FALL FROM GRACE

Author: Nox (goddess underscore nox at hotmail dot com)

Notes: I'm very, very sorry for the extremely long delay. I have plenty of excuses. Most of them involve plain laziness and moving to another city to attend a University, but I'll skip that part and get on with it. Thanks for all the reviews last chapter! I was so excited, I started writing the next chapter right off. Unfortunately, I wasn't happy with the result. And I'm still not so sure this chapter is the same style, or of the same quality, as the others. Please tell me what you think! Oh, and I'd like to thank chimerical for pointing out how confusing my summary is (I was worried about that). I plan to change it soon! Thanks very, very much to all reviewers! Y'all are BEYOND awesome!

Italics now stand for emphasis, and --- stands for scene change.

FOUR:

Ron woke feeling warm. Without opening his eyes he yawned and stretched. Or at least he tried to stretch. However his arms, which under usual circumstances he would've simply lifted over his head, were wrapped securely around something soft. Still not opening his eyes, the redhead gave a contented sigh and hugged whatever that something soft was closer. In his mind's eye he could see Hermione with her flowing hair and pouty mouth leaning against him. He knew that, of course, his mind's eye was lying to him. But it was still nice to imagine.

/Not true? Than.../ Ron opened his eyes. He concentrated on the feel of hot breath against his neck for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what was going on. It was when the body leaning against his own shifted that the events of the previous night came back to him. He was fighting the urge to retch and going through some extremely creative cuss words in his head when the closet door suddenly swung open, letting in light, the morning breeze, and revealing a little house elf whose eyes looked even bigger than what was usual for its species. Ron credited the wide eyes to surprise. Walking in on two boys cuddling in a closet most probably wasn't an everyday occurrence for the Hogwarts servant.

"Hello," managed Ron. He was definitely not having a good morning. First waking up with Malfoy in a closet, then being discovered by someone (or something, at least) in a closet with Malfoy, and now...Well, those earlier thoughts about Hermione and all the shifting the blonde seemed to be doing weren't helping the redhead's usual early morning problem. /I hope the prat doesn't notice,/ thought the youngest Weasley brother. He should've never suggested that the Slytherin sit between his legs.

/Why the hell is he moving so much?!/

"You awake?"

The shifting stopped. "Yes. Oh...the door." Malfoy ran slender fingers through his hair.

"I know," said Ron. "The door is open. Now move so I can leave. I don't enjoy being here, you know."

"Pity," replied Malfoy. "Because I was so enjoying it."

Ron snorted. "Certainly seemed like you were. All that snoring-" He was cut off by Malfoy's sharp elbow digging into his chest. He let out an "ooph" and glared at the blond's backside for a moment before realizing that he was actually glaring at Malfoy's backside. He followed the smaller teen's example and stood. He stretched and stepped into the dim light of the hallway.

It felt good to be free.

"Thank you," he told the speechless little house elf. The creature was wearing a single, lavender sock and had one of the little hats Hermione had made back in fifth year on its head. Probably Dobby's best friend or something.

Ron noticed the grateful little nod Malfoy aimed in the house elf's general direction, but decided he must have imagined it. Malfoy certainly didn't thank anyone. Most especially not an elf.

The redhead's stomach growled. His eyes still adjusting to the light, Ron tried to remember the last thing he'd eaten and glared absently in the seventh year Slytherin's direction. The blonde hadn't moved yet. He was just standing in the hallway, chewing at his bottom lip. The injury, which was just below his hairline, had bled. Dried blood covered the right side of Malfoy's head and neck. Ron glanced down at his shirt. One of the good shirts he'd bought himself over the summer with his extra money.

/Yup, blood there too. Great./ He supposed he couldn't exactly tell the platinum-haired teen off for bleeding.

"You okay?" he asked, trying to sound as uncaring as possible. Of course, sounding that way wasn't really hard. He didn't care.

Malfoy didn't answer right away. Ron was growing angry, planning on storming off and heading down to breakfast (it seemed early enough to still be breakfast time) when the blonde finally nodded and turned to face him.

"Snape has spells set up to prevent that sort of thing."

The redhead blinked. Perhaps the Slytherin had gotten brain damage after all. "What?"

"You said you caught your friends snogging. Snape has spells up to stop boys going to the girls dorms and vise versa. If you want to get back at Potter and the Teacher's Pet for not telling you they were together you could ask McGonagall about the spells. She'd probably be delighted to cast them."

It took a moment for Ron to realize that Malfoy was actually attempting to have a conversation with him. Trying to help him even. "Oh...That's not a bad idea." Not that he would do it. At least, he didn't think he would do it. It did sound appealing...

/What's he playing at? Malfoy being helpful?/ Over his temporary shock, the youngest Weasley brother became suspicious. He glared again at the blond, noticing his slightly slumped stance, his messy hair, and his blood-covered face.

Nearly all of Ron's suspicion melted away when Malfoy's appearance reminded the redhead of the night before, and of what he'd found out.

Malfoy had seen his mother killed. Had seen his father commit gruesome suicide. He'd seen his best friend's parents murdered, and now his former allies were starting to beat the crap out of him. /Okay, so that might of changed him a little. Maybe he's a helpful Malfoy now./

Ron had no intention of becoming friendly with the blonde (he thought the Slytherin would probably flinch at the words "friendly" and "Ron" in the same sentence, anyway), but becoming a civil acquaintance with the boy didn't seem so bad an idea now that Malfoy had gained a semi-human personality.

"Maybe you should go see Pomfrey."

Malfoy gave a little sneer. Not an evil one. Just a sneer. "No. I'm fine."

Ron shrugged. "Well, I'll be off to breakfast then." He moved to pat Malfoy on the shoulder, and didn't notice the slight flinch that resulted from the action. "Good thing that elf came along, isn't it? I'm glad we're out of the closet."

Malfoy gave the redhead a weird look. Then shot a weird look at the big hand still on his shoulder. But he kept quiet.

Ron, realizing what he'd said, coughed. "I'll, uh, see you." He hurried off.

Draco, a smirk on his face, watched him walk off.

-----

Harry searched the dungeons thoroughly. He even chanced sneaking about the entrance to Slytherin House. But he found no trace of Ron.

Dejected, the Boy Who Lived headed back to the Great Hall. It was the weekend, so breakfast would still be going on for a while longer. Maybe he'd find Ron at the Gryffindor table. And if not, he could meet up with Hermione there and they could head to Hagrid's hut to look for their missing friend.

/Friend./ Harry sighed. Some friends. They really should've said something to Ron. Hell, they shouldn't have had anything to say to Ron in the first place. He'd known the redhead liked Hermione. He'd known for a long time.

/I'm an ass./

Feeling even worse than he had been feeling a few minutes before, Harry entered the Hall. He pushed his way through a crowd of Hufflepuff's and was maneuvering around a few giggling fourth year girls when he noticed a tall, redheaded teen sitting at the Gryffindor table.

It was Ron. He looked horrible, and tired, and was stuffing his face, but Harry had never been more glad to see him.

"Find him?" Hermione had come up behind him. Harry turned to her. She looked worried and exhausted.

"Yes. Right over there." He gestured to their House table. The girl gasped and took off, Harry right behind her.

Ron stopped eating when he noticed them. His face became blank. Not mad. Not hurt. Just blank.

"Ron!" squealed Hermione. It seemed as if she was on the brink of tears. "Where were you? We were so worried! Oh I'm sorry. We're both sorry. We should've told you something. Walking in like that...You probably want to kill us. You were probably shocked to death. Are you okay?" She took a breath, and the redhead took this opportunity to speak.

"I already knew."

Silence.

Harry blinked. "What?"

Ron shrugged and dug into his food again. "I saw you two snogging during holiday. Right outside of Fortescue's Parlor. I was shopping for school things and I saw you. So I already knew. I've been waiting for you to tell me something all year. Seeing you two...I just got a little mad. Why didn't you tell me?" He continued eating, like he didn't expect an answer.

"I'm sorry, Ron." Harry looked miserable.

"Oh. Ron..." Hermione, for once, didn't know what to say.

They both took a seat across from Ron, lost in thought. Hermione finally broke the quiet. "Ron, are you really mad? No, wait, that's a dim question. I mean, will you forgive us? For not being honest? We should've been. I'm sorry. We were just worried...Well, that's no excuse."

Ron grinned. Not his normal, goofy grin. Just a slight lift of the lips. "You two are my best friends. I think I understand why you did what you did. Of course I forgive you. I just...Maybe I need a little bit of time to get over it." Saying this, the redhead shot a sort of envious look at Hermione.

/Time to get over her,/ thought Harry, feeling suddenly miffed at his friend for shooting glances like that at his girlfriend. Then he remembered who exactly Ron was, and remembered that Ron had almost always liked Hermione. His "my girlfriend" instincts quickly backed down, and he felt bad.

Hermione seemed oblivious to the look, though all three friends knew she noticed it. She'd also known that Ron liked her. "Of course," she said. "I understand."

Harry thought the girl didn't sound like she understood. She sounded sad and lost. Like she thought their close friendship was suddenly ending. Like she thought "time to get over it" meant forever. Like she believed Ron was leaving their trio.

The Boy Who Lived clenched his fists. He couldn't help but agree with his girlfriend. It wouldn't be fair to Ron. Their trio was really more of a duo now, with he and Hermione spending so much time together. He suspected the redhead wouldn't enjoy sitting around during their make-out sessions. Not when he'd liked Hermione so much. Not when he himself didn't have someone to be a "duo" with.

Ron probably wanted to be alone. Alone without his best friends. Alone so he could find new friends who didn't hurt so much to be around.

Harry really didn't blame the redhead. He still wanted to spend as much time as ever with Ron, but he didn't blame Ron for wanting to change things.

Hermione suddenly perked up. "You want to walk to Hagrid's hut with us later? We can go visit him for a bit. Really quick. Maybe just get a cup of tea. It won't take long at all. Then we can all, uh, take off."

Ron had finished eating. "No," he said, still smiling the sad smile. "That's okay. I'd better go. I'm going to be late for class, anyway." He stood, gave a little wave, and walked away.

"Wow," sighed Hermione. "He must really be mad at us. Not that I blame him, but he's never the one to mention class first."

"It's Saturday," said Harry.

And that seemed to explain everything.

-----

Pansy was sitting on one of the comfortable, green chairs and staring into the inactive fireplace when the brick wall slid aside to allow Draco inside the Slytherin common room.

The blonde's eyes were drooping. He looked decidedly horrible. "Pansy?"

The girl jerked violently in her seat before hopping up and spinning around. She crossed the room in a few strides and glared at her housemate. "What's all that blood? Are you hurt badly?" She raised her hand and probed just below Draco's injury with gentle fingers.

"I'm fine." The platinum-haired teen tried not to trick himself into thinking the pug-faced girl really cared. Maybe once. But now she was just worried about her secret weapon getting damaged before she could use it. Draco knew she didn't really care, and knew he deserved that.

"What about you?" He eyed the bruises marring her skin. Millicent and the others had obviously gotten a hold of her. They'd obviously enjoyed themselves.

"Just dandy. I got some pain killer from Pomfrey." She turned and went again to the chair.

Draco frowned. "Pomfrey? Didn't she ask what happened?"

Pansy shrugged. "I told her I'd fallen down a flight of stairs."

"There's an imprint of a hand on your face and she believed you?"

The girl sneered. "She doesn't care enough about us Slytherins to investigate. Maybe if it had been a Gryffindor..." She trailed off.

Draco said nothing. He sunk down into the two-seater sofa next to Pansy's chair and closed his eyes.

"They died for nothing. For a bunch of morons who don't give a shit about them."

The blonde opened his eyes. "What?"

Pansy glanced his way and continued. "My parents and your mother. They died for a bunch of muggles who will never hear about them and a bunch of wizards and witches who, even now that they're dead, don't believe they died doing the right thing. All three of them, and all the others who are trying to fight the Dark Lord from the inside are imbeciles. I hate them."

"Don't say that!" Draco shot up, teeth bared and eyes narrowed.

"Don't tell me what to say, you prick! I hate them! They did no good! The only thing their good-doing is going to accomplish is getting us tortured and killed. That's all."

The blonde bit at his lip, but stopped when he tasted blood. "Dumbledore and the professors won't let that happen. And the others can't kill us. They're still in school. They'll get caught. The Headmaster will stop them."

Pansy shook her head. "It's seventh year. The war is coming. It won't matter that they're in school. Voldermort will snap his fingers anytime, telling the Death Eaters to get the war started, and Blaise and the others will kill us. And no one cares about two traitor Slytherins, Draco. No one will even care."

The girl was upset. She was breathing hard, her face was red, and some tears had leaked from her eyes and down her cheeks.

Draco didn't reply again. He sat back down on the couch and closed his eyes.

"Where were you all night?" The blonde could feel Pansy's eyes on him.

"Blaise slammed my head into a wall and then locked me in a closet. An elf let me out this morning."

"Oh." A pause. "Was the Weasel with you?"

Draco opened his eyes, surprised. "Yes. Why?" He hoped the Gryffindor idiot hadn't actually spread the story of their unlucky encounter around school. He didn't want anyone knowing he'd sat between Weasley's legs.

"You always run into that prat. And he wasn't with Potter and the muggle-born at breakfast. I thought maybe you two started trouble with each other." A pause. "I can't do this."

"What?"

"Act normal with you. I hate you. I...I can't do this." Nearly in tears again, Pansy shot a withering look at the blonde before running for her dorm.

Draco headed for his own dorm to take a shower. He needed to get all of the blood off of his face, he needed to get rid of his stained shirt, and he needed to not think about everything Pansy had said.

He knew pretty much everything she'd said was true. But he didn't want to think about it.

-----

For the remainder of the weekend following Halloween, Ron couldn't seem to stop thinking about Malfoy. This was curious, considering the blonde Slytherin certainly wasn't around enough that weekend to warrant such behavior.

The Slytherin traitor was nowhere to be seen during lunch Saturday, but the redhead still managed to dwell on the (decidedly mortifying) memory of their little closet adventure. The platinum-haired teen was not in the hallways on Sunday, nor did he show up to any meals. And still, despite this, memories of the boy crying on that first night back managed to sneak up on Ron.

It was nearly eleven in the evening on Sunday, while he was sitting in the Gryffindor common room (one of the little knights on the chessboard in front of him was screaming at the redhead, telling him to fetch someone else and play already), when Ron finally chalked his frequent thoughts about Malfoy up to post traumatic stress syndrome. A night with Malfoy in a closet was sure to grate on anyone's sanity.

With that reassuring theory on his mind, the redhead had gone up to bed without saying goodnight to his two best friends.

Not that he was being bitter. They just weren't around to say goodnight to. Ron had seen them leave the common room, hand in hand, hours ago.

He had a hard time getting to sleep.