FALL FROM GRACE

Author: Harikari (Formerly Known As Nox2) I changed my name, hurray!

Notes: Here's the fifth chapter. Hope you enjoy. Thanks for all the reviews so far! All comments and constructive criticism welcome and appreciated.

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

FIVE:

For Draco, the Monday after Halloween weekend didn't come nearly soon enough. He'd spent almost all of Saturday and Sunday tucked away in his dorm, sitting on his bed with the lavish, green drapes hiding him from view.

He'd listened as his dorm mates joked, and snickered, and shuffled around in the mornings before disappearing downstairs, only to return many hours later to settle down for bed. Draco had used his time alone to brood.

He'd thought about his mother, and his father, and Pansy. About Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson. He wondered if Pansy still had the newspaper article reporting his father's killing spree, and tried to think of a way he might be able to steal it back. He wanted that small, black and white photograph of Narcissa Malfoy; he wanted a bit of his mother to hold on to.

Thinking about his mother for all of those hours had eventually led him to thinking about that late-summer night at Malfoy Manor. When that had happened, he'd just closed his eyes and bit at his lip, pretending he didn't remember how horrible and high-pitched and gut-wrenching all of the screams had sounded. Pretending he didn't remember the insane smirk on his father's face.

When Crabbe's snoring had become regular and loud, and Draco had been sure that all of the other seventh year Slytherin boys were asleep, the blonde had gotten out of bed and headed silently and carefully down to the school kitchens for a bite to eat.

Now, finally, it was Monday morning and time for classes. Draco woke up exceptionally early to avoid having to deal with Blaise and the others, and got ready quickly. When he entered the Great Hall the tables were mostly empty, and he was still straightening the green and silver tie that went with his uniform, his robe slung carelessly over one arm.

He passed a few droopy-eyed students picking at their oatmeal before reaching his usual spot and sitting down to eat. He fixed his plate and dug in. When a few more semi-alert students began to file into the Hall, the blonde looked up from chewing his toast and noticed a familiar, red-headed figure slumped at the Gryffindor table.

Ron.

Weasley was alone at the table, and Draco briefly wondered where the other two Gryffindorks that made up the famous trio were before remembering their conversation in the closet. So, Harry and the Bookworm were snogging now, and the Weasel was feeling bad about it.

In the back of his mind, the Slytherin couldn't help but think what great material that information gave him. He could give the whole trio crap about it, poking at them until one of them ended up exploding-

But that didn't matter anymore. He was no longer the leader of the Slytherins. And as for the rest of the school? It seemed they all thought it best to completely ignore him, seeing as how he wasn't a threat anymore; they certainly couldn't feel pity for a Malfoy.

Draco was mostly glad about this. He didn't want or deserve pity. Although, before this year, he wasn't accustomed to being ignored. It was really quite lonely.

Ron, seeming surprised, looked up as if he'd just heard someone calling for him. His eyes met Draco's. He blinked, then nodded.

It was a hello nod. The blonde fought his own look of surprise, too stunned to nod back. Why the hell had the Weasel done that? Was it because of their night in the closet together? Ron was still looking at him, and Draco felt his face go warm for no apparent reason.

He looked away and went back to eating. He finished up his meal and headed to his first class without another glance in the Gryffindor's direction.

-----

Ron's last class of the day was Potions, and he was dreading going to it for more than one reason. He trudged slowly towards the dungeons, his bookbag gripped loosely in one hand and dragging behind him. Professor Snape had been bad enough. Now he had to deal with a lovey-dovey Harry and Hermione, too. And now they knew he knew about them, so they'd no doubt be throwing pity-glances his way all through class, just as they had during the last class they'd all had together that day.

Harry, obviously nervous, would look him over with critical green eyes. And Hermione would glance at his face, her own mouth turned up to form a reassuring little smile. God, how he'd wanted to have those lips for himself. And God, how horrible it made him feel, to know she was only being friendly and concerned when she looked at him that way.

His thoughts dark, Ron reached the Potions classroom. He stopped inside the doorway to scope out a seat. Maybe he could find one far enough away from his two friends that they couldn't give him those looks of worry every half a minute.

Harry and Hermione were already in class. They weren't sitting together, though. Hermione was at the table in the very front of the room, her cauldron and basic potion-making supplies spead out neatly in front of her. Harry sat at the table just behind her, pushing his glasses up on his nose and saying something that was making Hermione laugh delightedly.

Ron guessed the odd seating arrangement was for his benefit. If he wanted, he could choose to sit next to Harry or Hermione. It would be just like old times. Just like a normal, platonic group of friends sitting next to each other.

Except, in reality, it wasn't like old times. And the redhead most definitely didn't want to pretend like it was. He wasn't so much angry that they were together, even though that fact did hurt. It was more that they hadn't told him anything about their relationship until they'd been caught at it.

That had hurt the most, and Ron was still a little sore from it. He didn't want them to continue acting like nothing was going on. He just wanted their trust and honesty. He wanted them to act real, and not like he was going to break or blow up because of any wrong move.

Holding back a sigh, he shot a look around the room for an empty seat. There was one beside Neville, but Ron didn't feel like dealing with something exploding in his face, or with turning into a toad. He saw a spot free by Dean Thomas near the back of the room and headed over to it quickly.

The giggling Hermione and chattering Harry didn't even notice when he passed them.

Before he got to the seat by Dean, Seamus came and took it for himself. The teen sat down and began digging through his bag frantically, not even looking up. Dean, seeing that Seamus had taken Ron's potential seat, gave the redhead a shrug of sympathy.

Ron spun around to check the table across from Dean's and found himself looking at the profile of one Draco Malfoy. The boy had his lips thin and tight, and seemed to be looking in the direction of Pansy. The Slytherin girl had taken the seat next to Neville. She was staring at an uninteresting stretch of the dungeon wall, a quill in her hand. She didn't seem to notice the uncomfortable boy next to her.

Usually, Slytherins and Gryffindors didn't sit together unless they were forcibley paired by Professor Snape. Ron looked to the front of the room and saw that the seats next to the still-oblivious Harry and Hermione had been taken already.

Oh well. What the hell. The redhead had seen the teen in the Great Hall that morning, and had nodded a hello. He didn't know what exactly had possessed him to do it, but Draco hadn't sneered or cursed at him. He'd just looked shocked and unsure.

Having made his decision, Ron threw his bag down on the table and took a seat on the stool. Draco broke away from looking at the pug-faced Slytherin girl and shot wide eyes in the redhead's direction, but didn't say anything.

"Hullo," said Ron, wondering to himself why he was trying to initiate a civil conversation with a Slytherin, of all people.

"Err...," Draco looked quite disoriented. The redhead had to resist the urge to laugh out loud at the look on his face. The blonde opened his mouth, as if about to say something more, but Snape came stomping into the classroom, robes billowing, and his attention was effectively diverted.

-----

Snape had the classroom copy down loads and loads of notes for a potion they would be working on that week. And after he had done that, he went into lecture mode. He went on and on, and shot a hostile look at anyone who appeared to be falling asleep.

It was a very advanced potion they were going to be making. And a very dangerous one. Draco listened closely and took notes studiously. His favorite subject was potions, after all. He only occasionally stopped his note-taking to glance at Pansy, but he did this less and less, as she never even so much as twitched.

Even with his concentration so much on notes, though, Draco managed to miss a few of the very last things the Professor had said. He tapped his quill on his parchment impatiently and looked over at the redhead who had decided, for some odd reason, to sit next to him.

The teen was already stuffing his own notes into his tattered bag, wrinkling them. "Weasley?" he asked.

Ron turned to him. "Yeah?" He looked cautious, as if he wasn't quite sure if Malfoy would simply ask him a question, or shoot him an insult. "What?"

"Did you get that last direction the Professor gave? Did he say we should chop the root or powder it?"

Looking relieved, the Gryffindor unrolled his wrinkly parchment, studied it, then stuck it in front of Draco's face, before quickly pulling it away. "Chop," he said.

"Thanks," drawled Malfoy, blinking to focus his eyes. He wrote the note down and then hurridely began packing up his own bag. He watched from the corner of his eye as both Harry and Hermione came up to the table, smiling nervously at Ron and shooting somewhat-but-not-quite vicious looks at Draco.

"Hey Ron, we saved you a seat but...I guess you came late." Hermione said this, glancing hesitantly at Draco.

The Slytherin simply ignored her.

The redhead shrugged. "I'm going to do a few laps around the Quidditch Pitch after dinner. You guys want to come?"

Hermione's face looked suddenly pinched. "Sorry, Ron. I've got some Head Girl things to tend to." She shrugged, looking genuinly sorry. "You know."

"Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "I've got an appointment. I'm...I need to talk to Dumbledore."

At this, both Hermione and Ron looked surprised. "Dumbledore?" they asked in unison. It was so loud that the few students still packing up their things, or heading out the door, gave them curious looks.

Draco, not caring to listen to anymore of the trio's blathering, shouldered his bag and turned to walk away.

"Malfoy," said Harry, stopping him. He turned around, looking blankly at the Boy Who Lived. "Pansy came asking about you Friday. She couldn't find you." Silence. Harry seemed to be itching to ask him a question.

"And?" urged Malfoy, trying to sound annoyed. But his old bite wasn't in it.

"Where were you?" Harry's eyes narrowed, and his gaze went to the healing wound on Draco's forehead. "Is that-"

The blonde shot a nervous glance at Ron before cutting the Gryffindor off. "Pansy isn't looking for me anymore, Potter. Where I was isn't really any of your business, is it?" With that, he turned and walked away, ignoring Harry's angry retort, and trying not to feel too pleased with the fact that Pansy had asked around for him.

"Ah, Harry," he heard Ron say, just before he was out of earshot. "He's just being Malfoy. Leave him be."

-----

The sky was gray with early evening by the time Ron finally got out to the Quidditch field. He gripped the handle of his broom tightly and stared up at the sinking sun and darkening clouds for a moment, enjoying the fresh air.

If he was honest with himself, he'd have to admit he was almost glad that both of his best friends were too busy to be with him. He liked the idea of having a break from their recently tense friendship. It felt good to be alone for a while.

He took a deep breath of the cool air and stradled his broom before rising up into the air slowly and smoothly. It didn't take long before he was zooming over the field, doing flips and dives and generally having a good time. He yelped loudly and joyfully, and all the bad things he'd been dwelling on seemed to melt away.

He stayed flying for a good while; up until his fingers started to go numb and his teeth started to chatter. He landed quickly and efficiently near the center of the field, stumbling only a little when his feet touched the ground again. He laughed out loud and studied the sky. The sun had completely fallen, and the moon and stars gave off a soft, white light.

"Have fun there, Weasel?"

The voice came suddenly from the direction of the stands, and Ron barely stopped himself from jumping. He glanced around until he spotted Draco Malfoy sitting alone on one of the lower benches. Ron, having noticed the lack of hostility in the boy's question, just nodded and trotted over. He didn't know why, so suddenly, he felt as if it was no big deal being around his former arch nemesis.

He reached the lower part of the Slytherin stands and worked his way up to sit next to the blonde. "I have to stay in practice."

"Right," answered Draco, quite unenthusiastically.

They sat in silence for a moment. Ron noticed Malfoy was gripping his thin, black wand tightly. Some spell-o-tape was wrapped around its middle, holding it together. The redhead allowed himself a brief flashback to second year, when his own wand had broken, before gesturing at the tape with a hand. "What happened there?"

Draco stared at him for a moment, almost glaring. Ron imagined the teen was trying to figure out why exactly the two of them, of all people, were having a normal conversation. Ron was trying to figure out the same thing himself.

"Zabini snapped it in two," said Malfoy, finally.

"Zabini?" asked Ron. He tried to match the name up with a face, but couldn't think of anyone. "Was it an accident?"

"Blaise Zabini," confirmed the blonde. "He took it from me Friday night when he shoved me in the closet with you. When I got out I found it on my bed, snapped in two." He twirled it and sighed dramatically. "Works like crap, now. And we've got NEWTs coming up this year." He shook his head, and Ron noticed the little tendrils of hair that fell in the way of Malfoy's eyes before slender fingers with perfectly manicured nails came and brushed them quickly back into place.

He coughed, a little surprised at himself and not sure why he was thinking the way he was. "I remember Blaise. Right bastard, isn't he?" And now he really could recall Blaise Something-Or-Other. He could remember glancing him around the hallways. He was always sneering or saying something unpleasant at the top of his lungs, and Crabbe and Goyle were always tagging along behind him, along with a trail of other oversized or overly mean sixth and seventh year Slytherins.

Blaise was the new King of the Slytherins. He was Draco's replacement.

"That's him," answered the blonde. "That's a nice broom. Can I see it?" Judging by the face he was making, it seemed as if it was physically painful for Draco to give Ron a compliment of any sort. But the teen held out his hand expectantly for the broom, anyway.

Ron handed it to him. It wasn't the newest or best model of brooms out this year, but it was considerably nicer than his last splinter-ridden horror.

The blonde studied it appreciatively for a moment before handing it back.

"Want to try it for a minute?" asked Ron, feeling uncharacteristically charitable. He'd payed for the broom with the vast majority of his summer work money, and was rather proud of it. Draco didn't answer him at first, and Ron thought he was probably thinking up some snide comment, seeing as how the blonde was quite rich, and probably had a much better broom stashed away in his dorm.

"I'm not going to play this year," commented Malfoy, after a long silence.

"What?!" thundered Ron, so harshly and suddenly that the Slytherin jumped a little. "Err..sorry. It's just, how can you not play? Well, I guess I shouldn't complain, but you're Malfoy. You're the Gryffindor's biggest competition. Without you-"

"I can't," said the boy, simply and softly.

Ron stopped his ranting and looked at the teen, frowning a little. Why wasn't he going to play? He'd played Quidditch since his second year, he was a formidable seeker... It didn't make any sense at all.

Draco looked up at Ron and smiled suddenly. "What are you so upset about, Weasely? You should be glad I won't be up there to kick your stumbling arse."

The redhead's temper, which had been noticabley absent for a while, quickly skyrocketed. "Stumbling?! I oughta pound your ugly face in, Ferret Boy!"

He clenched his teeth and glared dangerously at the laughing Malfoy. He watched the boy's startling gray eyes light up with mirth; saw his unusually full mouth quirk. And, somehow, for a moment, Ron was reminded of Hermione. And before he could really contemplate what he was doing, he'd grabbed Draco's narrow shoulder to stop his squirming and was leaning dangerously forward.

He could already feel the blonde's minty breath against his lips when it happened. He felt a strange surge of something- something painful - coming from inside of Malfoy and transferring into him. It was like a shock of electricity, but somehow more painful and more intense. Ron thought, for a stunned second, that he'd been hit with a spell. But in the next second Draco was pushing him away, a startled and disbelieving look on his face.

"Don't touch me!" he shouted, before wrenching his shoulder from Ron's grip and standing. "Godammit Weasley, what the fuck do you think you were doing?" His eyes flashing,- with anger this time- he turned and quickly strode away.

Ron, his body still humming with the odd sort of electric pain, blinked. He looked down and stared blankly at the broken, spell-o-taped wand Draco had left behind.

What the hell had just happened?