Hands
By Skirty-Embroidery
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the brilliant Harry Potter characters. They're JKR's and Warner Bros.
In past years, things like this had always happened. And here things went again. Before, Ron had never minded. He'd been agitated and enraged, ready to pummel Malfoy with his fists if only his two best friends would let go of the back of his robes. Malfoy being cursed? A year or two ago it would have been hilarity and bliss, a story to relive over and over again once they were back in the Gryffindor common rooms. Yet...
If he wouldn't have minded then... why did he mind now? Why, in the last year, had he begun to care? The boy who had relentlessly teased him about the shoddy state of his robes and his ginger hair suddenly didn't seem so deserving of everything they dished out at him. Granted, he dished it back, but it was really more of a loving banter than deep hatred, wasn't it?
Loving banter? Who the hell had cursed him when his back had been turned?
But the more Ron thought about it, the more it seemed true. Anyone sorted into Slytherin had to have had some sort of deranged past to get them there. And it couldn't have been Malfoy's fault, could it? He had no control over his parents or their doings. Anyway, it was only natural to defend yourself. Except, of course, when you knew it was useless and that no matter where you turned you were sunk.
Like now.
Ron watched as Malfoy threw out another jest at Harry's famous scar. Hermione rolled her eyes at the boys. Ron wanted to roll his own eyes at the girl's reaction, but he refrained because it would only get a rise out of her and he didn't feel like dealing with it. Another insult from Harry to Malfoy, then back again.
They drew wands.
That was enough. With a bit of apprehension in his eyes, Ron held out his hand between the two seventh years. "Knock it off," he said, his deep voice as calm as he could make it. "You'll just get detention." That seemed like a good enough reason, didn't it? Good for him. Ron's eyes flickered back and forth between Harry and Malfoy. Harry brought his wand down to his side. The blonde's eyes were focused down, his wand still out and ready.
Ron followed Malfoy's gaze. In his efforts, he'd unconsciously grasped Draco's hand. Now that he was aware of it, his palms seemed sweaty and burning and he could almost feel the blood rushing to his ears. Could Draco feel how hot his hands were? The Slytherin boy's hand was a normal temperature. That was so unfair.
The moment seemed to last forever, but it was finally broken by Harry's grunted "Fine." Ron quickly drew his hand away, but Draco's moved from the spot at a slower, more nonchalant pace. Everything about the boy was so laid back and collected. Why couldn't he act like that? But no. He had to be awkward with his red hair, funny red ears, and his warm, clammy hands that Draco must have noticed. He probably thought Ron was disgusting or something, him and his sweaty palms.
Cautiously, Ron lifted his eyes to Draco's. There was something glinting in them, right back at him. He couldn't place his finger on it, but it was something like the classic Malfoy-branded smirk. Except warmer. Exactly like his palms. Ron balled up his fists and stuffed them into his pockets sharply at the embarrassing thought. If he hid them he wouldn't have to worry about how strange they were. And how Malfoy had probably felt them and thought about them and thought even less of Ron because of them. But if he had... then what did that smile that was forming on his lips mean?
"Ron, are you coming?" Hermione's voice interrupted the boy's anxious thoughts.
"Huh?" He gave Draco another curious glance, trying to figure out what the other boy was feeling. "Oh, yeah. Sorry."
With that, he started toward his Gryffindor friends, his hands still shoved in his pockets. Thank Merlin they had Herbology next. His hands could hide all hour inside dragon-hide gloves.