First off, thank you to everyone who has paused to leave me a review so far. This chapter took me a little longer to get out because I had a ficathon entry due, but I still hope to keep this updated regularly. The outline for this story is 10 notebook pages long, soI have no clue how many actual chapters I have here. This one was originallly longer, but I've moved some stuff to ch. 5.Also, I'm sure I will take a small break from writing this around the mid of July to read HBP. I intend to keep writing though, as it is already AU just by the Harry/Ron/Draco pairing itself.
CH4:Ron has to hide
Ron blinked. "What in the bloody hell are you going on ab- "
He was cut off when Malfoy called out, " petrificus totalus!" with an overzealous snarl. A tingling sensation engulfed Ron's body before causing it to lock-up. In a flash, Ron was on his back, immobile, only able to gaze upwards toward the false constellations that sparkled back at him from the enchanted ceiling.
Nothing is worth this sort of humiliation, Ron thought as he attempted to ignore the soreness in the back of his head where it had bounced against the cushioned surface.
Malfoy's face appeared into his line of vision after a few moments. His ponytail slipped over his shoulder when he jammed a boot on either side of Ron's hips and leaned over. Ron grumbled internally about not being able to swat at the blond strands that tickled his nose. His disgruntlement morphed into shock when Malfoy dropped to his knees and literally straddled Ron's hips. He leaned forward to hiss into Ron's ear, one palm pressed into the cushioned floor near his cheek.
"Pathetic excuses for wizards, like you, don't have a big enough well of magic for intentional wandless to work. You need to learn how to deal with losing your wand." He slipped Ron's wand from his own pocket with his free hand and traced the polished wood over Ron's face, trailing it across his lips and over the bridge of his nose. In his petrified state, he could only stare incredulously.
"You need to learn how to recover your wand. How to improvise by using the surrounding environment. Learn how to control those great, gangly limbs before worrying about your sad attempt at spellwork." Malfoy leaned back, just enough to trail the wand tip over the curve of Ron's jaw and down the taut cords of his neck. Ron couldn't even swallow, and he was horrified to discover that a strange thread of arousal was twined with the disgust and anger he felt. Perhaps it was a good thing that he was petrified.
Malfoy was quick to jump back on his feet again, calmly straightening his robes as if he hadn't just crawled over Ron like some sort of insect. He ended the spell with a quick flick of his wrist, and Ron heaved a deep breath before fighting his protesting muscles to stand-up again. Once his brain had adjusted, he turned a hot gaze onto the primping blond.
Ron was simply furious. Angry at Draco Malfoy for tricking him, ashamed over his momentary lapse of sanity earlier, disappointed in Harry for recommending Malfoy as a tutor, and surprised that Hermione hadn't put a stop to all this when she had figured it out, Ron wanted nothing more than to wrap his fingers around Malfoy's pale neck and squeeze.
Hard.
"Weasel, do be so kind as to actually make this worth my time? I could have hexed you several times already while you've been standing there admiring me. I know I'm quite a specimen, but –"
Ron snorted loudly and quickly ducked when Malfoy hurled another stunning hex at him. "Did you specially enchant your mirror to flatter you every morning, Malfoy?" he grunted while tumbling to avoid a second hex. He rolled to his feet again and ran blindly through the maze of obstructions. He glanced around to survey his position and dove behind one of the false walls. "Or perhaps mirrors break when forced to reflect your pointy rat-face," he added, slightly breathless from his efforts but pleased to have avoided a repeat of the earlier hex.
"I've had more than enough lovers praise my statuesque figure to satisfy me," Malfoy's voice echoed into the dimly lit training room, an unembodied sound that drifted closer.
Ron peaked around the wall to pinpoint Malfoy's location. "Yeah, Malfoy, statues. You should clean out your ears, as they've probably compared you to repulsive carvings of Gargoyles, I expect."
"And you should attempt to shut your gob before giving away your position! Petrificus totalus!"
Ron tried to scramble away, but Malfoy was too quick and had snuck up behind Ron on the other side of the false wall. Ron was frozen mid-crawl.
"Well look at this. A Weasley down on his knees before a Malfoy, the natural order of things." He walked closer and lightly smacked the side of Ron's head. "Always assume the enemy knows more about the surrounding architecture and land than you do. Never leave your back exposed."
Before Ron could even mull that over in his head, Malfoy released him from the spell. His arms gave way and he flopped onto his stomach at Malfoy's feet. "Shut up," was all he could grunt.
"Oh. Powerful words. Your wit astounds me!" Malfoy squatted down near Ron's head, his robes softly falling about his shoulders, and watched Ron with what appeared to be genuine curiosity. The expression was so odd that Ron moved to rest in a sitting position. He could feel a flush spreading across the back of his neck, and he hoped Malfoy couldn't see it through the shadows.
"What?" Ron finally blurted. He hoped this wasn't another trick that he was falling for.
He cocked his head again, like Ron was an arithomancy problem that vexed him. "Why are you so intent on going into the field, Weasley? It's not glamorous or fun, no matter how flashy it might look. An Auror, a field MLES agent – there's a real chance at getting hurt."
Ron narrowed his eyes at Malfoy. So, he thinks I'm not good enough? Not very surprising. "I suppose you just wouldn't understand something like that," he snapped back, unconsciously wrapping an arm around his knees. "You're in the field. You see the results of your work." Ron sighed and picked at the hem of his robes. "I know what everyone thinks of the Squad. They're a joke, but at least if I were in the field, I could see for myself that I've been able to help other people."
"Ah, so that's why," Malfoy trailed off in a quiet voice while gracefully rising to his feet again. "You've got a 'save the world' complex from Potter. How very sad that he didn't seem to share any ability with you as well. Of course, I'm sure he's ever so noble to feel entirely guilty and responsible for piquing your interest in a field that you are obviously unsuitable for. Why else come to me, begging for help with you? "
Ron jumped up and bit down on his lower lip to control his rage from boiling over. What did Malfoy know about it? How dare that platinum twat even suggest that Harry felt sorry for him? But without meaning to, Ron began to wonder if Malfoy had a bit of substance to his claims. Did Harry feel sorry for him? Is that why he and Hermione worked so hard help him train for the practicals? Perhaps it was why Harry would downplay what he did for the Aurors; he didn't want Ron to have delusions of possibly being involved in that sort of situation.
Ron couldn't help imagining the whispers between Harry and Hermione. 'Silly redhead', imaginary Harry said in Ron's mind, 'we just adore him to death, but he's just this side of a brick when it comes to brains.' 'Just indulge him,' imaginary Hermione answered. Ron was so caught up in his thoughts that it took him half a minute to realize that Malfoy was squeezing his forearm.
"I'm at a loss on how you expect to pass your next practical when you are this distracted and empty-headed." He poked the tip of his wand at Ron's forehead. "I could stun you again, but watching you collapse to the ground in a heap has lost its entertainment value. Now pretend I'm the evil death eater that's about to kick your arse and run."
Ron ripped his arm from Malfoy's grip, intent on taking a swing at the smirking, thin lips, but Malfoy already had his wand raised. One thing that Ron remembered from his bout with Auror training was that rash actions lead to failure. He had let his ire at this childhood bully rise to the point that he wasn't thinking straight. What he needed to do was regroup and stop letting his doubts take over. And dodge these damned hexes, Ron added mentally as he narrowly escaped getting slammed with an orange spell. He stumbled along in the dim light until he caught site of a hollow lit by a lantern, carved out of one of the blocky forms scattered around the sparring room. One hasty glance over his shoulder revealed no sign of Malfoy; Ron swallowed down any apprehension that surfaced – his back was covered this time.
"And now what to do…" he whispered. He could not let Draco Malfoy best him again. There had to be something in this room that could help. Ron forced his eyes examine every detail in his field of vision, waiting for a spectacular strategy to blossom in his mind. Hermione had reassured him once that he had the background to make a brilliant tactician. Why couldn't he think on his feet, then?
"Ready to admit you belong behind a desk, Weasel?" Malfoy's voice drifted near, but Ron couldn't pinpoint the direction.
"No!" Ron snapped, curt enough to elicit another response without revealing his hiding spot. He relaxed his breathing so it wouldn't give him away, while he idly watched as his shadow flickered along with the lantern-flame above his head. I wonder…
"I don't see why you keep inflicting this upon yourself," Malfoy hissed, still unplottable but drawing nearer. "You're just not made for field work, with your floppy, rag-doll arms and legs. Potter and Granger are too indulgent and should have smacked some sense into you long ago."
"Harry and Hermione believe in me, Malfoy. That's what friends do for each other, not that you'd have any idea what friendship is." Ron said all this in a distracted rush, his attention upon the slick gleam of the metal and glass lantern above him. It seemed to be loosely attached to a hook that jut from the false wall. He tapped it slightly, and the shadows seemed to slither across the floor in time with the swinging motion of the lantern. Perhaps he could find a way out of this corner after all. With one hand securely on the lantern, Ron peaked out from his niche. Malfoy was skulking less than two meters away, but he hadn't noticed Ron yet. Good.
"Friendship," Malfoy said, the word rolling off his tongue like acid, "is no excuse for weakness. They're likely to send you off to your death, twittering to themselves about how it made them so proud that you were finally worthy of their attention."
Ron grit his teeth to fight back any response. His heartbeat throbbed in his ears as he squelched down his frustration with Malfoy. He shook off any lingering skepticism and stretched to his tip-toes to slide the lantern up and off its hook. Heat danced at the pads of his fingertips though the glass, but it wasn't so hot that he couldn't maintain his grip. Ron blinked and swallowed. Time to play.
"Somebody like you, Ferret, wouldn't recognize friendship if it hopped down the front of your robes." He moved forward slightly, just enough so Malfoy could notice and make a sharp spin in his direction. Malfoy's mouth was quirked in an odd smile. "You see every acquaintance as someone to be used," Ron added, "You don't have friends. You have stepping stones." He took a second step into the corridor between the false walls.
"You know nothing about my personal life, you freckled spawn." Malfoy had dropped the teasing tone of his voice, replacing it with pure ice, his wand raised and poised to cast. His eyes narrowed as he met Ron's, their color glittering and strange in the candlelight. "What I know about you though," he drawled, "is that your friends are so busy dwelling in their pity for you that they're afraid to hex you with anything stronger than a tickling charm for fear of hurting your precious feelings. If you ever manage to scrape by in your practical, their hesitancy means your death in the field."
Ron was livid. How could Malfoy even suggest that? Harry and Hermione would never take it easy on him when they knew how dangerous the consequences could be. Hermione didn't even have "take it easy" in her repertoire! He dove recklessly into his strategy and hurled the lighting fixture at Malfoy's head, hoping with a sick sort of glee that the flames would scorch that ponytail.
Malfoy looked startled, but he was only able to utter, "Weas-," before he had to fling his arms up to protect his face. Ron took that opportunity to dive at Malfoy's legs, knocking both men to the ground. They grappled for few moments in which Ron realized that his opponent wasn't as frail as his thin body seemed to indicate. The designer robes were slick under his fingers though, and soon Ron discovered that he couldn't quite keep his grip on his flailing arms and legs. He made another wild grasp into Malfoy's robes for his own wand, losing some of his balance and giving Malfoy the opportunity to flip him onto his back. For the second time that evening, Ron found himself pinned beneath Draco Malfoy, his arms pressed into the ground by bony knees. His hair had been pulled in straggly bunches from his formerly slick ponytail, and his pale skin had been marred with red fingermarks on his left cheek. A miniscule surge of pride bled into the humiliation Ron felt as he lay beneath Draco sodding Malfoy, barely able to catch his breath.
"Avada Kadavra " Malfoy whispered, wand pointed at Ron's heart. You're dead." He backed up silently and pushed to his feet. All Ron could do was suck in a deep breath when the weight lifted off his abdomen. He was fascinated by the odd expression on the other man's face, for once at a loss for insults.
"Remember, Ron Weasley," he continued in that same soft tone, "A Death Eater who has lost his lord is a deranged and dangerous individual. Everything they do is erratic. You can't use strategy against them, because they aren't moving logically themselves. Much better to approach the situation with only a little structure and a lot of the bull-headed bravery that your dear friend Scarhead seems to employ." He paused for a moment, a bit dramatically, in Ron's opinion, and added, "If you're ready to pull yourself from your fluffy, happy shell," his nose wrinkled as the jovial words, "meet me here again tomorrow evening, same time. Otherwise, don't make me waste my unfathomable skills." Malfoy turned in a flamboyant swirl of robes and sauntered off.
False stars twinkled down at Ron, who still lay on his back. His emotions were a twisted mass of surprise and anger, of disappointment and curiosity. The little plot to get his wand back was far from flawless, but how had Malfoy been able to completely dominate him in that struggle? Some giggling voice in his head, likely Fred's or George's, whispered, perhaps you didn't mind being dominated by Draco so much, did you little Ronnikins? Ron shivered as he recalled the odd sensations that had permeated his body while his boyhood rival had loomed above him. That was definitely something he would rather not investigate further.
What Ron did wonder about was why Malfoy's words seemed to affect him so much. The things he had said about Harry and Hermione… was there a nugget of truth in those taunts? And what did he get off on even whispering that vile killing curse? Why didn't it even cause a nosebleed or bruise?
Ron shook himself and pushed up from the ground, hoping to catch up with Malfoy in the changing room. His intention was to immediately tell him to sod off, I'll wait until Harry gets home to train me, but Malfoy no where in sight. With a puzzled countenance and a very resigned sigh, Ron gathered up his work robes to head home.
A/N: hope that didn't come off very confusing! Physical fighting scenes/duels are a new writing direction for me, and this story will have quite a few of them. This story is also my first approach at writing Draco. I hope I've tried to keep him somewhat developed a bit but still in character.