A/N: Self-indulgence. Completely. I apologize for my wordiness. Should I apologise? I'll apologise. Sorry I took my sweet time updating. I'd say it won't ever happen again, but I'd be lying.


It's Karma, Baby!
by Sophie B.


Chapter 3: Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This

"Hey, did you guys hear what happened to Draco Malfoy! It's just horrible!"

The Trio of friends turned their attention to Lavender who was sitting a few seats down the table.

"What happened?" asked Hermione Granger, raising a skeptical eyebrow in the other girl's direction. Lavender was not the most reliable source of information at the school, a truth more pronounced when the gossip in question concerned the less-than-dynamic Slytherins.

The infamous house was composed of a piss-about squad of ne'er-do-wells, true. But even their exploits were hardly ever gossip worthy. With greater likelihood, the case concerned more of the same -- this Slytherin insulted a student, that Slytherin beat up this or that first year, another Slytherin stole that week's test key from Professor Snape's study, and the like. It hardly warranted more than a raised eyebrow from anyone above third year.

Despite Hogwarts' universal reputation as one of the most magically charged locations on the planet, seven eighths of the time the school was not the most enthralling of places. It could be quite boring as a matter of fact. Which made for a rather creative rumour mill that could twist even the most benign of incidents into worse-than-death.

Though, what the Hogwarts grapevine lacked in accuracy, it made up for in efficiency. A newly hatched rumour would spread through the entire school faster than an itch through a whorehouse (and frequently was just as irritating).

Taking all of this into account, Hermione was wholly justified in doubting a chatterbox of a girl such as Lavender.

Lavander's information almost always came from one of her friends. And one could only find himself reluctant to take at face value anything that Lavender said, considering just who her friends were -- Parvati Patil and Pansy Parkinson amongst others. The former was a chatty little thing with friends in troves all over the school and a high grudge of one sort or another against half of them. The latter, Pansy Parkinson, single-handedly embodied the whole of the Slytherin rumour mill. There was Millicent and the rest of the other Slytherin girls of course, but they were unavoidably drowned out and pushed aside by Pansy's excess of personality, and kept mainly to themselves.

But Pansy -- any stray bit of information that happened by manifested itself in the swoony, ruffled, giggling lump of femininity that was Pansy Parkinson. She could gob off with such efficiency of senseless rabble as to give even the most talkative of jarvies an inferiority complex.

Both Lavender and Parvati looked up to this girl as if she were an omniscient goddess of some sort (much the same as they viewed their favourite teacher, Sybill Trelawny, a 'Professional' Seer). These facts were common knowledge to all, or at least everyone with any small bit of sense.

This day was no different than previous days, so naturally Lavender's sudden proclamation of Draco Malfoy's misfortune was little heeded by any of the dinner crowd seated at the Gryffindor table. If previous experience was anything to judge by, the rumour was false anyhow.

Only 'The Dream Team', as they had come to be known by, had anything more than a passing interest in the wheeling and dealing of Draco Malfoy, and even that was purely precautionary; whenever Malfoy got up to something, it usually ended up involving them in one convoluted way or another.

Perhaps if the topic had come up during lunch or History of Magic, when heads were throbbing with midday mundanity, people would have found it of interest. Or if the crowd were compiled of the lower years instead of a group of seventh years who had heard it all before two million times by now, backwards and forwards. But dinner was a time to relax and look forward to bed. Especially so late in the school year when minds were tense, and workloads were grossly enlarged worse than an 80 year old man's prostate and certainly as uncomfortable.

Certainly, Ron Weasley was feeling the crunch. And whatever trivial thing Lavender had to say about Draco Malfoy was hardly of any significant interest to the apathetic redhead. He sighed and, despite himself, listened as Lavender excitedly explained the pertinent details of this most recent newsflash.

"Draco's in the infirmary! He broke something like fifteen bones and is nearly on his deathbed! It's horrible. He's in a coma and everything!"

Ron snorted and looked to Hermione who looked to the third and arguably most notable member of their trio, Harry Potter.

Harry shrugged and said: "Wait, Lavender, what do you mean he's nearly on his deathbed? What happened to him?"

All along the dinner table, a few more eyes rose in attention. After all, if Harry Potter was interested, surely the state of the situation was something worth knowing. He was considered what amounted to a village elder in the peaceful province of Gryffindor House. When Harry spoke, people listened, whether or not what they heard was utter shit-faced rubbish.

Ron was accustomed to other people's reactions to Harry, and once, he too would have snapped to attention along with the rest of the flock. Actually that was a lie. Only three things existed in the world that could snap Ron to attention -- dinner, spiders, The Cannons, and Draco Malfoy. So that was four things; Draco didn't exactly count anymore did he, now that these days Ron had better grip of his temper. Stupid pale faced ferret. But that wasn't the point. The point was...he scratched his chin a moment. Oh yes, the point was he'd come to know Harry for the normality that he embodied. A normal boy shoved into an abnormal life -- yes, that was Harry all right. So Ron could take comfort in that knowledge and treat Harry like he treated Hermione -- that is, with high doses of apathy and skepticism and not only a bit of contrariness.

As Ron poked at his peas, trying to stab them with the corner tong of his fork as they rolled inconveniently from under his precise attempts, he listened with only half an ear as Lavender squealed with much delight.

"Well...what I heard was that he was found trying to sneak some kind of DARK ARTS things into the school and got cursed terribly when he tried to RUN from the AURORS that Dumbledore sent after him!"

"Funny," Ron snorted, "I haven't seen any Aurors running around the school. Are you sure you aren't mistaking this with the time Malfoy was breeding Manticores in his bedroom? Or that other time when he was growing giant elicit mushrooms in the dungeons? Even better, how about when Malfoy and Harry were supposedly dating?"

Harry blushed as did Lavender. "It was possible!" she said. "I can't help it if Pansy misheard a few conversations!"

Ron rolled his eyes and turned back to his peas, which were by now thoroughly embedded, like so many rounds of birdshot, throughout his battle weary meat loaf.

"ANYWAY," Lavender continued indignantly, "he only has something like days left. Professor Snape is keeping vigil at his bedside, and he's already willed all his personal possessions to Pansy!"

"Lavander, Professor Snape is sitting next to Dumbledore, eating like a bird and scowling at Harry as usual," Ron informed her politely. Harry nodded in confirmation.

"Oh. Well...yes, so he is. But Ron, what is your problem? You aren't being very pleasant, you know!" she said with her hands placed sternly on her hips.

"And you are? Bringing up Malfoy while I'm trying to enjoy my dinner? And that's what you call pleasant?"

"He's just tired and doesn't want to be bothered with tales about that git Malfoy. See, you're ruining his dinner, love! Isn't that right, mate?" said Seamus Finnegan from next to his girlfriend, giving Ron an empathetic grin.

"He's not even eating! He's just playing with his peas!" Lavender said in her defense, giving Seamus an off putting glare.

"Why aren't you eating, Ron?" Hermione asked. She glanced over his plate full of food and did a curious scrunchy eyebrow thing that she was prone to using an awful lot, especially when it came to her two best friends.

"I'm just tired. I don't even feel like eating. I still have to revise for that Transfiguration test," said Ron.

"Nerves? Me too," said Harry.

Ron nodded. "She said it's going to be our most important grade next to the N.E.W.Ts. You oughtn't feel nervous Harry, you are Head Boy afterall. But me...?"

"But I, Ron," corrected Hermione, "and if you'd started studying earlier -- you knew about it four weeks in ad--"

"Stop right there Hermione!" said Ron, cradling his head in his hands. "I realize I am a terrible student. That's not the point! What am I supposed to do about tomorrow?!"

"Oh, you could ask Malfoy!" said Lavender.

Ron removed his head from his hands and looked up at the girl. "Oh? And why would I ask Malfoy for anything, let alone help on a transfiguration exam? He's already as good as lost me my appetite."

Lavander frowned. "Well...he's got the test form. He stole it this morning."

"But I thought you said he was dueling Aurors this morning. That boy sure does get around, doesn't he?" said Ron.

"Oh. Yeah. Well...."

"She was wrong," said Parvati, seating herself on the other side of Lavender at just that moment.

"Where have you been?" asked Lavander.

"Over at the Ravenclaw table. Padma is going to set me up with Terry Boot!"

Both girls proceeded to squeal with frightening synchronicity. Ron rolled his eyes.

"What were you saying about Lavender being wrong, Parvati?" asked Hermione, ignoring the whole display.

"Oh! Yes! Draco wasn't fighting Aurors; he broke into McGonagall's office and stole her test form last night. Pansy told me, and she was with him so she would know!"

"So he's not in the infirmary?" asked Seamus.

"Oh, no! He's in the infirmary all right. Pansy told me that...er, well, that he sort of hurt himself when he was with her last night...."

"Oh," said Ron, speaking for the rest of the proximal table. This was one story he really did not want to hear in more detail. Yawning, he rose from his seat. "I can't stay here anymore...I'm off to study!"

"Oh, good for you, Ron!" said Hermione with a delighted smile.

"Yes. Later, all."

He turned to leave the hall; no more rumours, chitchat or nagging for him. He allowed himself a glance at the Slytherin table, drawing his eyes straight to the far end of the table and to the empty place in between Crabbe and Goyle, which Malfoy usually occupied. He shrugged and continued on his merry way, grateful for the excuse to escape as Lavender and Parvati's voices, spewing more gossip, faded into the silence of the corridors and finally the common room.

With a sigh, Ron collapsed on the couch in front of a roaring fire in the hearth. He pulled out his transfiguration book from the bag he'd left on the couch earlier and set it on his lap. He opened it to the second page. And in minutes, he'd dozed off.

A ruckus at the portrait and a barrage of footsteps woke Ron less than half an hour later. He sat up on the couch and stretched, the movement knocking the revision text from his lap. Paying the evil book no mind, Ron twisted around and looked toward the group of Gryffindors returning from dinner. He brightened as he spotted Harry and Hermione at the back of the pack. Perhaps Hermione would take pity on him and give him one of her last minute tutoring sessions. It was better than nothing. And now that he'd had a nice nap he felt slightly rested and ready to face the task. Kinda.

He waved them over, and they made their way to the couch, taking a seat on either side of him.

"Hey, Ron! Feeling better?" asked Harry.

Ron shrugged. "Yeah."

He opened his mouth to propose a bit of night-before cramming, but before he could start pleading with the girl for help, Hermione launched into a description of her own plans for the night. Or rather *their* plans for the night. If the boys knew what was good for them.

"So, Ron, Lavender was telling us more about Malfoy, and it sounds suspicious. No one seems to know what happened to him. You should have heard some of the other theories the girls kept throwing at us. Not even Pansy Parkinson seems to know what's going on with him. And some of the other students are starting to talk about it as well."

Ron raised an eyebrow at the girl and turned to Harry. "Do you think it has something to do with 'Ya-Know-Who?'"

Harry shrugged. "My scar hasn't been burning especially bad lately. And no dreams. I'm not sure. Hermione thinks it might not be anything to do directly with Voldemort, but maybe Malfoy's up to something. Who knows how he got himself into the infirmary...no one's heard anything. We even went to Hagrid and the Infirmary itself...Madame Pomfrey told us to mind our business...afterhours, you know how she can be. She wouldn't even confirm or deny that Malfoy was there. Just told us to clear off. That in itself is kind of suspicious. I suppose?" Harry looked to Hermione for confirmation, and the girl nodded her approval.

Ron looked to the ceiling with a sigh. "So what, are we gonna go to Dumbledore?"

Harry shook his head. Hermione bit her lip a moment before answering.

"I don't think it's important enough to bother the Headmaster. Besides we don't have anything to report yet! I thought perhaps we could go see for ourselves if he's really there in the infirmary. Then we'll at least know he's safely put up, and not out putting whatever sordid plots he has into action."

Ron groaned. "Why don't we just wait until tomorrow? He's probably just got a cold or ran into a door or something, stupid prat. He'll be back tomorrow. I'm dead tired. And I haven't any time to even read for class let alone go after Malfoy."

Hermione shook her head. "It's all very suspicious, Ron. We really should check it out. Everything we've heard...even the other houses are starting to talk about it. And Madame Pomfrey isn't telling anybody anything. We should figure out what's going on. It might be important! With everything that's been happening...."

"Uuurgh," was all Ron managed for a moment.

Tromping around the castle in the middle of the night wasn't an especially unpleasant activity, but he'd done it about a million times before. It got old. And he was shit tired. Was that such a difficult concept to grasp? Of course it would be for Hermione. 'She Who Never Sleeps,' thought Ron. Not when there was mind-numbing research to be done and ill evil prats to investigate. That girl had to have had a spare cell on her somewhere with the kind of energy she possessed. She could go on for hours like one of those robod things they'd learned about in Muggle Studies. It would have been nice if they could just unplug her like they did with annoying muggle appliances. "Is there no way you two could do this yourselves? I have revising to do!" said Ron.

"Oh come off it, Ron! You know you aren't really about to do anything. You'll just putter around for a bit and fall asleep. You could at least come with us and do something productive instead," she said.

"You know Hermione, I liked you a lot better when you were an insufferable nag about school work," Ron muttered, earning a nice easy glare. He snorted internally. He had even planned to actually study this time...for a little while anyway. Probably. Maybe. Hermione was so quick to judgement. But then of course, her judgements were usually just. Ron offered her a negotiating stare.

Hermione didn't seem to notice as she grabbed his arm and dragged him up off the couch and directed him up to fetch Harry's invisibility cloak.

Ron rubbed his temples as he clomped up the spiral stone staircase to Harry's room. Always, it was off of the seventh year boys' dormitory of whichever house the Headboy was a member of, specially reserved for the lucky student. Percy had stayed in this particular room. Bill too, Ron would imagine. He let his thoughts stray until he remembered what he'd come for.

"Golder Snidget," he said to the portrait blocking his path.

"Ah, Mister Weasley. How nice to see you," said the portrait of one Godric Gryffindor.

"Hullo Godric. Get out of my way," said Ron.

"Is something the matter? You seem frightfully tense. Perhaps a backrub?"

Ron sighed. "Test tomorrow, move aside, Hermione is waiting down in the common room. Besides, paintings can't give backrubs."

"Perhaps if you call Harry, he's a decent fellow...a proper Gryffindor. I'm sure he's brilliant at backrubs. Very good wand hand on that boy, and I'd know--"

"Open up!" said Ron, trying to avoid thoughts of how nice a good backrub would be right at the moment.

Godric shrugged and swung his portrait open, revealing beyond the hole in the wall a generous sized bedroom. Ron stepped through the portrait hole and into the lush surroundings of redvelvet and satin. Curtains and pointless screens decorated all the walls, leaving only the occasional bare spot of stone amongst the crimson dressings.

He eyed his friend's well made-bed longingly. Cool satin sheets. Goose down pillows. He could just collapse on that queen-sized mattress and bury himself in the red down duvet. Such a nice bed. Harry was lucky. So big and comfortable and versatile...perfect for Ron...and maybe later he could invite...

"Aaargh!" he cried, throwing open Harry's trunk, which sat at the foot of his bed. Now, not only was he tired, but he was distracted as well! Not a good combination -- hormones and exhaustion -- a potent mixture that ultimately resulted in complete frustration and irritation. Ron was in a mood to put it lightly. Stupid Godric. Stupid Hermione. Stupid Harry. Stupid....

"And where's the damn cloak then?!" Ron yelled at the trunk. "Damnit, Harry!"

That boy was such a slob! Ah, there it was...under the bed. What kind of unappreciative prat would throw a priceless invisibility cloak on the floor? In the dust?

"Oh yeah, me," he said, recalling yesterday's midnight excursion to acquire food from the kitchens. Ron got on all fours and dug the cloak out from under the low bedframe. He stood and shook the dust from it, growling to himself. It was always he who had to do the dirty work, wasn't it. Hermione, or dare he think it, Harry couldn't have got the damned cloak?

And Ron didn't even want to go! It was Hermione's idea, why couldn't she get her own cloak. He rolled his eyes at his own pissiness. Today just wasn't Ron's day.

"I need to get laid...." he shook his head, letting out a deep breath.

"Brilliantly," said Godric, earning a half-hearted scowl from Ron as he stepped out of the room, cloak in hand.

"Yeah, yeah. Stop pestering me," he said.

"He's just downstairs," the portrait called after him.

"You're not supposed to be encouraging this, you're virtually part of the staff. Fuck that...you're one of the Founders," said Ron. "Besides, you're only saying that 'cause you wanna watch. Bloody antiquated pervert." He turned away, continuing on down the corridor.

"Well! I've never seen such poor manners in my life," said Godric.

Ron shook his head, ignoring Godric's glare and turned onto the staircase landing. Now back to the others. Hermione was probably going to yell at him for taking so long.

Merlin curse whoever's idea it was to let Hermione be such a know-it-all. The girl had studied all that she possibly could. Now she had nothing to do but hassle Ron and think up pointless excursions such as this one. Poor girl, she must have been going crazy looking for things to keep herself properly occupied and stimulated.

"Hmph. Her and her projects. Yes, please Hermione, make my life more difficult just to amuse yourself, please do...." He snorted and threw the cloak over his shoulder before racing down the stairs, taking them three steps at a time. He may as well hurry and get it over with. It was gonna be a long night.




Next Chapter: This time Draco gets a visitor for real, but you already knew that. :) Thanks for reading!