I send my love to: Snow-Leopard-Patronus, DivineDarkness, DCoD, fifespice, and weirdlyyours for reviewing the last chapter. You're all amazing.

Here we go, a short little chapter coming back to our favorite red-haired sidekick and showing a bit of insight on how the diary business has been affecting the friendship between Harry and Malfoy. I hope you read it, I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you review it XD

Chapter Fourteen: Apart

The red-haired boy frowned as Professor McGonagall explained the method by which one turns a fire poker into a stork. Ron did not know why he'd want to turn anything into a stork, nor why a fire poker would be at all on hand for the job. All he knew right now was the feeling of sleep coming on and the soft skin of his hand cupping his drooping head.

"Mister Weasley, if you would please join us in the lesson…?" McGonagall asked him sharply. He nodded, reddening, and she went back to her teaching.

He turned his face to the Ravenclaw girl he'd been, unfortunately, paired with often. He was surprised when she didn't sneer or smile smugly at his humiliation. Instead she looked rather preoccupied, and come to think of it, there were large bags under her eyes.

Ron nearly fell out of his chair when he realized a second later that she—Granger—hadn't answered a single question all of class.

He had just come to the conclusion that something was definitely off when he chided himself for being so seemingly interested in that—that snot. She can bugger off for all I care, he thought self-righteously.

Once the class was over, he watched the bushy-haired girl rush off much faster than usual. Rolling his eyes, he spotted his friend Susan Bones' long black plait in the masses and ran to catch up with her.

He immediately slammed into someone who'd just walked slowly around the corridor. He apologized and helped them steady themselves when he heard them drawl, "Muggle-lover, is it?"

It was that stuck-up Slytherin he always worked so hard to avoid. Damn.

"My name is Ron," he said firmly despite his uneasiness. "Get it right next time, git."

Any other time he'd met the boy in the halls, the Slytherin had laughed off the insults as if Ron wasn't worth his time. But today Ron saw something snap and crackle in his eye, and suddenly he found himself on the floor. A moment later, there was a throb in his jaw.

Ron growled and tackled the white-blonde boy around the legs. They rolled on the floor, throwing punches at each other until someone finally pried them apart. As Ron gathered himself up and wiped the blood off his lip, he saw it was the dark-haired sidekick.

"What in hell are you doing, Malfoy?" the new arrival asked.

"What's it look like I was doing?" The voice was hostile. "You're a right hypocrite, Potter. Who says you can go around picking fights with Weasels and I can't?"

The boy's voice was full of challenge and edged with a bitterness Ron was sure had nothing to do with him. The darker boy looked at Malfoy with an odd glint in his eye, as if trying to read him. "Come on," he finally said, tugging at the fair-haired boy's arm. The pair walked off without giving another glance to Ron, he noted almost wryly, as if he were a part of the scenery like the wall and the carpet. It wasn't surprising. He stood there, not waiting for anything, feeling calm and serene and apart watching the place where the friends disappeared around the corner.

"Right old prats," he finally said to the long-empty hallway.

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