Chapter Ten- Kindness.

"Weasley!"

"Weasley!"

Maybe if I ignored him he'd just sort of go away.

"Have you gone deaf or were you always this stupid?"

Harry looked at me sideways. "Are you waiting for him to go hoarse?"

I clenched my fists around the shoulder strap of my bag. "I was hoping he'd be struck by lightening, actually."

"We're indoors," Hermione said.

"A man can dream."

It wouldn't've been so bad if Malfoy weren't so damn normal about it all—insulting people, flicking his hair, marching around with his nose in the air and the remains of his entourage at his heels. When people were looking, that is. See, apparently my Potions essay had just been the beginning of some twisted, drawn-out plot against me; it was the only good explanation I had for why he was acting schizophrenic. Normal when people were watching, but when they weren't...

"Wease. LEE."

Malfoy had actually run to catch up with us—a miracle in its own right. Unfortunately I couldn't keep ignoring him when he was practically stepping on the hem of my robes and shrieking in my ear like like a banshee with a hangnail. I stopped and turned around, and tried to look cool and collected and completely not paranoid about the situation. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

He thrust a textbook out at me, holding it by the corner as if it were covered in something icky. (Which it wasn't. Dean had spilled a bottle of ink, is all.) "You left this," he said, sounding all put-out like and grumpy, as if running twenty feet from Fix's classroom had been some kind of marathon and he deserved a medal.

The book didn't look hexed, and I didn't see his wand in easy reach; that didn't mean it was safe. I searched his face, looking for a smirk or a scowl or a sneer—some sort of expression beginning with s that I could handle, you know, one that made sense. He looked bored; he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else on the planet than this corridor, in front of me. But he was also watching me just as carefully as I was watching him, with a sort of...intense look, the sort I couldn't really explain. It was like he was waiting for something, or something.

"Give it here, then," I snapped, and tried to snatch my book back as quickly as I could. Not quite quick enough, though; he "accidentally" dropped it, and caught it with his other hand, so that his fingers closed over mine. His hand was warm and dry and he smiled for a split half-second—just a little, just enough. Then I jerked my arm away and he turned and left, nose in the air, like he hadn't done a thing.

Oh, he was definitely up to something evil.

Harry looked from Malfoy to me to Malfoy, back to me, and then shook his head. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," I said, and tucked the book under my arm.

"You'd better make sure that's not hexed or something," Hermione said, and reached for her wand.

"Don't bother."

Because the problem was, it wasn't hexed. Just like the Potions essay, and the class notes he owled me when I fell asleep, and the doors he held and the hints he whispered in my ear right before an exam in a voice almost too soft to hear. I was not hallucinating this stuff, and I wasn't being paranoid; Malfoy was out to get me. Had to be. Except I couldn't see what driving me mad would accomplish except...well, driving me mad. Maybe I'd missed something, or maybe he was too mad himself for me to figure it all out. Either way, I was definitely in trouble; I just wished I knew how.

Harry obviously didn't get it, though. He looked at me like I was a lunatic. "Ron, why would Malfoy bother to help you out unless he had an ulterior motive?"

If I said, because it's all part of his nefarious master plan, they would've got me committed. I couldn't even prove half the things he'd done. So I said, "Fuck if I know. Maybe he's gone round the twist."

"How do you know it isn't hexed, then?" Hermione said.

I opened the book and rifled through all of the pages. In a way, it would've been nice if I had turned into a fruitbat or something horrible; then the whole thing might've been a big weird prank and I could've ignored it. But nothing happened, so I shoved it back under my arm. "See? Perfectly normal."

Harry blinked. "So what's he playing at?"

"If I knew, don't you tihnk I'd do something about it?"

"You don't think..." Hermione bit her lip, and blushed a bit. "Well, I don't know, but maybe...maybe he's flirting with you?"

Harry and I looked at each other.

"It was just a suggestion," Hermione said, and scowled at us while we laughed.

Harry had to wipe the tears off his glasses. "I thought you said Malfoy was obsessed with me, Hermione."

"I've reconsidered my position."

"So now he's obsessed with Ron?"

"I didn't say he was obsessed with anybody."

I looked down at the book in my arm. "Wish he'd stop acting like it, then."

"You say something, mate?"

"Er...never mind."

It wasn't until we were at lunch that I noticed something important; if I hadn't, a whole bunch of things might've gone differently. Malfoy had given me my Defense Against the Dark Arts book—but I hadn't brought it to class with me. I didn't even have Defense on Mondays, and anyway I'd thought I lost it, since I couldn't find it during class last Thursday. It wasn't in my dormitory, either, and I'd checked; Hermione didn't believe me and said it was probably under my bed. Harry had said he saw me put it in my bag before Potions that day, though, and—

Wait a minute.

I didn't remember most of that class—we'd been doing Amnesia Infusions—but I thought Malfoy had spent more time loitering near our table than usual. We hadn't even been able to tell him to sod off, since Snape insisted the potion needed to be prepared in silence. Malfoy must've stolen it out of my bag when Harry and I weren't looking and sneaked off with it. He'd probably done all sorts of weird evil things to it, maybe used it for some kind of elaborate spell...

...except he gave it back.

Which was somehow really quite disturbing all by itself.

I had just settled down to thinking about all the ways Malfoy could've violated my poor, innocent textbook when Ginny plopped down across from me with an illegal sort of smirk. "So I heard what you and Allison got up to in the Quidditch stands on Saturday."

Malfoy suddenly didn't matter one jot for anything. "What'd you hear?"

"Don't worry, nothing bad...Eloise Midgen saw you kissing, that's all."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "In that case, I'm surprised it took this long to get back to him."

Harry gave me a little smirk. "Finally underway, then?"

"Er...sure." Because what Midgen hadn't seen couldn't hurt anyone.

Now, don't get me wrong about this, because Allison is wonderful. She's charming and attractive, among her many virtues. Furthermore, I like kissing Allison. Kissing Allison is fun. It's anything more than kissing that's the problem. Oh, it's not like I can't...you know...because I can, easy. Maybe too easy, is the problem, I guess. Because, see, just when things start to get interesting I start to worry about whether or not I really like her, or if she's just going to be another Lisa or Justin or Michael, and worrying about things like that in the middle of interesting things isn't exactly conductive to...further things, if you get my meaning. But it's also pretty damn embarrassing to walk a girl back to her dorms because you suddenly can't decide whether or not you want to have sex with her someday. I don't know how these things happen to me.

"Ron? Hello?"

"Er." I looked around. "What?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Weasley." Ha. If only he knew. "Quidditch tonight, remember?"

"No, I'd thought I'd skip it and do homework in the library."

Hermione sighed. "Your sarcasm is not appreciated."

"Says who?"

I had to get my books for Herbology; I told Harry and Hermione to meet me in class. Ginny had a free period that afternoon and walked back to Gryffindor with me. When we were away from the Great Hall and mostly alone, she suddenly blurted out, "I'm really glad you like Allison."

"Er..."

"I mean...well, I think you're good with each other."

"...thanks?"

She didn't quite look me in the eye, but she sort of looked sideways, like if she looked straight at me she'd see something she didn't like. "Are you...I mean, do you...about Allison, I mean...I..." She exhaled through her teeth. "Oh, never mind."

"Okay." Where the hell had all this come from, anyway?

I was trying to work out what she'd almost said, when Malfoy suddenly appeared from the stairs behind a tapestry. He'd nicked my textbook and he was plotting against me, which was more than enough to make me suspicious, but this had the kind of timing that can't be an accident. He didn't even belong on that floor, anyway. Malfoy looked both ways down the corridor before plastering a sickly-sweet smile on his face. "Why, hello, Weasel. Weaslette."

"What do you want now?" I asked. If he gave a pair of my own boxers or something this time, I was telling a teacher.

But, no, he just kept smiling like he was on drugs. "Oh, I was just on my way, actually." He gave a fake little bow and held back the corner of the tapestry. "After you."

If Ginny hadn't been there, I would've found out what Malfoy was playing at right away, even if I had to hex it out of him. Hell, if Ginny hadn't been there I probably wouldn've knocked out a few of his teeth just for smiling like that—it was weird. Unfortunately, Ginny was there, and before I could do anything she put on her own fake little smile and said "Thank you," and disappeared up the stairs.

I stared after her. Malfoy raised his eyebrows at me, still with the grin. I glared at him and chased after my sister.

"Ginny!" Damn, but she could climb stairs fast. "Ginny, what the hell was that about?"

"He was holding the tapestry for us."

"It was Malfoy!"

"What does it matter if it was the Muggle Prime Minister?"

"Because! It's Malfoy!"

She rolled her eyes at me. "He was being nice, for once in his lifetime. We might as well take advantage of it."

What part of that was Malfoy did she not understand? "Ginny, why should Malfoy be nice to us, eh? He's got to be plotting something."

Of course, she didn't know what I knew, so she looked at me like I was an idiot. "Or maybe he found Buddha dancing in his cauldron and decided to reform himself, give all his money to charity, and adopt a kitten."

"Eat the kitten, is more like it." I pushed through the invisible door at the top of the stairs. "And what's this Booda bloke got to do with it?"

"Do you pay any attention in Muggle Studies?"

She was changing the subject! "Yes, but we're talking about Malfoy."

"Look," she said, "Malfoy's being nice. Who cares why he's doing it, so long as he is?"

"Because he's Malfoy!"

"If Susan Bones had held the tapestry for us, would you be like this?"

"'Course not. She's not evil."

"But either way, the tapestry still got held."

"What's your point?"

She sighed. "No wonder Hermione broke up with you."

"Gee, thanks, Gin."

We stopped outside the Fat Lady's portrait, and she leaned against the wall. "Think of it this way," she said. "If someone does something that benefits you, he could do it for good reasons or bad reasons or crazy reasons. That doesn't change the fact that you benefited, right?"

"Yes, it does."

"How?"

"...it just does!"

The Fat Lady cleared her throat significantly. Ginny shook her head and gave the password, and we both went inside.

Ginny had obviously spent too much time around Luna Lovegood, so I didn't think of the whole mess again until after Quidditch practice. The rest of the team nominated me to take the balls back to the broomshed when I wasn't paying attention; Harry, being the wonderful and considerate friend that he is, shoved the Snitch in my hand and ran off as soon as he could. I managed to get the Bludgers and Quaffle back into the crate single-handedly without killing myself (which I think ought to earn me some kind of award) and levitated it to the shed. The moment I stepped inside, though, I saw the last thing I would've expected or wanted to be there: Malfoy, crawling around on the ground, peering under the racks of school brooms. He looked almost comical, on all fours, squinting into the shadows and with his arse stuck up in the air, so that his robes sort of flowed over it, and damn it, I had a girlfriend, I wasn't supposed to be looking...

He scrambled to his feet, and noticed me, staring like an idiot. He scowled. "What are you doing in here, Weasel?"

"I'd ask you the same question, Malfoy."

He folded his arms and glared at me like he wasn't covered in dirt and dust. "It's none of your business."

"Were you spying on us?" He could've picked a lot better places to do it from than the shed, of course, but anything's possible with him.

But he rolled his eyes and snorted. "Yes, Weasley. My life has no meaning except in relation to yours. I spend my every waking moment plotting how to torment you endlessly."

"That sounds about right."

He scowled. "I was being sarcastic, you fool."

"I wasn't."

His eyes bugged out as I steered the crate of balls into its usual spot on the floor. "If you truly believe that, you are even more inconceivably ignorant than I previously believed."

"Do you remember anything of the last the last six months, Malfoy?"

He dismissed it all with a wave of his hand. "Ancient history."

He was insane. Evil, and insane, no matter how perfect his arse was. "So what about the last two weeks, then? Doesn't that count?"

He raised his eyebrows at me, "Oh, you mean all the many selfless acts of kindness I've committed on your behalf?"

"Is that what you thought they were?"

"That is what they were." I rolled my eyes, and he smirked. "Your sister apparently believes it."

"She doesn't know you like I do."

"How do you mean?" And all of a sudden he was much too close and staring much too hard and reaching out towards me with one dirty hand. "In the Biblical sense?"

I swallowed, hard. I have a girlfriend. I have a girlfriend. IhaveagirlfriendIhaveagirlfriendIhave—

I planted my broomstick between us and he froze a good three feet away with a nasty look in his eye. Gryffindor scores. "What about the textbook?" I demanded.

His scowl only got deeper. "The what?"

"My Defense book," I said, "the one you nicked from me and gave back. You call that an act of kindness?"

"I most certainly did not 'nick' anything of yours," he snapped.

"Then how'd you get ahold of it?"

"I found it."

"Where?"

"Snape's dungeon."

"Prove it," I told him.

His upper lip curled perfectly into a sneer. "How?"

My jaw was clenched so hard my teeth ached, and I stared at the floor. It was possible. For anyone else, in fact, it was likely. It could have fallen out of my bag—he might have just picked it up off the floor—but—well—"What are you playing at, Malfoy?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean..." I groped for the words. Are you plotting against me? didn't sound exactly right. "...why?"

That sneer melted into a sharp little smile that was somehow almost worse. "Precisely because you don't think I can."

No. It couldn't be that simple. Could it? "You mean...this whole thing...was just for the hell of it? Just for the...perverse...whatever?"

"No, Weasley." His smile got bigger. "It was just too easy to drive you crazy."

...that son of a bitch.

I left. I couldn't be in that building anymore, not without injuring someone. Preferably Malfoy, though really, it was mostly my fault—my fault for letting him get to me, for caring, for missing something so fucking obvious when I knew he had some kind of plot...I couldn't believe I'd been such a fool. I couldn't believe I'd let him win.

"Oh, Weasley?" he yelled from behind me.

"What the fuck do you—" Malfoy chucked something at me, which hit me in the chest and fell down. Without taken my eye off him, I picked it up. It was dusty, dirty and covered in cobwebs. It was a plug.

"You lost that, too."

Take that back, it's all Malfoy's fucking fault.

I went back to Gryffindor and just about scared the crap out of Harry, who was doing homework on his bed. I slammed the door, threw my broom and started changing out of my Quidditch robes. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"What took you so long getting back?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing's been busy then."

"Shu—" I bit my tongue. Not another row with him, not now. "Not right now, okay?"

He stood up and put my broom on the bed. "You want to tell me what's got you so wound up, mate?"

Malfoy had, but only because I let him. I played right into his pale little girl hands and let him fuck with me and control me and use me. Again. But not anymore. The little ferret could go off and do whatever the hell he wanted, as long as it didn't involve me in any way, shape or form. From now on, I no longer cared.

I looked Harry right in the eye and told him honestly, "Absolutely nothing."

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