This is being cross-posted from Ao3. It was originally posted on 1 March 2020.
Thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading! I couldn't do this without you!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended.
Ron hated when he and Hermione fought, especially when they were supposed to be on Prefect duty together. Granted, Ron was typically able to take care of himself, but it was always nice to have Hermione and her myriad of spell knowledge with him as they wandered the halls late in the evening. From time to time, some of the more heinous Slytherins would send hexes their way. On more than one occasion, Ron and Hermione found themselves defending one another against a rogue classmate.
Tonight he and Hermione argued over how much time he was spending studying. Not enough, in her opinion, but that was her opinion. Ron was passing his classes right now, so what did it matter? She'd gone off on her own in a fit of anger, leaving him to patrol the halls alone tonight. Ron smiled to himself. He may stumble into her path at some point and convince her that it was dumb to walk alone. He was already planning what he would say when from seemingly out of nowhere, a hex knocked him off his feet.
"Ahhh!" he cried, his arms thrown out in an attempt to stop his fall. Nevertheless, he landed fairly hard on the stone floor of the hallway. Groaning, Ron clutched at his side where he'd been hit. Before he even pulled at his robes, he knew what he would find.
He'd been hit by a Stinging hex from the feel of things. His skin was burning, the spell having scorched his flesh. Glancing around, Ron noticed that whoever had sent the hex his way was already long gone. Sighing in irritation, Ron decided to assess the damage and determine whether or not a trip to the infirmary was in order. As he was about to open his robes, there was a shuffling sound as feet moved in his direction.
"They got you then?" an annoyingly familiar voice asked from the darkness.
"Malfoy," Ron breathed, digging in his robe for the wand he should have been holding the entire time. From the darkness, Draco appeared holding his wand and frowning. "What are you doing here? Come to finish the job?"
"Don't be daft, Weasley," Draco said and dropped to his knees next to Ron. He looked around and then sighed heavily. "They got away. I thought I could beat them here."
"So you are trying to tell me that it wasn't you who sent that hex at me?" Ron almost sneered as he glared daggers at his long-time nemesis.
"It was some of the fifth year Slytherins. I heard them talking in the common room about hunting Gryffindors tonight," Draco explained, his grey eyes examining the hallway. "They'll get punished. I'll make sure Pansy takes care of it. They're some of her friends."
Ron sat there staring at Draco, lost as to why he was being so kind right now. Surely, this was some sort of scheme. "What are you doing?" he asked, watching as Draco dug around in the pockets of his robes.
"Looking for some ointment for that hexmark under your robe," Draco mumbled. His face was scrunched up in concentration as he searched the pockets. When he found what he was looking for, he smiled and held it up for Ron to see. "This should make that heal faster without you having to go to the infirmary and explain what happened."
"You just carry that around with you?" Ron asked, watching now as Draco opened the little bottle and dipped his fingers inside.
"These are dark times, Weasley," Draco said solemnly. "We all have to be prepared."
Both boys were quiet as Draco's words settled around them. Neither could deny the war nor their participation in it. Ron desperately wanted to say something mean about Draco and his family's alliance to the Dark Lord, but something in his gut urged him not to speak. It wasn't the time. Not now, or possibly not ever.
However, when Draco snatched at his robe and revealed the ugly red burn the Stinging hex has left, his resolve returned. "Hey!" he shouted. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Ron struggled to get the robe out of Draco's grasp, but the blond had a good hold, and Ron was injured after all.
"Will you just knock it off for a minute, Weasley," Draco snapped as Ron continued to struggle. "I'm trying to be nice. Bloody hell, you're difficult."
Ron froze. Nice? Draco and nice didn't belong in the same sentence. "How do I know that isn't poison?" Ron asked, eyeing up the ointment Draco had on his fingertips.
"If it was," Draco began in a bored drawl, "Wouldn't I now be poisoned myself since I am touching it?"
Ron looked at the ointment and then back to Draco's face where a bit of his trademark smugness was beginning to appear. Narrowing his eyes, he said, "I guess you have a point."
"I know," Draco muttered through his smirk and then pressed his fingers against Ron's side. He smoothed the ointment on carefully until the redness started to fade.
The entire time, Ron watched on in complete and utter fascination. Draco bloody Malfoy was rubbing ointment on his naked skin, and he was, for lack of a better word, fine with it. When Draco finished, Ron coughed awkwardly and mumbled, "Thank you." It didn't matter if this was Draco Malfoy. His mother had taught him manners.
"You're welcome," Draco said without meeting his eyes. The blond wiped the excess goop on his own robes and then stood. He waited for Ron to push to his feet as well before saying anything further. Once the redhead was standing, Draco said, "Are you okay? Why were you alone?"
Ron's instinct was to lash out, but for some reason, he refrained. "I'm fine. Hermione and I…"
Draco nodded. "Got into another spat?" He laughed and shook his head. "You two are something else."
"Yeah…" Ron was a bit speechless over the entire situation. Clearing his throat, he scrounged up some of his Gryffindor courage and asked, "Why did you come help me, Malfoy? It's not like you."
"Maybe I'm tired of fighting for the losing side," Draco admitted with a shrug. After staring at Ron for another moment, he sighed heavily and turned to walk away. "Anyway, I hope that heals all right. Next time, either patrol with your wand in hand or make sure Granger is with you." Without looking back, Draco waved and continued on his way, leaving Ron to mull over what just happened.
As he watched Draco disappear toward the Slytherin dungeons, Ron thought that maybe there might be more to the blond than the boy who made him puke slugs once upon a time. He didn't even care that he'd subtly been insulted by the Slytherin. Shrugging, Ron set off for Gryffindor Tower with a smile on his face. The war was still brewing, but maybe, just maybe, Draco would wind up on the light side instead. It was too early to tell, but Ron intended on finding out somehow.