Title- Tragic Contravention

Rating- T

Pairings- Ron/Draco, in the long run. Possibly some Hermione bashing, though that's not a pairing. That's author resentment, a category I am too lazy to make.

Disclaimer- Hobos can't own Harry Potter, you big silly.

Hallways always decide to be infinitely long when you're lost and late.

Ron couldn't help but complain about this to himself, scowling to the echoing floors and looking as menacing as his unruly red hair and freckles would allow.

Although, to be fair, his height was a definite factor of intimidation. The taller you were, the smaller and more frightened first years seemed to be. And at the authorative age of seventeen, Ron had managed to surpass his twin brothers, Percy, and, since he'd last seen him, was just about the equal of Charlie without quite as much muscle. Despite all the time recently spent at Quidditch practice, he still hadn't managed to build up enough weight to loose his customary title of skinny.

The fact that he'd lived in Hogwarts for almost seven whole years of his life, and he could still manage to get impossibly lost did nothing to console him, either.

But hurrying down the hall, even with the advantage of practically being able to step over the residual driftings of first years, the red head really had no time to enjoy this. He'd slept late; a fact that was brought to his attention every time his stomach growled for attention, which was quite often.

One would expect that it was a best mate's duty to wake up his best friend, even if said act required the beating of pillows or hollering 'Fire!'. But last night, upon a bit of recollection, Ron and Harry had fought again. Over something rather stupid probably, as that was how they're battles seemed to happen.

Conflicts seemed to be coming up more and more and the tension was getting harder to force off. Whether it was with a well-smuggled bottle of fire whisky or a fiercely won game of Quidditch, both boys tried their best to pretend it didn't exist.

Of course, neither of them had ever been very smooth when it came to ignoring things they already knew about. It was like a horrible maroon sweater; Ron couldn't help but tug at the loose ends and Harry wasn't exactly the most laid-back bloke currently. Being chosen as the savior of the Wizarding World at seventeen wasn't really a nine-hour day at the office, and the dark-haired boy never seemed to be interested in much anymore.

All of this he'd been taking into consideration, bag of useless materials in one hand and wand dangerously close to plunging out of one pocket. So even with all the divination powers he'd pretended to have, there would have been no way for him to have seen a rather smug looking Malfoy until said boy had already strolled directly into his chest.

Being the calm, nonchalant teenager that Ron was, he hollered something meaningless as Draco yelped, until both of them met the floor with an identical crash.

Thankfully, all the first years had wandered off by then, and none of them had seen his face warm to a blatant crimson. His eyes narrowed at the cause, who shuffled quickly to cover up a look of surprise and imperfect hair with a pale hand across the white blonde strands and a sneer Ron found himself accustom to.

"Bloody hell- Malfoy- Ever think to lower your nose enough to look where you're going?"

Ron turned onto his knees, trying to salvage all his belongings that had escaped the bag. With a change of decision he dove for his wand, which had skidded halfway down the hall to rest at the feet of Hildory Averson Shaw, whoever that was.

Draco laughed coldly to himself, a habit that would have been followed with a chorus of grunting chuckles from Crabbe and Goyle, who had wandered off to the kitchens to try and beat some candy snack out of the House Elves.

He caught himself quickly, letting his mood change with a snap that Ron swore was nearly audible. Grey eyes narrowed and glared, as Draco's lip sneered to form a snarky reply.

"You ought to watch what you say, Weasel. Or are you planning on turning tale and hiding behind the great Scar Boy's back when you get what comes to you?" Malfoy was not exactly the most creative when it came to insults as Ron had certainly heard this one at least a dozen times before, give or take a few words.

Neither of them managed to look quite as powerfully menacing as they tried for; they both scrambled about on the reflective tile, trying hectically to gather their belongings together before the other.

Ron stood up a bit too fast, wavering slightly but catching his ground. He glared at the blonde, and the shorter boy mirrored his movements with equal disgust at the other.

"I can handle things myself, Mal-foy. Though I can't say the same for you." Ron mocked a short search for Crabbe and Goyle, looking past the blonde innocently. "Can't manage to stay up without your guard pigs grunting behind you?" Ron really didn't have time for this. He started to continue his pace down the hallway; having recited the necessary insults he considered this conversation done.

But Draco followed after him, something he regretted slightly in his mind. But there would never be a time when a Malfoy didn't have the last laugh, if he had anything to say about it.

And he had.

"Like you're all high and mighty on your own, Weasel. Running off before any real damage can find you? Hah. Quite the brave Gryffindor you are."

Ron scowled at the shorter boy, knuckles whitening around his wand.

"If it's all the same to you, you bloody prick, I've places to be right now." Ron growled at him, hoping that was enough to be left alone.

"Oh really? Important business no doubt, for such a low piece of garbage such as yourself?" Draco scoffed; not his best work, but at least it wouldn't let that stupid Gryffindor win over him.

"Classes. Ever heard of them?" Ron was getting slightly bored with the conversation, scowl fading with a look of disinterest to replace it.

Draco had the nerve to stop walking and laugh at the red head; an actual amused laugh that Ron had never thought possible coming from such a person. This infuriated him only more so, and the taller boy glared down at the blonde with such intensity, Miss Averson Shaw might have been surprised that his perfect hair didn't catch fire.

"What?"

Draco tried several times to break from his fits of laughter without success. Finally, after a few prompting growls from Ron, he managed out:

"You're such an ignorant git. Didn't –hahah- You're thick Mudblood tell you? –hah- Everyone's at Hogsmeade today. All the seventh years. And you missed it? Hah."

That was the joke? Ron didn't quite catch the humor in it, but then again, he consoled himself, this was Malfoy he was talking to and trying to figure him out would be a complete waste of time.

Why was he talking to him, still? Ron rolled his eyes, as it occurred to him that he'd had quite enough of his share for the next life time, let alone just today.

He wouldn't consider that he had been abandoned by his friends, and there was no way he was getting to Hogsmeade so late in the morning. Even if it had been a standard day for them, he would never admit he hadn't anyone better to see, since Hermione was off being motherly and taking Harry's side, and obviously Harry wasn't an option. He hadn't the energy to go searching for Dean or Seamus or Neville, and there was no way he would sink so low as to hang around with his kid-sister.

But conversing with your archenemy didn't count as sinking low?

It's not conversing, it's trading insults.

Ron stopped his random spur of logic there, because it obviously wasn't being very cooperative currently.

So with exactly three footsteps continuing down the hall, Ron notices a bobbing head of slicked blonde hair following him. Naturally, he tries glowering in its direction, because it used to work just fine. This time, the owner of the perfected hair doesn't notice it though, so he continues along with the red head.

"Seriously ... Weasley. You're such a bloody git."

Draco was laughing like they were almost friends, or mutual acquaintances at the least and Ron isn't quite sure he likes this new side of him. On one hand, he wasn't getting fired at with a parade of stale insults. On the other, he thinks he would much rather complain to himself about the lengths of the hallways than have a vaguely civilized conversation with Malfoy, of all people.

"Yeah, right." Ron half sighs, looking around a bit for some door way he could pretend to be late for.

Unfortunately, as he's just learned, no classes today means he really should be sleeping now, and no door way his eyes could find was the 7th Year Gryffindor Boy's dorm.

"What's the matter with you?" Draco asks, almost offended with the red head's lack of interest.

Agreement wasn't exactly an attempt to smite the proud blonde, and forfeiting didn't count as a real win.

Ron eyed the shorter boy with a slightly disturbed air, letting his wand slide back into his pocket as he was pretty positive he wouldn't have to use it today.

"What's it to you, Malfoy?" Ron sneers the name as though he's trying to get the blonde to remember that he was one, and he should be running and shouting insults over his shoulder, or whining about something, or hiding behind Daddy. It doesn't seem to have an effect, though Draco's expression hardens a noticeable bit.

"It's nothing to me, Weasel." The words left his mouth a bit too fast to be calm, something Draco's hinged his whole outlook on and something that apparently had abandoned him for today. "But I bet it's going to cause a bit of a scrap with your dear lover Potty. Is that why you're wandering around all by your lonesome, calling his name in woe?"

Exactly the reason Ron should have kept walking when he had the chance.

"He's not my fucking lover." Said Ron's fist to Draco's nose. Twice.

"He's not my fucking problem." Said Ron's fist to Draco's mouth.

"It's not my fucking fault!" Bellowed Ron to a bloody Malfoy and an empty hallway.

The pause lengthened, though Ron felt no need to apologize to the mess on the tile in front of him. He slid himself against the opposite wall, breathing a bit too hard as though he'd gotten out something that had been prodding his insides for far too long.

Ron watched the other boy lazily, head resting against cold stone with as much comfort as possible, wand laying uselessly half out of his pocket. Sometimes fists worked just as well.

The first thing that came to Draco's mind, as he licked thick copper stains off his lip, was the fact that he'd been stupid and slow. He had the chance to counterattack with a jinx, but, he reasoned, Weasel moved reasonably fast, and he could hit surprisingly hard.

Draco picked himself up from where he'd crumpled to the floor a few moments ago, closing his eyes and trying without much inspiration to wipe off some of the blood that had oozed from his nostrils and leaked from a newly split lip.

He leaned himself against the wall, identical to the skinny boy across from him and closed his eyes, mouthing the word 'Fuck' to no one in particular.

He should have let the stupid Mudblood lover go when he had the chance.

Pride often gets in the way of things, though.

That sounds like a good ending line, don't you agree?

Yeah. I'll scar your eyes with more chapters soon, dollies. Just be patient.