours, then?"
"Blonde," Jimmy replied happily. "Nice looking, right?"
Ron opened his mouth to agree, and then thought of Hermione. His mouth fell shut. "No opinion, mate. What's Quinn doing with his wand?"
"Some kind of recording thing, he's into experimental music..." Jimmy trailed off, a stupid smile taking over his face as he gazed toward his friends. Ron noted that the blonde girl at the back table was smiling rather stupidly back at Jimmy. He knew that sort of smile pretty well, and usually it would have put him in good spirits - it reminded him of the way he and Hermione looked at each other. Tonight, however, it unsettled him. Hermione wouldn't be looking at him like that for a long time coming. She was taking off to live with some stranger. She'd made her big decision. She was going to be a Thinker.
And he was going to be here, working at the ruddy pub.
The last thought irritated Ron more than any of the others, somehow, but he did his best to shake it off. Expertly, he magicked the drinks into the air, then swatted Jimmy's shoulder with his wand. "Get back to your girlfriend, you sap," he ordered, with false cheerfulness.
Jimmy flushed a bit. "Sod off," he muttered. But he wasted no time following Ron's direction – he flew the drinks back to the corner table and settled quickly next to the blonde girl.
"Next?" Ron called into the noise of customers. He hoped nobody would answer. He was quickly slipping from tired to exhausted and had hoped to close up early, though it didn't look likely to happen. The crowd wasn't thinning at all.
There was a loud, throat-clearing noise from the far end of the bar. "Give me two butterbeers, six shots of Liquid Curse, twelve Lucky Ladies and a bottle of Madman. And hurry it up, you. I'm damned thirsty."
Ron raised his eyebrows incredulously, wondering what crazed lunatic would order so much liquor at once. At the same time he felt a stab of serious irritation. It got his back up when customers told him to hurry, and it only made it worse that he couldn't do anything about it because they were customers. That had been one of Goldie's first lessons to him. Never fight with the customers.
"Going as fast as I can," Ron said mildly, turning toward the other end of the bar with a forced smile, and searching out the demanding patron among the crowd.
"No you're not. You're slower than a History of Magic class. Goldie must've been mad to hire you."
Ron felt himself about to say something less-than-polite, regardless of the rules. But the remark died on his lips when he saw who was taunting him.
"Oy, shut it, Sirius."
Sirius grinned, and leaned back in the stool next to Goldie's. He looked to be enjoying himself immensely, and Ron found himself cheering, slightly. He liked Sirius a lot – they had similar natures.
"Where's the respect for your patrons and elders? I'm Mr. Black to you – and get a move on those drinks."
Several customers' heads swiveled toward Sirius when he announced his last name, and more than one of them sidled quickly away from the bar. Sirius looked after them, his expression unreadable.
Ron merely snorted. "Right. I'll give you the Madman, but believe me, you don't want twelve Lucky Ladies."
Sirius turned back to him and laughed. "Just one's enough for you, then?"
"You have no bloody idea," Ron sighed, shaking his head. He retrieved a Madman from beneath the bar and sent the bottle hurtling toward Sirius with force he wouldn't have used normally. But it was fine in this case – Sirius caught the bottle deftly and downed it in two gulps, exhaling loudly and grinning again.
"One more, if you've got it."
"Think fast –" Ron sent the next bottle hurtling, and this one did several intricate aerial flips on its way to Sirius's hand.
"You're learning bar tricks!" Sirius noted, clearly delighted.
Ron's ears went warm. "One or two yeah. Hang on." He quickly fulfilled the orders of his remaining customers, and headed down toward Sirius to begin cleaning the bar. "Maybe everyone'll take the hint," he said, gesturing to the crowd with his towel. "I need to get home and get some sleep."
"I think we're all overtired," Sirius agreed, pulling his eyebrows together. "Last night was very difficult."
Ron nodded, not sure that he wanted to get into the subject of last night. "Yeah," he said noncommittally. "That was tense."
"It was." Sirius drew deeply at his bottle, and set it down. His face was solemn. "Actually, I came to apologize."
"Huh?" Ron frowned at Sirius in surprise. "What for?"
"For last night. I was... not myself. I get extremely worried about Remus. I took it out on Ginny and it wasn't necessary. I've apologized to her already, but as she's your sister, I just wanted to make it clear with you." Sirius looked at him soberly. "She did an incredible thing."
Ron flushed with both pride and immediate irritation. "Yeah she did," he mumbled. "Anyway, it's fine. I thought she was mental for trying it, too."
"She was." Sirius dragged on his Madman again, and smiled. "But she pulled it off."
"Just luck, maybe," Ron offered, keeping his voice neutral.
"Remus doesn't think so." Sirius set down his bottle with a decided thud. "She's a talented girl."
"Yeah." Ron looked to his left and saw the brunette from Jimmy MacMillan's table sitting expectantly at the bar, her money in her hand. He was glad for the distraction. This conversation was getting the better of him, somehow, and he didn't want it to show in front of Sirius. "Hang on," he said quickly, walking toward the brunette and spending a lot more time on her order than was necessary. Usually he didn't let the girls chat his ear off, but she was pleasant and had a few funny things to say about Quinn - and, though Ron hated to admit it, he wasn't in the mood to talk about how talented Ginny was. Instead, he listened to Quinn's girlfriend go on about how they'd met in Hungary, avoided Sirius's questioning gaze, and hoped that something else would happen to keep him distracted. He didn't have to wait long.
"Find yourself a new girlfriend, Weasley?"
Ron stiffened. The arrogant drawl was instantly recognizable. He didn't have to turn to know it was Malfoy.
A thousand things went through his head at once - but his immediate desire was to pull his wand and strike. His hand moved on instinct, and he only held it down when a second, stronger thought entered his head. He'd promised Hermione. He'd sworn he wouldn't fight Malfoy, no matter what.
Ron dropped his hand. "Excuse me," he said to the girl he'd been waiting on. She nodded, shot a bothered look at Malfoy for his comment, and took her drink back to her table.
He turned to Malfoy, willing himself to stay calm, though he could already feel the urge to fight rising in his blood. But the summer was almost over – Malfoy would be going back to wherever he lived quite soon – Ron knew that he could manage a few short days without rising to it. He had to manage. He made himself take a deep breath, and forced out a few polite words.
"What can I get you?"
Malfoy laughed. It was a raucous sound, totally unlike his usual, cool laugh. Instead of his predictably lazy, controlled movements, his entire posture drooped heavily. He leaned on the bar and fixed a stare on Ron, raking his fine blond hair back from his face. "Now this is more like it."
Ron drew himself up to his full height, stepped up to the bar, and glared across it at Malfoy. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
Malfoy laughed again, and Ron smelled liquor on his breath. It definitely seemed he'd had a few drinks tonight – Ron had never seen Malfoy pick a fight without his bodyguards around, but he was certainly picking a fight now.
"It's just like my father always said. You're behind the bar and I'm in front of it." Malfoy smiled. "Get me a drink, Weasley."
Ron flexed his fingers, and clenched them tightly into balls, talking himself down from the battle he itched to initiate. Don't rise to it. Don't rise to it. Hermione, Hermione, Hermione...
"What are you drinking, Draco?" Ron worked to say the name calmly, worked not to spit it with all the venom that he felt.
"Oh, are we on a first name basis? I don't think so. Get me a glass of wine. Now."
Ron had to turn away from the bar. It was either that, or knock Malfoy's head in with his bare hands. He turned around and stared blindly at the rows of bottles that sat against the mirror behind him, not sure how he was going to get through this without cursing the hell out of something. Or someone. Malfoy's reflection smirked at him as he reached for a glass and a bottle.
"I drink red."
Ron clenched his jaw. Don't do it. Don't curse him. Hermione. He shifted his gaze away from Malfoy's image and down the bar, his hands automatically and calmly going to the bottle of red wine, though in his head he was plotting a series of violent movements. In the mirror at the end of the bar, he saw Goldie and Sirius watching him intently. He forced himself to nod at them, then poured the wine and turned resolutely back toward the crowd, his mind racing.
"Fourteen sickles, three knuts," he said, through gritted teeth, putting the glass on the counter in front of Malfoy and barely resisting the urge to toss it into his eyes.
Malfoy glanced disdainfully at the glass. "I suppose there's no point in asking the year," he muttered, then withdrew a money pouch, searched in it, and let a galleon fall from his fingers onto the bar. It spun crazily a moment before landing, and he laughed again, his pale, pointed features flushing a dull pink as he swilled his glass and sniffed its contents contemptuously.
"Have the change, Weasley. I don't need it."
The insult was old, but it hit with direct force. Ron's hand moved recklessly to his wand as it so often had in school, his mouth opening on an ugly hex. Malfoy grinned, settling his hand on his own wand and waiting.
Ron nearly growled with impotent frustration – he wanted to hurt him, to make him suffer, but Hermione's protests were clear in his mind. Don't do it. Don't give him the satisfaction. Ron forced himself to release his wand, pulled a shallow breath, withdrew the appropriate change from behind the bar, and coolly settled it on the counter.
"No, thanks."
"Take it." Malfoy took a swallow of wine. "God knows when you're going to see money enough to have a life. Working in this place? You'd think someone like you would take a lesson from his parents and aim a bit higher."
"It'd be hard to get higher than Minister of Magic." Ron's heart flashed with fierce pride. He knew he was rising to the bait, knew Malfoy wasn't worth the trouble. But he couldn't let it pass. It was too good, being able to throw that fact at Malfoy. It was about damn time. And Malfoy was getting into dangerous territory now – touching on the Weasley family. Ron noticed that most of the patrons at the bar had backed off, and were watching the mounting tension between the two of them with curiosity and trepidation.
"That's a position of convenience and you know it," Malfoy whispered, leering. "He's only in there because it's a mess. Must be just like living in your house."
Ron shivered, and clenched his hands so tightly that they hurt. "Get some new material, why don't you, Malfoy."
"The truth hurts, doesn't it, Weasley? Your father is a fluke success. He's nothing but a murderer. And your mother -"
"My dad's no murderer." Ron's voice was loud, suddenly, and his hand was tight on his wand, ready to pull it at any moment. He'd kill him. This was instinct. This was three years of war. This was what he had always expected it to come to with Malfoy.
Malfoy's eyes were suddenly bloodshot. "And what would you call him?" he whispered. "My father is dead."
A hush fell across the people who were left in the bar. Ron's eyes didn't leave Malfoy's, but he could feel the energy of the watching crowd. Everyone in the wizarding world knew at least something about the events that had ended the war. Everyone knew that Arthur Weasley was the acting Minister of Magic, and that Lucius Malfoy had been a feared Death Eater - they might all have put the situation together by now. Ron didn't know how much they'd figured out. It didn't matter. They'd know it in a minute.
"Your father..." Ron gritted his teeth, hard, "...tried to kill mine first. You were there, you know what happened." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sirius stand.
"I saw my father die," Malfoy insisted thickly.
"You saw him set a Killing Curse on my father - you saw it."
"I saw my father die."
"He was aiming for my sister, Malfoy – were we all supposed to stand and watch?"
"He was aiming for Potter," Malfoy spat, swaying on his seat. "Your sister was making a fool of herself, as usual, she should have got out of the way."
Ron gripped the bar with both hands. "Your dad was a Death Eater." His voice was very low. "It's nobody's fault but his if that curse came back on him." Ron knew that to say these words about someone's father, even to a person like Malfoy, was cruel. But he didn't care.
"It was your damned father's fault," Malfoy slurred. His eyes were so narrow that they'd almost shut, and he seemed to be struggling against some display of emotion. "And you – the three of you. You and Potter and your girlfriend. With your spells."
Ron suddenly realized just how drunk Malfoy must be. He was showing incredible weakness – and insecurity. Even jealousy. Ron relaxed his grip on the bar. "Go home, Malfoy. You're drunk."
"Don't give me directions!" Malfoy hissed. "Get me another drink."
Ron shook his head. "You're over your limit," he stated flatly. "No more."
"And you're acting like that obnoxious Peter Prefect you used to be related to," Malfoy said softly, smiling. "Sad about him, isn't it?"
Ron mouthed soundlessly, trembling with fury. Even Malfoy had never struck so low. "His name was Percy," he whispered. "Have some respect."
"Why should I be more respectful of your dead than you are of mine? Peter was careless, that's what my father -"
Ron reached across the bar with lightning speed and seized Malfoy by the collar of his robes. The two young men faced each other over a mess of spilled wine, wild eyed and furious, barely even breathing.
"You show my brother respect," Ron barely managed. "Your father was there when he died. You want to talk about murderers, you bastard -"
Malfoy's hands seized Ron's collar a moment later, and Ron felt a jolt of massive surprise. Malfoy had never stood up to him – not physically. Not alone. Not like this.
"It was Wormtail that killed your brother," Malfoy whispered. "My father had nothing to do with what happened to Peter –"
"Say his name wrong one more time –"
"Hard to keep you all straight, Weasley. Shocking your mother even noticed one of you was gone."
Ron knew that he had to let go of Malfoy. He had to. His mind screamed at him to pound the enemy with his fists, to rip out the blond hair, to put his wand to Malfoy's chest and finish it all. But behind the blinding anger in his brain was the echo of Ginny, telling him how frightened Hermione was that he'd do something rash and get taken away – that Hermione could bear anything but that. And then there was Hermione's face – the livid fear in her eyes whenever there was a chance that he might fight.
He wasn't going to do it. He wouldn't hurt Hermione over Malfoy.
"Go home," he managed hoarsely, releasing Malfoy's collar with a violent yank and tearing Malfoy's hands from his own shirt. "Get out."
"Scared?" Malfoy laughed. "Don't know what to do without Potter?"
"Get out."
"Or do you want me to get out of the way so you can get back to the new girlfriend? Does that Mudblood you sleep with know you're having it off with someone else –"
There was a rush of noise and air. In seconds, Ron had released Malfoy, grabbed the bar, and hurled his body over it, barely landing on his feet. He heard glass shatter on the floor, but didn't heed it. Blood pounded in his ears. His wand was in his hand and he held it at the ready for a duel. Malfoy stumbled from his stool and pulled his own weapon, pointing it out at Ron.
They circled each other slowly. Ron felt there was nothing – nothing – stronger than his hatred at that moment. His heart pounded furiously, sending a rage of blood through every vein. Over Malfoy's shoulders he saw Jimmy and Andrew rise from their table, hands on their wands. The girls they were sitting with did the same. Even Lipsett got up, suddenly quite sober, and pulled his wand. Goldie watched Ron intently, and Sirius stood still, waiting, ready to step in at any moment. The other patrons had backed against the walls.
Malfoy didn't seem to see any of it. He looked delighted, as though he knew he'd tapped successfully into the sorest spot of all. Ron could barely bring himself to speak. It was bad enough that his brother was dead. Bad enough that his father had been accused of murder in public, and that his own pride had been wounded. But Lucius Malfoy had been entirely to blame for the attack on Hermione's parents, and everybody knew it. Malfoy knew it. Malfoy had given his sick father the idea in the first place. And now Malfoy was smiling, and opening his mouth to throw another taunt.
I'm not going to do it. I won't. I won't...
Malfoy took careless aim with his wand and spoke. "Careful, Weasley... Don't get sacked... How will you support that orphaned bitch and the next litter of paupers – "
Ron lunged. He had forgotten his wand, he only wanted to attack – attack – he had almost hurled himself onto Malfoy when he felt a strong grip on his arm. His body was yanked unceremoniously back from the fight before it could even begin and he stood, his back against the bar, panting.
"That's enough." It was Sirius's voice. Ron was still shaking with rage – he lunged toward Malfoy again immediately but Sirius blocked him. "It's all right."
Ron looked into Sirius's face and knew it was over. He was at once incredibly incensed that he wouldn't be allowed to finish this himself, and incredibly grateful that someone was going to stop him from committing a serious crime.
Malfoy, in the meantime, had whirled to look at Sirius. His face, which had been flushed with alcohol and anger, turned pale. He had apparently been unaware that Sirius Black was present in the room. The bitter anger in Malfoy's face didn't waver, but he took several steps backward, slamming into a table. He raised his wand unsteadily.
"Expelliarmus." Sirius didn't even raise his voice. Malfoy's wand flew across the bar and Sirius held onto it. "Get outside."
"I vill show him de vay out." Goldie was out of his seat and walking toward Malfoy, who was cowering and clearly humiliated. The old barkeep reached out a stout hand to guide the young man to the door by his shoulder, but Malfoy threw him off.
"Don't touch me," he hissed, stumbling along the table toward the door, blond hair falling in his eyes.
Ron followed in Malfoy's inebriated wake. He followed until he'd backed Malfoy up against the wall beside the door to the Snout's Fair, and held out his wand, not quite sure what he wanted to do. He only knew that the glittering hatred in Malfoy's eyes was real, and that his own matched it.
"Ron." Sirius's voice was steady behind him. "Don't. It's all right."
"I know it. I'm not going to do anything."
To his own surprise, he found he was telling the truth. He still ached to inflict pain on his enemy, but the fight was over. Malfoy was shaking. Ron muttered a spell in his direction, making him flinch in terror - but it was nothing more harmful than a Sobering Charm. Ron then turned and handed his wand to Sirius, not trusting himself to carry it. "I'll take him outside," he announced flatly.
Sirius took the wand and nodded.
Ron turned back and pulled open the heavy wooden door; Malfoy stepped sideways and backed through it, practically falling backwards down the stone stoop and into the cobbled road.
"Give me my wand, you son of a bitch," Malfoy demanded, when he'd steadied himself. "Go and get it from that escapee and give it back."
Ron felt a sick lurch of anger, but he was unwilling to start up again; he turned back to get him his wand and get him out of there.
He wasn't expecting to be punched in the side of his head.
It was a blind side – Malfoy waited until Ron had turned just a fraction past his line of peripheral vision, then struck. Having no wand, he'd struck with his fist.
The blow was intensely painful. Ron staggered to the side, wondering if some bone was being shattered - he felt several cracks and tasted blood in the ridges of his teeth. He'd bitten his tongue. There was also something dripping down his cheek. Ron knocked into the outer wall of the pub, his head ringing with pain, his eyes glazing over. He looked dazedly at the faces that were pressed against the window, watching him – Jimmy and Andrew and Sirius – but their faces seemed to swim in his vision before disappearing from the window. Ron imagined they were running for the door, but he didn't have time to consider it. The moment he steadied himself and turned to face his assailant, he was forced to act.
Malfoy's fist was coming back toward him – it was within two inches of his nose, and sailing at light speed. Ron had no time to think; he raised his arm to ward off the blow, swinging his fist in a wide arc toward Malfoy's arm in an effort to beat it away. A loud crack told him he'd connected with something. A thud told him that Malfoy had hit the ground.
Ron gaped in disbelief at Malfoy's unconscious form, sprawled on the cobblestones, then slowly reached up and felt the side of his head with his hand. His temple was a mess of sticky wetness, and he drew his fingers away, wincing. Blood glistened on his hand, in the moonlight.
"Hermione," he mumbled. Ron stared dumbly from his hand to Malfoy, whose fist was lying slack and seemed to be sticking off his arm at a bizarre angle. Ron wondered if the bones he'd felt cracking had been Malfoy's.
Sirius barreled through the door with Jimmy and Andrew on his heels. Behind them, Ron could see the customers in the Snout's Fair straining for a look outside, while Goldie ushered them all back to their seats and took up Ron's post behind the bar. Jimmy shut the door; he and Andrew stepped out into the street, their eyes on Malfoy's crumpled form.
Sirius made straight for Ron. "You all right?" he demanded.
Ron looked dazedly away from Malfoy's pale hand and glanced at the blood on his own. "He asked me for his wand, I turned to go in and get it, and he tried knocking me out..." He turned his face so that Sirius could see the damage.
Sirius let out a low whistle. "He did a number on you," he mused, raising his wand and muttering a spell that Ron recognized from his episodes under Madam Pomfrey's care as a Disinfecting Charm. Ron's temple stung, and the throbbing in his head worsened. A moment later, he felt the wet trickle begin to run down the side of his face again; he raised his hand and felt more blood.
"Don't know how he broke the skin," he mumbled, gazing down at Malfoy's fist. "What do we do with him?"
"Take him back to Lewis's house. Let his mother deal with him." Sirius did another quick spell, which stopped Ron's blood from flowing on his face, then turned to Andrew and Jimmy. "You two," he demanded. "You witnessed this?"
"Yeah," they answered together, and Quinn raised his wand. "Recorded it, I think. I don't know if I got anything."
"But what did you see?" Sirius pressed.
"Malfoy punched him," Quinn answered at once.
"And Ron punched back to block another hit – self defense – I saw it from the door," Jimmy finished.
"All right," Sirius said gravely. "Good to know, just in case. You can both go in – we've got it from here."
Ginny's old classmates shot a last, dubious look at Malfoy's body before going back into the pub.
Sirius magicked Malfoy's body off the ground in order to float it up the road and back to his summer home, and Ron watched, not sure what to feel. Hanging in midair, slack and defeated, Malfoy looked suddenly vulnerable and sad. His right hand still appeared to be twisted. Ron pointed the injury out to Sirius, who came around and examined it closely.
"Broken. In several places."
"What, on my head?" Ron asked in surprise, reaching up to gingerly touch the sticky, throbbing wound.
"Hardest bone in your body." Sirius let out a snort of contempt. "He's a fool. And here's the reason you're bleeding." Sirius lifted Malfoy's ring finger. The moonlight glinted on the ornate, golden ring he wore, which bore a large 'M' in Gothic script. It was ostentatious and wet with blood, but was clearly a costly heirloom. Sirius dropped Malfoy's broken hand without regard for its injury and surveyed him for a moment with open disgust before turning and waving his body up the street ahead of them. "Let's go." He motioned to Ron.
"My shift's not over," Ron protested vaguely, gesturing to the pub.
"Yes it is. Come on."
Ron followed Malfoy's body alongside Sirius, thinking about the fight, and the gash on his head, and the ring that had probably belonged to Lucius. He couldn't help remembering how Malfoy's eyes had been bloodshot when he'd first mentioned his father's death. Ron shuddered at the thought that it could easily have been Arthur Weasley's death on that day. This fight could easily have taken place in reverse – and something close to pity surfaced in him. It might even have been real pity, if it hadn't been for Malfoy's ugly remarks about his father. His finances. His family. Percy. He'd had to go and say those things about Percy, who was dead and couldn't fight for himself any longer.
And Hermione. Ron shuddered again, but this time it was out of loathing and hatred. Nobody called Hermione anything. The words Malfoy had used were unforgivable – calling her an orphan, as if it wasn't his fault that she was one. Calling her a... Ron didn't even want to remember the words, though they came back and rang loudly in his mind anyway. He trained his eyes on the sleek, pale blond head that hovered just a meter ahead of him, and silently told Malfoy how lucky he was to be alive.
"I would've killed him." Sirius's voice broke into Ron's string of mental threats. His tone was mild and even, but Ron sensed the truth behind it, and he turned his head to give his honest answer.
"I – I think I was about to."
"That's why I stopped you. He's not worth twelve years in prison." Sirius stopped walking in front of Lewis Manor's wide, manicured lawn, and looked straight at Ron. "Not much is."
"Hermione is." Ron felt a burn in his face, saying those words aloud on the dark, quiet street. But they were true.
Sirius smiled briefly. "Her life is. Absolutely. But that wasn't at stake."
"Her parents – Percy –"
"I know. Like I said, I'd have killed him. Especially at your age."
Ron returned Sirius's focused gaze, but was not sure what to say. He couldn't possibly understand what was behind those words, coming from a man who had spent twelve years in Azkaban. Ron didn't feel nearly equal to him. It was odd, standing out here with Harry's godfather, the powerful wizard who had served at the head of the Order of the Phoenix, having a conversation of this magnitude.
So he shrugged it off. "Guess we'd better get him inside."
Sirius looked at Ron a moment, his eyes very distant. He shook himself and turned his gaze toward Malfoy's inert shape in the air. "I'll deal with his mother. You go do something about that cut before it gets any more revolting."
Ron snorted, and felt his temple, which was a congealing mess. "Thanks a lot."
Sirius grinned. "See you in a few minutes." He walked up the path toward the massive front doors of the Lewis house, driving Malfoy's body before him. Ron headed up and across the road to Lupin Lodge, hoping for a dark house and a sleeping Hermione. He needed to get this blood off him. He opened the door and went in, listening for voices, but it seemed quiet enough. Making as little noise as possible, Ron went down the hall and cut into the front room, going straight for the stairs.
"What the hell –"
Ron spun to see Harry, his face a shock of concern, his mouth hanging open.
Harry stared at the wound on Ron's face, then raised his voice again. "What happened? Weren't you at work? Was there a fight?"
"Yeah." Ron shifted uneasily. If the last thing he wanted to do was to face Hermione, the second-to-last was to tell Harry he'd been in a brawl with Malfoy. He had no idea how Harry would respond to the information.
"Who started it?" Harry leaned forward in his chair, his book abandoned. "Do you still have your job and everything, or –"
"Malfoy," Ron blurted, not wanting to do a whole wind-up. "He came in and said a lot of – you know – and I didn't want to get into it, but he wouldn't let up."
Harry was already on his feet, his wand drawn. "Where is he?" His voice was dead calm.
Ron shook his head quickly, wishing he hadn't said anything. "It's fine – you don't have to –"
"He's not going to get away with this crap anymore, we're too old. He's lucky we've let him to himself all summer." Harry headed for the hall door, his stride determined.
"He didn't get away with anything!" Ron insisted, blocking Harry's way. "I knocked him out cold. I'm telling you he's unconscious."
"Yeah?" Harry stopped and searched his face.
"Out like a light. He got a swing at me, first –" Ron gestured to his head, " – but it looks worse than it is."
"What d'you mean a swing? Did he hex you?"
"No, Sirius had his wand. He punched me. The cut's from this big ring Malfoy wears on his finger."
Harry made a sound of disgust. "So you Stunned him?"
"No. Sirius had my wand, too. Used my bare hands."
Harry stared at him a second, and then, almost in spite of itself, a slow grin crawled across his face. "You slugged Malfoy."
"Yeah." Ron felt a grin twist at his own lips.
"And this was in the pub?"
"The street."
"And he just – fell over?"
"Dropped like a stone."
"Damn." Harry gave a short laugh and shook his head. "It's about time, isn't it?"
"Definitely," Ron agreed, laughing as well. There had been enough tension tonight, and it was good to have somebody to tell – somebody who loathed Malfoy as much as he did.
"Can't believe I missed it," Harry continued, still savoring a grin. "Where is he now?"
"Sirius is across the road giving him back to his mum."
Harry snickered. "How'd it start, anyway?"
"He ordered me to get him a glass of wine."
"Oh ho. That bastard."
"Language, Harry."
Both boys froze at the sound of Hermione's voice on the stair, and Harry fell to looking slightly sheepish. Ron, however, couldn't breathe. He felt as though he'd been gripped in a vise. He didn't want to turn and look at her. She was going to think he'd been standing here, just laughing about –
"Why is there blood on your face?" she asked, too softly.
Ron met Harry's eyes. Harry communicated silently that he was sorry that Ron was about to get into a world of trouble, then excused himself and went from the room. Ron pivoted toward the stairs and watched him go past Hermione, where she stood in her nightdress, looking down at Ron with a tiny crease between her eyebrows. She watched him for a long time, and he felt there wasn't any point in defending himself until he knew how much she'd heard.
"You promised," she said quietly.
She'd heard enough. Disappointment was crystal clear in her voice, and worry was in her eyes. Ron felt suddenly, unbelievably guilty. He also felt the first flare of anger – she had to understand him. She had to let him explain; she hadn't been there, she didn't know.
"Hermione, listen. He was saying – horrible stuff. Horrible stuff. About my dad, and Percy – about..." Ron had been about to say, 'you'. He held his tongue. He didn't want to be asked to repeat the words that Malfoy had called her.
"So you knocked him unconscious."
"No, not like that. First he –"
"He's not unconscious?"
"He was, but wait, let me –"
"Oh, Ron, your face..." Hermione looked at his bleeding temple, distress evident in her expression. She came down two steps and her fingers fluttered up as if to touch him, then dropped again. "You ought to bandage that," she said, her voice shaking a little.
"I will."
"Now, before it gets infected."
"I will. But I didn't go back on my word, Hermione," Ron pled.
She studied him with her clear brown eyes. "I know you're angry that I want to go away," she began.
"That's not why this happened!" Ron interrupted, furious. "I wasn't taking anything out on Malfoy. I'm telling you, this was just self defense."
"How badly is he hurt?"
Ron snorted. "Worried about him, are you? Well, he's hurt - but only because he broke his bloody fingers on my skull. Look, forget it. Don't listen to me, believe what you want. I'm going to clean up." He started up the stairs, going around her to avoid contact.
"I'm only worried about you," Hermione barely managed, sounding as if she was on the edge of tears. "I just want to know what kind of trouble you're in, I don't want you to get arrested for some fight –"
"So what if I do?" Ron stormed into the bathroom and wet a towel, flinching when he looked into the mirror. He looked a fright; blood had tunneled into his hair, and dried beneath his eye. Rivulets of it were frozen on the side of his face, and at the place where the ring had cut in there was a deep, dark slice. Quickly he pressed the wet towel to his temple and began to wipe away dried patches of blood.
Hermione appeared in the mirror beside him - he felt her standing close, but stubbornly refused to look into the reflection of her eyes.
"It wasn't just some fight," he muttered. "I got punched, Hermione, and if I'm stronger than Malfoy is, that's not my fault. I had to hit back, or get punched again. I have witnesses who'll tell you that it was self defense – not that you care about my side of the story."
"Let me do that." Hermione reached for the towel.
Ron jerked his hand away. "I've got it."
"Ron?" Sirius's voice drifted up from downstairs.
Without another word to Hermione, Ron went out of the bathroom and down the stairs, to hear what had happened with Malfoy. When he reached the front room and met Sirius's eyes, his heart gave a dark thud; Sirius looked nearly as pale and worried as he had last night, before the Wolfsbane Potion had turned out to be successful.
"What'd Draco's mum say?" Ron demanded. "Why do you look like someone's died?"
Sirius flinched. "No one is dead, Ron. But you'd better sit down."
Ron sat blindly in the nearest chair, afraid to comprehend what was implicit in Sirius's tone. "What... what's the problem? He's just unconscious - I hardly touched him, you saw what I -"
"Yes. Nevertheless he has been taken to St. Mungo's." Sirius drew an uneven breath and raked both hands back through his hair, and Ron felt a wave of terror so strong that he thought he might throw up. He might even have done so, if it hadn't been for the pressure of two cool hands on his shoulders and the sound of Hermione's voice at his back.
"What's wrong with Malfoy?" she asked in a whisper.
Sirius swallowed. "I took him to his uncle's. And his mother... well, I don't particularly like her, but she's been through a war like the rest of us, and she's suffered her losses too – so I wasn't surprised when she started screaming at me to wake up her son. Which I tried to do, but Malfoy wouldn't respond to any of my attempts to bring him around. That didn't make sense to me, because I knew you hadn't done much but knock him backwards, and nothing was injured except his fingers. But then his uncle thought to turn him over."
Hermione gripped Ron's shoulders as Sirius continued.
"Apparently Malfoy had a bad landing, Ron. Whatever he fell on must have split his head right open – and I won't lie to you. It was a pretty bad wound. The M.L.E.S. has already been called, and they'll already be down at the Snout's Fair questioning witnesses and picking up evidence, so if it was a rock that did the damage, they'll have it by now. They'll be here next, to question you."
Ron tried to breathe, and found he couldn't.
It was Hermione that spoke. "But Malfoy's going to live," she said fervently. "You said they took him to St. Mungo's."
"I think he'll live," Sirius answered quietly. "But I'm not an expert."
Ron opened his mouth to say something about that, but his head spun so badly that he could say nothing at all. He reached up and groped for Hermione's hands; she immediately caught hold of his.
"Ron won't go to prison if it was self defense." Hermione's voice shook. "He can't. He said there were witnesses."
"True." Sirius nodded. "But there are loopholes in the laws, and we're going to have to prepare to defend you, Ron. The M.L.E.S. is going to be here in a few moments, and I wouldn't be surprised if the Daily Prophet was right behind them. But I'll speak to everyone – you're not to say a word."
Ron didn't think he could have, even if he'd wanted to. He nodded.
"I'm going to represent you." Sirius took a deep breath, and released it. "And we should be fine. He hit first, there are witnesses to that, and your strike was self-defense. Everything you did was provoked. I can prove that. But there were plenty of people in the bar who heard every word of what you said to each other beforehand, and that won't figure into this very well."
"Why not? What was said?" Hermione demanded. "How will it hurt him?"
Ron squeezed her hands gratefully. She was asking every question he wanted to ask, but couldn't.
"Insults were thrown which will color this as a personal argument," Sirius explained, shaking his head. "Ron's strike will be made out, as much as possible, to look like it was done for the sake of revenge."
"But that's a lie," Ron rasped, finally finding his voice. "It wasn't for revenge, I wasn't thinking at all –"
"Just let me answer Diggory's questions, Ron. We'll work on the rest of it when the time comes."
"But it won't even matter if Malfoy..." Ron couldn't bring himself to imagine that Malfoy had died. He couldn't say it aloud. "It'd be manslaughter," he finished numbly. "Won't matter what the motivations were. Hell, Buckbeak acted on his instincts, and remember - they were going to kill him for it."
"That was a different Ministry," Hermione argued at once, her voice high-pitched. "That was Fudge and Malfoy and McNair, and that case was tried unfairly - not to mention that you're human. The laws are totally different."
"She's right." Sirius opened his mouth to say something else, but there was a loud rap at the front door that sent both him and Ron to their feet.
"That'll be the M.L.E.S.," Ron managed. "You... Hermione, maybe you should go upstairs."
But Hermione came around to stand before him. She reached up and took his face in her hands, looking as steady and strong as she ever had. "Listen to me. I'm going up to tell Harry and Ginny and Remus what's happening, so they won't come down. Then I'm going to put on my dressing gown and then I'll be right back," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "Just do what Sirius says. Don't say anything – let him defend you." She brushed Ron's hair back from his temple, softly caressing the wound Malfoy's ring had made as she did so. "I believe this wasn't your fault," she whispered, standing on her tiptoes to swiftly kiss him, then disappearing quickly up the stairs.
Ron watched her go, incredibly afraid, comforted only in the knowledge that she was coming right back. It didn't matter if they'd fought, or if they were still fighting. Hermione gave him strength. He squared his shoulders and turned to Sirius, who stood in the corridor, ready to admit the M.L.E.S. into the house.
"Okay," Ron said, letting out a low breath and trying to calm his pounding heart so that he wouldn't look as nervous and guilty as he felt. "Okay. You can let them in."
