The Gryffindor Boy's Dorms--Ron's Bed
Ron had woken up early for once in his life, just so that he could shower in the prefect's bath before anyone else got there, so that no one saw his arm. It was to be the start of a pattern.
He had waited in the common room for Harry and Hermione to come down so that they could go to Transfiguration together. It had been almost funny, watching the two of them as they had walked with them. Normally, Hermione and he walked side-by-side with Harry, as if they were his bodyguards or something, but today, Harry and Hermione had flanked him like two Aurors, looking around as if someone was going to pop out from behind a rubbish bin and hex him. Harry had scowled the entire time, and that scowl had only deepened whenever he had seen a Slytherin. Malfoy hadn't showed up all day, though (perhaps wisely) and at one point, he and Hermione'd had to grab Harry by his robes to keep him from just marching off, finding him, and beating him "'til his eyes can see out the back of his head" had been Harry's words.
And Ron was grateful for his best mate's concern, if a little embarassed and annoyed, but the last thing he wanted was Harry to get into trouble, nor did he want him to find Malfoy and then have Malfoy give Harry any details about what happened.
Transfigurations had been horrid. McGonagall had looked horrified when he'd walked into class and then demanded he stay after, alone, and explain what happened. Ron had maintained he'd been sleepwalking and fallen down the steps into the Common Room, that he was fine, didn't need to go to the Hospital Wing, and no he wasn't lying and had really gotten into a fight.
She hadn't really bought it, he could tell, but she had let him go anyway, after demanding he have a biscuit, and muttered something about "...Professor Snape just does not know how discipline those children properly," as Ron had left her office.
Now Ron's sitting on his bed, staring up at the hangings, trying to figure out if he can cut off his own arm with killing himself.
Harry's still hacked off at me, I think. he thought to himself. He knows something else is going on, and he wants an excuse to go kill fucking Malfoy.
What am I going to do? I can't go...I can't go with this thing on me forever. There's got to be a way to...maybe if there's another scar over it?
He sighs, and then starts to feel angry. He gives his headboard a good and vicious punch and then sits up, feeling a little better, thought not much, and rubbing his eyes.
Maybe Ginny or somebody's down in the Common Room. He stand up and heads down, shoulders hunched over and head hanging.
He had waited in the common room for Harry and Hermione to come down so that they could go to Transfiguration together. It had been almost funny, watching the two of them as they had walked with them. Normally, Hermione and he walked side-by-side with Harry, as if they were his bodyguards or something, but today, Harry and Hermione had flanked him like two Aurors, looking around as if someone was going to pop out from behind a rubbish bin and hex him. Harry had scowled the entire time, and that scowl had only deepened whenever he had seen a Slytherin. Malfoy hadn't showed up all day, though (perhaps wisely) and at one point, he and Hermione'd had to grab Harry by his robes to keep him from just marching off, finding him, and beating him "'til his eyes can see out the back of his head" had been Harry's words.
And Ron was grateful for his best mate's concern, if a little embarassed and annoyed, but the last thing he wanted was Harry to get into trouble, nor did he want him to find Malfoy and then have Malfoy give Harry any details about what happened.
Transfigurations had been horrid. McGonagall had looked horrified when he'd walked into class and then demanded he stay after, alone, and explain what happened. Ron had maintained he'd been sleepwalking and fallen down the steps into the Common Room, that he was fine, didn't need to go to the Hospital Wing, and no he wasn't lying and had really gotten into a fight.
She hadn't really bought it, he could tell, but she had let him go anyway, after demanding he have a biscuit, and muttered something about "...Professor Snape just does not know how discipline those children properly," as Ron had left her office.
Now Ron's sitting on his bed, staring up at the hangings, trying to figure out if he can cut off his own arm with killing himself.
Harry's still hacked off at me, I think. he thought to himself. He knows something else is going on, and he wants an excuse to go kill fucking Malfoy.
What am I going to do? I can't go...I can't go with this thing on me forever. There's got to be a way to...maybe if there's another scar over it?
He sighs, and then starts to feel angry. He gives his headboard a good and vicious punch and then sits up, feeling a little better, thought not much, and rubbing his eyes.
Maybe Ginny or somebody's down in the Common Room. He stand up and heads down, shoulders hunched over and head hanging.