When Ron's mental fog cleared, he found himself in what seemed to be a
deserted classroom. Dust-covered desks stacked the walls and Peeves hadn't
gotten to the chalkboard recently.
Perhaps not quite deserted. "Hallo, Weasel." Draco Malfoy stepped out of the shadows.
Ron reached for his wand and then remembered that he had left it in his book bag. The one still in the Library. He then saw fit to mutter several things under his breath that would have shocked Hermione. Ickle Ronniekins had been paying attention to Bill last summer.
Draco watched him go for something that wasn't there. "So we're even: I haven't mine, either. The lock, however, is keyed to my voice, so if you kill me, you'll be stuck here forever. Therefore, I suggest you listen to me and nod in the right places and we'll both get out of here quickly."
"You Portkeyed me, you slimy git!" Ron found his tongue.
"You're the second person to call me that in two days. I'm developing a complex. Of course, I Portkeyed you. Potter, I trust for an audience. You, I trust to hex my eyes out. But not now. Now, we have some very unpleasant business, you and I." Draco began to pace. "I'm about to lose my primary source of entertainment during the school year."
"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Ron tried to hide genuine puzzlement under an air of bravado.
"You, to put it bluntly. I'm prepared to offer anything for your absolution. So what'll it be? A Quidditch position? Pile of gold in Gringotts? What price a Weasley?"
Ron's right hook came out of nowhere. Although aimed at Draco's nose, it glanced off his cheekbone as he jerked reflexively. Ron squalled and started wringing his hand.
"Nice, Weasel," Draco drawled. "You break any fingers?"
It was not, Draco reflected, the wisest thing to say to a person six inches taller than you with a dragon-sized chip on his shoulder. A chip you put there.
Ron's hand was apparently fine, as he actually connected with Draco's nose this time. Cartilage crunched as he fought self-defense reflexes that could have had Ron groaning on the floor in two minutes.
Ron was not by nature a cruel person, but his acute sense of personal justice and ability to hold a grudge evidenced themselves that morning. He hadn't grown up with five older brothers without learning something about fisticuffs. And grudges.
Draco allowed Ron to back him against the wall and empty his energy into him. Every third blow got through his defenses, but only because Draco let it.
When Ron finally realized his 'opponent' was not fighting back, the fight became distasteful. He backed away. Draco stayed where he was, as the wall had taken over the task his legs had recently abandoned: keeping their owner vertical. Ron tried the door, fiddling with the knob when it wouldn't open. Draco watched him, painfully
"What's the password, Malfoy?" Ron gave up trying to pick the lock.
Draco's brain refused to produce a retort, so he said simply, "Alohomora." The door clicked open, and Ron hurried out.
Draco slid to the floor. 'Blaise,' he thought abstractly, 'is going to kill me.'
After about ten minutes of what Draco would have been loath to admit were self pity, he levered himself up and took stock of his injuries.
The nose was definitely broken. Draco felt it gingerly. It had however, stopped bleeding and gone rather numb. His upper lip and left eye were swelling rapidly. Draco did not think any ribs were broken, but he was not certain. He ran through the list of people who could patch him up. It matched closely with the list of those he'd hate to see him like this.
The door burst open in the middle of Draco's self-examination. Hermione stood there; the top of the second list. He braced himself for something along the lines of, 'Poor little man, he really worked you over, didn't he?'
It did not come. Hermione looked him over, took a deep breath, drew her wand, and calmly cast, "'Asclepio'." A small moan slipped out of Draco as everything in his body popped back into its proper place at once. Hermione tucked her wand away. "I will speak to Ron. This was wrong of him."
"As long as he thinks I got what I deserved, it doesn't really matter. That was what you wanted, wasn't it? Satisfaction for your friends."
Hermione thought a moment. She honestly didn't know what she had wanted. That night seemed so long ago. Draco had scared her and put her on the spot by acting in a manner totally unlike the one he usually assumed. "Maybe it was. What did you want?"
"Absolution." He met Hermione's eyes and sketched her a small, ironic bow before striding past her out the door.
Perhaps not quite deserted. "Hallo, Weasel." Draco Malfoy stepped out of the shadows.
Ron reached for his wand and then remembered that he had left it in his book bag. The one still in the Library. He then saw fit to mutter several things under his breath that would have shocked Hermione. Ickle Ronniekins had been paying attention to Bill last summer.
Draco watched him go for something that wasn't there. "So we're even: I haven't mine, either. The lock, however, is keyed to my voice, so if you kill me, you'll be stuck here forever. Therefore, I suggest you listen to me and nod in the right places and we'll both get out of here quickly."
"You Portkeyed me, you slimy git!" Ron found his tongue.
"You're the second person to call me that in two days. I'm developing a complex. Of course, I Portkeyed you. Potter, I trust for an audience. You, I trust to hex my eyes out. But not now. Now, we have some very unpleasant business, you and I." Draco began to pace. "I'm about to lose my primary source of entertainment during the school year."
"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Ron tried to hide genuine puzzlement under an air of bravado.
"You, to put it bluntly. I'm prepared to offer anything for your absolution. So what'll it be? A Quidditch position? Pile of gold in Gringotts? What price a Weasley?"
Ron's right hook came out of nowhere. Although aimed at Draco's nose, it glanced off his cheekbone as he jerked reflexively. Ron squalled and started wringing his hand.
"Nice, Weasel," Draco drawled. "You break any fingers?"
It was not, Draco reflected, the wisest thing to say to a person six inches taller than you with a dragon-sized chip on his shoulder. A chip you put there.
Ron's hand was apparently fine, as he actually connected with Draco's nose this time. Cartilage crunched as he fought self-defense reflexes that could have had Ron groaning on the floor in two minutes.
Ron was not by nature a cruel person, but his acute sense of personal justice and ability to hold a grudge evidenced themselves that morning. He hadn't grown up with five older brothers without learning something about fisticuffs. And grudges.
Draco allowed Ron to back him against the wall and empty his energy into him. Every third blow got through his defenses, but only because Draco let it.
When Ron finally realized his 'opponent' was not fighting back, the fight became distasteful. He backed away. Draco stayed where he was, as the wall had taken over the task his legs had recently abandoned: keeping their owner vertical. Ron tried the door, fiddling with the knob when it wouldn't open. Draco watched him, painfully
"What's the password, Malfoy?" Ron gave up trying to pick the lock.
Draco's brain refused to produce a retort, so he said simply, "Alohomora." The door clicked open, and Ron hurried out.
Draco slid to the floor. 'Blaise,' he thought abstractly, 'is going to kill me.'
After about ten minutes of what Draco would have been loath to admit were self pity, he levered himself up and took stock of his injuries.
The nose was definitely broken. Draco felt it gingerly. It had however, stopped bleeding and gone rather numb. His upper lip and left eye were swelling rapidly. Draco did not think any ribs were broken, but he was not certain. He ran through the list of people who could patch him up. It matched closely with the list of those he'd hate to see him like this.
The door burst open in the middle of Draco's self-examination. Hermione stood there; the top of the second list. He braced himself for something along the lines of, 'Poor little man, he really worked you over, didn't he?'
It did not come. Hermione looked him over, took a deep breath, drew her wand, and calmly cast, "'Asclepio'." A small moan slipped out of Draco as everything in his body popped back into its proper place at once. Hermione tucked her wand away. "I will speak to Ron. This was wrong of him."
"As long as he thinks I got what I deserved, it doesn't really matter. That was what you wanted, wasn't it? Satisfaction for your friends."
Hermione thought a moment. She honestly didn't know what she had wanted. That night seemed so long ago. Draco had scared her and put her on the spot by acting in a manner totally unlike the one he usually assumed. "Maybe it was. What did you want?"
"Absolution." He met Hermione's eyes and sketched her a small, ironic bow before striding past her out the door.