A/N: Of questionable quality...I wrote it in a hurry, which also accounts for the reduced length. But it's not the size that matters, right? Well, either way I'm screwed. Thanks to the Dee and her Maud for some good old fashioned helping.


It's Karma, Baby!
by Sophie B.


Chapter 4: I Have No Alterior Motives, Damn You!

"Well here's the cloak. Let's get this over with," said Ron.

He'd got downstairs and been thoroughly chastised by Hermione for dawdling just as he'd predicted, and now, his patience was wearing thin.

And it was getting late too. With barely another word, they threw the cloak around themselves and stumbled out the door.

They quickly arrived in the infirmary corridor without incident, except for the two times they nearly tripped over each other. The breadth of the airy silver fabric was barely large enough for the three of them, and Ron had to hunch to accomidate the other two under the cloak.

"How are we supposed to get in?" Ron whispered to Harry.

"I called Dobby after dinner and told him to open it for us. It should be unlocked by now."

Ron nodded, and they moved forward once more towards the double infirmary doors.

"Oof!" Ron heard, and the next moment a woosh of cool wind grazed the back of his neck. Looking over his shoulder, he came to a dead stop.

"Harry? Hermione?" he said.

His gaze moved down to the stone floor from where the noise was coming. His two best friends were sprawled out on the ground, glaring at each other. Ron sighed, one would think they'd be experts at this at least by now. They'd been doing it for the past seven years.

"Merlin! Watch where you're going, Harry," said Hermione, standing and dusting herself off.

Harry followed her lead and looked around. "Ron? Where are you?"

Oh yes, the cloak; he was still underneath the thing. "I'm right--"

"Ah-HA! I've got you! I knew you were no good, Potter! You're going to get it now!"

All three students froze. Ron turned to find Argus Filch, the school's Caretaker, bearing down on him not five meters away. The man wore a look of utter triumph on his twisted old face.

Ron jumped out of the way and backed himself against the wall before Filch could collide with him.

The old man moved in on Harry and Hermione, sneering unpleasantly.

Ron opened his mouth to cause a dredful distraction but paused as Harry put up a halting hand and mouthed the word 'quiet' to the wall slightly to Ron's left.

Good Old Harry. Always thinking of others. That and he probably didn't want to get his cloak confiscated. Ron sighed as he watched the drama unfold.

"Well. The Head Boy and Head Girl, out after hours. And together! I'm sure Professor Snape will just love hearing about this."

All three students frowned. Ron watched miserably as Filch marched his catch towards the dungeons.

Well. That certainly went well. Ron might have preferred to go with them. Not that he wanted detention, but now he was stuck in the dark all by his lonesome. Ah...and...what was the password to Gryffindor Tower again? A fine time to have a Neville moment. Hermione and Harry would both know.

So, now what? he wondered. Should he go back and wait by the portrait, or head down to the dungeons to see what horrible things Snape was going to have his poor friends do? The portrait; the dungeons were gross at night, the cool night air dewing up the flagstone, and there were sure to be spiders. He was about to head back down the hall when a soft creak caught his attention. He stopped and turned back around. Looked like Dobby had done his job. He walked to the infirmary doors that had blown open a crack due to a castle draft.

Should he bother? Well, he had come all this way, might as well see what Malfoy'd done to himself. And anyhow, Hermione would surely expect him to complete the mission and report to her after she got back to the Tower. Besides, the doors had gone to the trouble of inviting him in, as it were -- it was almost like fate. Not that he believed in any of that Divination nonsense. Ron sighed and cautiously crept inside.


***


Draco woke to a clammer. The noise sounded as if it were coming from just outside the infirmary. He could make out distinct voices. He sat up in bed and peered around the room partially flooded with moonlight on one side, the side opposite to him. It made for an eerie sort of tapestry, two dimensional beds, lined in a row, shelves of medicines, cast bold against the white washed walls, the windows cut tall and narrow, the sills empty and wanting of embelishment. The colors that the night cast everything in turned the world into something unreal, so striking as to hurt the eyes, so lifeless as to bring one's breath to a halt.

Draco shivered. The noise had quieted and then silenced all together, a fading auratory spector of the sort that might haunt his dreams.

"Is someone there?" He asked, steeling his voice, calming his nerves with a quick toss of his head.

The corridor returned only silence.

"I know you're there, whoever you are," said Draco and added with a slight tremble, "er...whatever you are." One could never be too sure in a place such as Hogwarts.

A door creaked slightly bringing Draco to new attention. He focused his gaze on the opposite end of the infirmary, the entrance lit in moonlight. The slight rustle of the large rubber tree plant next to the door signalled the presence of some clandestine entity in the room.

Entity my arse, thought Draco. Whatever it was, it was invisible, and in this group of Hogwarts students, if something was invisible, that something was most assuredly Harry Potter. "Damned cloak," Draco said to himself quietly with no small amount of envy.

What was Potter doing here, invading his privacy anyhow. The speccy idiot hadn't the right! Draco was trying to recover from the brink of death and poncy little Potter was prancing around his infirmary in that blasted cloak? Unacceptable.

"I know you're there Potter. And you're going to get it when I call Madame Pomfrey over--"

Draco paused as a disembodied head popped into view with a rustle of fabric and a grated 'damn!'

"Hullo, Malfoy," said Ron. "You look awful, suffering much?"

Draco glared. "Oh, it's you. Where's Potter?"

"Harry is not here at the moment, but I've come as his representative. We were just wondering where you'd got to." Ron smiled a sarcastic smile. "You're well being is of such concern to us."

"Fuck off, Weasley," said Draco. "I'm in no mood for your ever so witty rabble...fuck off before I call Madame Pomfrey on you."

"What? You were going to anyway for Harry , why the hell not me?" said Ron. He sounded a bit insulted. As he rightly should be...

"You're not worth the trouble. Now piss off Poor Boy."

"Well!" said Ron. "If you're gonna be that way, then maybe I'll just stick around a bit longer."

Draco groaned. "What is it exactly that you want, Weasley? Why are you here?"

"Just came by to visit a sick friend," said Ron. He grinned infuriatingly.

"Weasley...."

Ron sighed. "Like I said before, I'm here to see what you're up to. There have been rumors."

"Rumors," said Draco. "Like what?"

"Just your average 'Malfoy is planning something evil' gossip. Say, you aren't planning anything evil are you, Malfoy?"

"Huh. As if I'd tell you." Draco glared at the other boy.

Ron laughed. "Not that it matters. I doubt you could pull anything stuck here in the infirmary. So, what's wrong with you, Malfoy? Are you dying?"

Draco was slightly offended by the hopeful tone of Ron's voice. "No, I'm not dying, you ginger twat. So sorry to disappoint you."

"That's all right. As long as you're ill, I'm satisfied."

Draco growled under his breath. The situation was quickly growing unbearable by his standards.

Ron continued with hardly a thought. "So what is it that you've got? The flu? Plague? Gonnorhea? They're giving good odds for that one back at the Tower."

"Shut up, Weasley. For your information, I have a simple case of Chicken Pox."

"What in Merlin's name is that?" said Ron, sniggering.

Irritating. The redhead was just so damn irritating. "Well if you don't know already, then I'm certainly not about to tell you," said Draco primly.

"Pfft...I don't need you to tell me. I mean it kind of makes sense. I always knew you were chicken, Malfoy," said Ron.

Oh, someone had better wipe that shit-eating grin off that bastard's face. Otherwise things would get very ugly very soon, Draco decided, holding tight to the last ties of self-restraint holding him to the bed. If Weasley knew what was good for him, he would leave. Now.

But of course, Draco knew very well that Weasley was daft and had no idea what was good for him. He sighed.

"You're an idiot, Weasley, if you actually thought that was funny. And what are you still doing here?! I need to get my rest. Fuck off."

Ron sniggered. "Your beauty sleep?" he asked, striding confidently to Draco's side of the infirmary, where the blond's bed was located amongst the shadows.

"Yes!" said Draco. He threw the sheets off of him and swung his legs over the side of the bed, gritting his teeth and glaring with murderous intent at Ron who had now unwisely moved within pouncing range of the Slytherin.

As Draco prepared to attack, Ron's smile faded. He squinted his eyes at Draco and moved closer, causing the irate boy to take pause.

"Whoa, Malfoy, what happened to your face? You really are sick, aren't you," said Ron after a moment more of blatant staring at Draco's spotty face. It was hardly surprising that it should hold Ron's attention so. The young Malfoy had aquired quite a collection of boils by now, marring his pale and perfect skin.

Draco snorted in disbelief. "What?! Of course I'm sick! What, did you think that I was faking? That I actually like spending my time in the infirmary?! Oh yes, the beds are so comfortable here, like a bloody five star hotel! The decor is just so lovely! And how could I pass up a chance to wear these oh so fashionable bath robes and be force fed fever relieving potion by the goblet full!"

"Oi, calm down Malfoy," said Ron. "I didn't mean anything by it! You don't have to go mental!"

Draco gasped for breath, his face flushed with the red colouring of one who's mind had exploded into a billion furious bits.

"Are you done?" he grated through clenched teeth.

"I was done the moment I laid eyes on your pointy face, git," said Ron, gaining some of his own temperment back as he got over the shock of Draco's little outburst. "Though, you know, considering your history, I wouldn't put it past you to fake an illness. Stupid, lying arse that you are."

Draco closed his eyes. I'm too tired for this, he thought. What is Weasley's problem? He can't really be that daft can he?

Suddenly Draco's eyes snapped open and he looked to Ron, an insane glint lighting his gaze.

Should he? No, he couldn't! Could he? Well that would surely knock Weasley on his arse. And he was a Malfoy; he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he pleased. He hadn't ever done it before after all, not with a boy; he'd thought about it plenty, to be sure...but to actually....

And Weasley wasn't at all bad looking. Stupid yes, but stupid looked fairly good on him...suited him just fine. Nope, not at all unattractive. Oh, this is going to be good, thought Draco, his mischievous, menacing side rejoicing at his cleverness. And he even had an legitimate excuse if the Weasel went blabbing to anyone. He was a Slytherin after all and everyone knew that Slytherins let nothing stand in the way of a good prank or some nicely displaced vengence.

Draco's silence and his intent stare seemed to make Ron nervous. The redhead shifted his weight on his feet. "Er, Malfoy, what are you looking at?"

"Why, you, Weasley. I thought that was fairly obvious," said Draco.

"I mean why are you looking at me like that. Stop it."

Draco smiled wickedly to himself. Poor unsuspecting Gryffindor. So trusting, so careless.

Ron frowed when Draco did not stop looking at him 'like that'. He made a disconcerted noise before moving to back away.

Before he could step away, however, Draco leaned towards him, reached out a hand, grabbed Ron by the back of his neck, and yanked him forward, all in one swift motion. Knocked off his feet and pulled onto the bed, the redhead veritibly fell on Draco. Or rather, Draco's lips.

Ron's eyes went wide as Draco kissed him hard on the mouth, the blond's hand still gripping tightly the back of Ron's neck to hold him in place.

Ron braced his arms against the bed on either side of Draco, keeping the boy from pulling him down fully on top of him on the bed. Though there wasn't much else he could do, with Malfoy all wrapped around him like he was, his arm encircling Ron's waist, his other arm around Ron's neck, his leg hooked over Ron's thigh. It was a messy awkward position to be in, especially from Draco's side, and Ron took advantage of that fact as he struggled to free himself.

"Mmmm Mmph Mmmbb Mmmuph!" said Ron, as he managed to disentangle his lower half from the blond and attempted to regain control of the situation.

But as Malfoy knew, Ron never had control of the situation to begin with, and so Draco continued the sloppy kiss, pressing on unrelentingly.

Ron gave up, rolling his eyes and sighing as well as he could with Draco's tongue in his mouth. His eyes finally fell shut, and letting his own tongue glide over the ridges of Draco's bottom teeth and all over Draco's busy mouth, he started to kiss back just as Draco began to pull away.

With a loud, wet smack, the two parted, Malfoy somehow maneuvering them so that Ron fell to floor as he freed himself of the other boy's embrace.

Ron landed hard on his arse with a breathless 'oomph!' and looked up, glaring at Draco.

The blond looked down at Ron from his position on the bed, perched on his haunches. A wide smile spread across his face, his eyes still wide with malicious passion and his clever tongue swiping in a most satisfied manner over his moist lips.

"All right there, Weasel?" he said ever so innocently. He stuck out a hand to Ron, still wearing that huge criminal grin.

Ron stared at the offered appendage a moment. His eyes flashed with anger and he hurried clumsily to his feet, getting a good two meters from that atrociously insulting hand and its owner before turning around again. He stood panting and glaring.

Draco met his irate gaze with a look of sweet indifference. "You don't look so good. Something the matter, lover?"

Ron's eyes went wide and he squared his shoulders in indignance, straightening his posture to the full benefit of his nearly six foot frame. He made a show of wiping off his mouth on his sleeve and looking very scandalized.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Malfoy? You sick freak! Are you mad?! You disgusting, poncey flit!"

Draco snorted, phased none by Ron's outburst. "Huh. You're one to talk Weasley." He crossed his arms over his chest and sat back casually on the edge of the infirmary bed.

Ron's eyes went wide once more. "Shut up!" he said. "I'm not! What the fuck are you trying to pull, Malfoy?! You're barking...."

Draco sighed. He shrugged his shoulders dramatically and fell back on the bed. "Nothing, Weasley. Nothing at all. Well, thanks for visiting. A bit tired now. I'll see you tomorrow," he said, proceeding to snuggle back under the covers.

"Yeah right, you prick!" said Ron. He started to back towards the door. "Are you crazy? I'm not coming back tomorrow so you can attack me again! You bleeding homo!"

Draco turned over to lie on his stomach, turning his head on the pillow to allow him a nice view of the retreating redhead. He smiled and waved.

Ron growled. "I hope you rot!" He turned around and stormed out of the infirmary, sparing the Slytherin not a single glance more.

Draco chuckled as silence settled back into the once more empty infirmary. That had to be the most fun he'd had in ages. The week was definitely looking up. Satisfied and tired, he curled up under the covers and fell quickly into peaceful slumber.




Next Chapter: I think you all know what's gonna happen next. Draco is happy until Ron gets a bit of his own back. Thanks for reading!