CHAPTER 4
The next couple of weeks on Alcatraz Island passed by without incident. The weather was growing chillier, and an ominous fog settling in the bay was becoming something of a routine. Ron was practically functioning on autopilot these days, trying his damnedest to do a good job while at the same time anxiously anticipating his return home. The feeling of ambivalence was difficult to mitigate at times, but he often chalked it up to good, old-fashioned home-sickness.
Malfoy had been, as usual, his typical arrogant self throughout their time working together. It was no secret that he considered himself above the entire operation, and found any excuse he could to sulk throughout weekly training exercises.
Today's lesson with Kingsley involved a wealth of physical self-defense tactics. The group of young wizards were largely inept at executing these skills, having always relied on the usage of their wands. Kingsley reasoned, however, that it was prudent to be prepared for all types of altercation. Malfoy was sitting casually on the sidelines, supposedly nursing a headache, rolling his eyes and jeering at his clumsy comrades before him.
Ron did his best to ignore him, concentrating on replicating the moves they had been shown. An exhausted Harry stood before him in a defensive stance, sweat pouring down his face.
"How do you tolerate him day in and day out?" he demanded, attempting to come at Ron. Ron easily evaded his half-hearted uppercut by ducking away.
"I don't," he scoffed. "I've been insanely tempted to kill him on more than one occasion."
Harry chuckled. Ron took advantage of his distraction, lunging in and locking him into his best chokehold. Harry struggled against him, his hands flying to the arm around his throat.
"Well, why haven't you?" he managed, vocal cords strained.
"If I'm being honest, he's the best bloody chess player I've ever matched," Ron declared. Their chess games had become something of a daily routine during their shifts, and Malfoy had come close to beating him a fair few times. "I reckon I need some kind of challenge once in a while."
Harry reached up behind him to grab Ron firmly by the shoulders, yanking him bodily over his back. Ron landed face-up on the wrestling mat, pausing to catch his breath. Harry was on him in an instant, pinning him with one arm against his throat.
"I should be offended that you don't consider me a worthy opponent, but I know I'm rubbish," he replied with a chuckle.
Malfoy began laughing derisively a few feet away from them, leering at Ron and Harry's awkward wrestling match. "I always knew the two of you fancied each other. Get yourselves a bloody room."
"Shove it in your arse, Malfoy," Ron replied with a roll of his eyes.
"Not likely. Potter seems more than willing, though."
Harry was on his feet in a flash, lunging in Malfoy's general direction. Ron grabbed him round the waist, holding fast to his flailing figure. Malfoy cocked an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed by this aggressive gesture.
"I'm fine. I'm FINE!" Harry hollered, at last roughly shaking Ron's hold away. His emerald eyes glared irritably in his best friend's direction. "Hadn't a clue you were his new bodyguard."
Ron rolled his eyes, preparing for their next round by squatting and raising his fists, paying close attention to his footwork. "Don't be daft, mate," he insisted. "I'm trying to spare you the trouble. He's not worth it."
Harry sent a right jab in the direction of Ron's face, an undeniably new sense of malice in his moves. Ron only just missed it, craning out of the way.
"Harry!" he said sharply. "You almost got me square in the nose."
"Don't let him get inside your head," Harry muttered darkly. "He's utterly poisonous."
Ron stepped forward to aim a practiced punch, but Harry was quick on his feet. "Funny, I thought you were the one defending him at King's Cross…"
Harry squared his jaw. "And I thought you were the one going on about not trusting him."
"I don't bloody trust him!" Ron shouted, finding himself growing more frustrated with Harry by the second. He put more force into his next punch, as well, nicking Harry just so across the jaw.
Harry threw a disbelieving hand up to his face to massage the point of impact. Ron faltered, losing his stance.
"Harry – mate – I'm so sorr – "
Harry had delivered a swift roundhouse kick to Ron's stomach. He doubled over in response, wheezing and gasping for air. Harry took advantage of this, rushing in headfirst to tackle him to the floor. Ron helplessly attempted to push him away, vaguely aware of the crowd growing around them.
"What the hell is your problem?" he growled, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and flipping him over so that he was the one in power.
"You have no idea what I've been dealing with," Harry replied with equal disdain, struggling beneath Ron's hold. Ron, however, held fast to his forearms to keep him in place. He was no doubt both bigger and heavier than Harry, and had no difficulty maintaining him. "The nightmares I have every night – the images – seeing you in a pool of your own blood on the fucking beachfront!"
Ron recoiled at this, climbing off and away from Harry. He stared at him in disbelief, attempting to register what he had said.
"What are you talking about? It's just a dream," he stammered. "I'm fine, mate – look at me!"
Harry, however, had jumped to his feet and brushed himself off. He was avoiding Ron's eyes. "They're as clear as they've always been," he muttered darkly. "And I don't intend on letting you get yourself killed."
Kingsley had only just reached the scuffle, nearly knocking Seamus over in the process. "Potter – Weasley – what's going on here?"
"I'm feeling ill, sir," Harry declared, clenching his jaw. "I'll be excusing myself to my quarters." And with that, he grabbed his wand from the shelf nearby, and stormed away.
The crowd was dispersing now, leaving only Neville to stand before Ron. He was looking at him apologetically, as if perfectly akin to the reason behind the fight. He extended a hand to Ron, which he gratefully accepted, to assist him off the ground.
"I told you before," he said in undertones, "something has really been haunting him in the night."
"But You-Know-Who is gone," Ron insisted, perplexed. "They're not those sorts of dreams anymore. The ones where they come true."
Neville raised a brow, a dark expression in his eyes. "You never know," he muttered. "For all we know, Harry could be a Seer – just like Trelawney always said."
Ron could not help but snort. "Really, Neville? Putting stock in anything Trelawney taught us?"
Neville shook his head in utter seriousness. "You never know. She's been right before." And with that, he, too, left Ron to his own devices.
Ron was mulling this over when Malfoy hopped down from his seat on the stool, approaching him with an impish smirk.
"Trouble in paradise?" he asked casually, as though he had not just witnessed Harry nearly taking Ron's head off.
"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron growled, grabbing his belongings and heading back towards his tent. The sun was setting across the water, and he fully intended to go straight to bed and forget the entire mess. And hopefully, Harry would be wise enough to do the same.
But when the day dawned the next morning and Ron took his usual seat in the dining hall, Harry was nowhere to be seen. The empty seat beside him seemed to be emitting some sort of ominous foreboding, their previous disagreement itching unrelentingly at his brain.
"His bed wasn't slept in," Neville explained quietly as he nibbled on his toast. "I haven't seen him since yesterday's lesson."
And when the gong sounded to indicate that all Aurors were to report to their stations, Harry had still not yet turned up.
So when Ron and Malfoy sat down to their usual chess match in Olanofsky's holding quarters, he couldn't mitigate the racing thoughts that continued to distract him.
"Queen to E4…and, check," Malfoy declared triumphantly, assessing Ron's face. "Weasley, where's your brain right now? On holiday?"
"Fuck off," Ron muttered darkly. He had been thus far successful at dealing with Malfoy, but was in no mood to tolerate him today.
"Ouch, my delicate feelings," Malfoy replied sarcastically, lounging back in his chair. "No word from Potter, I presume?"
Ron had positively no desire to discuss the issue with Malfoy at all. So instead, he chose not to respond, concentrating on removing his king from danger. Malfoy's eyes were like daggers at his forehead, though, attempting to read the situation.
"Oh, blimey, Weasley. Come off it. Potter's fucking in love with you. He'll be singing your praises and bowing at your feet by sundown."
Ron scowled in reply. "This is all your bloody fault. You know that, don't you?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes, clasping his hands behind his head. "Neither of you have changed in the slightest. You're both still just as pretentious as before. Blaming everyone else for your own problems."
Ron gritted his teeth at this remark, fighting to uncover a witty comeback. He would never admit that there was even the slightest truth to Malfoy's statement.
"Oh, and you're so different?" he chided. "Finding entertainment in others' misery? Too bad you were never officially initiated into You-Know-Who's ranks. You would have had a ball making innocent people suffer."
Malfoy hardly batted a lash at this. "Yes, well…incidentally, that was more my father's pastime than my own. I'd much rather enjoy the show from the outside than in."
Ron was gripping his king so tightly that the tiny chess piece was calling out obscenities to its master. "We both know that's not it, Malfoy. You're just trying to save face for what a big, sodding failure you were. I'll bet your own father thinks you're worthless."
This was clearly the wrong thing to say, for Malfoy had risen to his feet and used one arm to clear the entire table from between them. The chess pieces cried out in surprise as they scattered across the room, the gameboard clattering noisily to the ground. Malfoy was dangerously close to Ron's face, brandishing his wand.
"You don't know a fucking thing about my father, Weasley," he growled menacingly, any and all traces of any previous humanity having vanished. "And if you so much as utter one more word of him, I will kill you myself. Is that understood?"
Ron was quivering inside, but did his best not to show it on the out. He stared down the length of Malfoy's wand and into his eyes, exuding antipathy.
"Deal. So long as you stop prattling on about Harry, we're even."
Malfoy considered this for a minute before withdrawing, seemingly accepting of the terms. With slow and deliberate movements, he relocated his chair to the opposite end of the room, lounging back and purposefully ignoring Ron's presence.
Ron exhaled shakily as he began to pick up the mess that Malfoy had made. The chess pieces were muttering bitterly in his direction as he placed them back into the box and away. He, too, settled for sitting idly in his chair, fumbling with his wand. He pondered over Harry's wellbeing and safety, optimistically convincing himself that they would be settled by dinner. Yes, that part of what Malfoy said was right – they didn't often stay angry with one another for long. Especially over something as trivial as this. Harry would need him – would want to discuss how stressed out his dreams had made him. Yeah. He would certainly be speaking to him by dinner.
The two wizards spent the remainder of their shift in silence. And though Ron detested him so, he could not help but wish the argument hadn't occurred. Malfoy was, after all, his new favorite chess opponent.
