Their first meal in the Great Hall was a blur, and Ron found himself in his room with little memory of the typical announcements that had consumed his evening. Unpacking his bags, an event he used to find exciting, seemed mundane and depressing now that he had nothing to look forward to for the year. Having his own room, one of the perks of being a prefect, wasn't all bad though. It allowed him some degree of privacy, and separated him from people he knew wouldn't ask if he was ok anyway. That was it, the last of the clothes in his trunk. Great, he thought, I've already officially run out of things to do. Sighing, Ron decided to take a walk to the kitchen to see if there was anything left over from dessert.
Walking around alone was only marginally less boring than staying in his room alone, Ron realized. No one was in the halls. He remembered that there had been a small party going on in the Gryffindor common room and decided the same was probably true of other houses. There was the familiar pear picture. Tickling it, he entered the kitchen quietly. Hopefully he wouldn't run into anyone.
"Mister Wheezy!"
Ron whipped around to face a grinning Dobby.
"What can Dobby be getting Mister Wheezy?! Would Mister Wheezy be liking some ginger cake, sir? Dobby is hearing the ginger cake is very good! Dobby always has extra food for friends of Harry Potter!"
"Uhhhhh," Ron started hesitantly, "That sounds good. As much as you can give me. Thanks…"
Dobby rushed around gathering the food like the apocalypse was seconds away. He got the tray back to where Ron was standing, nearly spilling the tray in his feverish attempt to reach him.
"Well... umm, thanks Dobby…"
"No problem, Mister Weezy, Sir! Dobby is loving to help friends of Harry Potter!"
Ron left the kitchen feeling as empty as before, but slightly excited about the ginger cake. He started back down the corridor, stealing bits of the cake as he walked. As he continued, he noticed a door that hadn't been there the year before. Music seemed to be coming from inside the room. Curiosity getting the better of him, he pushed the door open to get a peek inside. What he saw made him stop in his tracks. It was Malfoy. He was sitting motionless in an armchair, apparently listening to the music. The rest of the room was furnished as a bedroom, with a small bathroom visible off the back. Ron was just turning around to leave when a voice cut the silence.
"Who's there?"
Ron froze. The music stopped.
"I asked you a question. Answer me. Who are you?!"
"Ummmm, is it important?" Ron stalled.
"Weasley. Great. What shit luck I have…"
"Malfoy." Ron practically spat out the name. "Why are you even here? The biggest Slytherin dorm didn't cost enough money?"
"Shut it."
"Oh, did I hit a nerve? Have a little fight with Daddy?"
Malfoy was silent. Ron was curious. Finally, Malfoy spoke.
"Is that ginger cake?"
"So what if it is?"
Malfoy sighed.
"Give me some."
"You didn't have enough at dinner?"
"I didn't go to dinner."
"Oh. Why not?" Ron asked condescendingly.
"Are you mentally deficit, Weasley? Have you not noticed I'm fucking BLIND?! Just give me the damn cake."
For once, Ron was speechless. Malfoy, blind? That would explain the hospital stay… This was too good…
"So why are you blind?"
Malfoy tensed up for a moment.
"That's none of your business, Weasel. Just give me some cake."
Ron almost felt bad for the kid. No food? But this was Malfoy he was thinking about. The bastard deserved nothing less.
He gave him cake anyway, unsure quite why. Malfoy scarfed it down like he'd been denied food for days. Ron actually felt bad, but he wasn't certain why he did. Seeing no reason to continue standing awkwardly, Ron put the tray down on a table and sat in a nearby chair.
"Make yourself at home," Malfoy said sarcastically.
"Well you've eaten my food. Is it so unfair that I get to sit down?"
"I suppose not…" Malfoy replied.
"What's wrong with you? Why aren't you the same prick you used to be, huh?"
"Let's just say my father and I had a falling out. Now drop it."
"Bloody hell…" Ron muttered to himself.
"What?!" Malfoy snapped.
"Your father did that, didn't he?" Ron said, gesturing to Malfoy's eyes. Realizing his stupidity, he quickly corrected himself. "I mean, he blinded you."
"I didn't say that…" Malfoy replied in a shaky tone that gave away the real answer.
"Why did he do it?" Ron asked, any hint of malice temporarily dropping from his voice, now replaced by innate curiosity.
"I'll tell you why but then we will stop talking about this," Malfoy said in a perfectly even tone. "I refused the Dark Mark." He said it quickly in a hushed tone, and it took a moment for Ron to process it.
"Oh," he replied when he got his head around it. "Ok."
Those five words had completely challenged most of Ron's view of Malfoy. Admittedly, he was still a prick, but now he was on their side. This changed everything.
"Do you want something else to eat?" Ron asked.
Malfoy took it for what it was: an apology.
"Yes. But it had better be good."
"Watch it Malfoy. I don't have to get you food you know."
"Ok, then, yes, and I like good food."
Ron shook his head and ducked back out of the room. Fortunately by the time he got back to the kitchen the house elves had finished for the night and he was able to help himself to leftovers of a roast with some gravy on it, mashed potatoes, and several rolls.
He snuck back down the hall, praying he wouldn't get caught by the professors patrolling the halls, as he was relatively sure it was past curfew.
Malfoy was staring at the door when he came back. Ron noticed his steel blue eyes seemed cloudy and lifeless. It was a bit creepy.
"Here you go, Malfoy!" Ron said sarcastically, setting the plate of food down on the table next to him along with some silverware. Ron shuffled back over to his chair and sat down. He noticed Malfoy was blushing slightly as he ran his hand along the table to find the silverware. Once he found it he felt for the edge of the plate and attempted to stab some food. Unfortunately, his fork ended up in the mashed potatoes, then coming up to his mouth with no food on it. Malfoy swore under his breath, and Ron could see that he was frustrated.
"Do you want help?" he volunteered carefully.
"Fuck off. I don't need your damn pity, Weasley. I'm sure this is all quite amusing for you."
Ron laughed.
"You think I have pity for you, Malfoy? Well you're sorely mistaken. I only offered because you look hungry, so get over yourself."
"Fine," Malfoy conceded. "I'm just not used to being a fucking cripple."
Ron got up and walked over to where Malfoy was sitting dejectedly. He took the knife and fork from Malfoy wordlessly and cut up the meat. When he was done, he set the utensils back in the silent boy's hands.
"There's some roast on the left side of the plate, with gravy on it, and the mashed potatoes are on the right. There's also some rolls right above your plate if you want them."
Malfoy started to eat tentatively at first, then devouring the food once he'd developed a semblance of where things were.
Ron took that as a thank you.
When Malfoy had finished, it finally occurred to Ron to check the time. It was late. Really late.
"Fuck!" Ron exclaimed. "It's past midnight. No way I'm getting back to Gryffindor without getting caught!"
"You'll stay here," Malfoy replied, as if it had never been a question. "I can't use my wand anymore," he continued, his tone turning bitter, "but you being able to see and all, you just might be able to conjure up a bed."
"You know you don't have to be so damn nasty about it."
"Well how would you like it, being stuck in here friendless?! You think it's a bleeding holiday? Cause it's not. I'm pathetic."
"Well, yeah, right now you're pathetic. You're whining."
Ron conjured himself a bed.
"I'm going to sleep," he announced.
Draco stood up without saying anything. He carefully paced over to his bed where he picked up his pyjamas. Counting his steps, he made his way for the bathroom.
"Weasley?"
"Yeah?"
"Just, don't move anything."
Ron put the chair he was sitting in back where it had been and climbed into his bed.
A minute later he heard Draco find his way slowly back to his own bed.
As Draco lay there, he realized he had already proven his father wrong. He told someone.
