Fic: What Goes on Behind Closed Eyes for orionnoire
Title: What Goes on Behind Closed Eyes
Author:
Giftee: orionnoire
Characters/Pairing: Draco/Ron
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1100
Author/Artist's Notes: I tried my best to make it neither ooc, nor irritatingly Draco. I hope you enjoy, I tried to troll your journal for more ideas, but came up flat.
Summary: Draco finds himself waking up in a new place, as a new person. Or not. Sort of an alternate HBP.
When Draco woke up it wasn't a slow developing of consciousness like every morning. Draco had never been a morning person, but at least his subconscious had developed the grace to spring a new day on him gently. This waking was different, it was consciousness bashing him about the head. He groaned, and refused steadfastly to open his eyes. He could tell from the red-white behind the lids that he had fallen asleep with the lights on, and it just wouldn't do to open his eyes and have the world be too bright.
On second thought, he doubted he had fallen asleep on his bed. The mattress was uncomfortable, much harder then he laid on. Draco considered a softening spell, but that would involve opening his eyes to find his wand. Opening his eyes wasn't an option.
Uncomfortable now that he was aware of the unyielding bed, he gathered the blankets around himself, planning to cocoon. It became certain this wasn't his bed, the blankets were much too coarse, they felt like horsehair. And they stunk. Not like a cauldron had vomited on them, though Draco knew that smell too. He couldn't count the number of times mum had taken him to visit Severus, before he became Professor Snape. The blankets smelled as if too many people with too many different perfumes had slept underneath, and it didn't surprise him. Pomfrey probably didn't wash them. He would have to have a bath the moment he got discharged.
“Draco? You awake?” the immediate thought was to snap 'no, I'm not, that's why I've groaned and rolled over and grabbed all the blankets. Because I'm asleep!' but he decided that being mute would make the berk go away faster. Then it occurred to him that he recognised the voice. Draco was sure he knew who it was, but why would he of all people be sitting beside the bed?
“Weasley?”
“Well, at least you didn’t call me weasel.”
“I could start, if you wanted.” It sounded proper in his head, but it came out less snap and more soft. For some reason that he couldn't yet grasp, he didn’t feel like being hostile.
“No, no. I’m good.”
Draco left his eyes closed as he rolled in the direction of the voice. Weasley wasn't high enough in rank that he deserved open eyes, but he wasn't the muck of the earth to be ignored. He wasn't sure when his opinion had changed, but had already decided the best way to move on was to refuse to acknowledge that he had changed his mind. Better to just act as though he had always hated Ron Weasley less then the rest of the Gryffindors. Possibly target Longbottom now? He too was a pureblood traitor. The only problem being, Longbottom was weak and wouldn't put up a fight. Draco commented on the people he hated because he wanted to be fought, a battle of wills was fun. Neville wouldn't provide that.
Still, the question was why Weasley was near his hospital bed in the first place. It couldn't possibly be because he cared about him, the loathing was mutual. There was no logical reason for Weasley to be near him. Unless...“You give me a cheap shot that got me in here?”
“Depends on the definition of cheap shot.” the mix of depression and defensiveness in Weasley's tone was nearly enough to make his eyes open. Draco had never heard Weasley on defence, he had always attacked back. And god knew none of the Weasley family had the capability of feeling sadness, smiles smeared across the freckled faces of the lot. But the light behind his eyelids was still white-red, and that meant his eyes wouldn't open.
“But you did cause my hospitalization," he asked, just to make sure. He knew the answer was yes, but that was all he knew. Draco didn't understand why his trip to Pomfrey would cause upset instead of glee.
“Yes.” Weasley said blearily.
“What did you do, Weasel?” It seemed there was a difference between knowing someone had hurt you, and them admitting it. The hostility was back in his voice, and his eyes nearly opened, just so he could aim a retaliation punch at the proper angle. He didn't understand why it hurt to think of Weasley purposely injuring him, when just the other week Potter had ripped him from stem to stern and that hadn't phased him a bit. It was almost as if he had feelings for the mutt.
“I saw you in the hall, and shoved you against a wall and kissed you. You hit your head. Ennervate didn't work, so I took you here.”
“Lovely. Leave, now.” Ugh. How improper. Whatever happened to courting?
Wait. Whatever happened to being heterosexual? The emotion had changed from pain to disgust to confusion in mere seconds, and Draco didn't like it. He was used to understanding what went on around him, regardless of if he got personally involved. Now that he was personally involved- it didn't get much more personal then a sex life- he knew nothing.
"Malfoy," he heard the man say, and rolled to leave his back to Weasley. He was too distressed for this, it was a cataclysmic event, not understanding his own mind. It could have been entire minutes before he realized Weasley wasn't going to go away until he responded.
"What!" it was brittle, but it was enough to make Weasley speak.
"I'm not sorry."
"Of course you're not. You're a Gryffindor." God, wouldn't he just go away? He needed Weasley to go away, so he could think. Like he didn't already have enough to think about.
Weasley was silent, and he could picture the look of dismay on his stupid freckled face. For some reason though, the idea didn't make him happy. Damn stupid Weasleys.
"Look, I'm not saying never. Just, go away for now." It was as nice as he could be, and maybe Weasley understood that, Draco heard him leave. He rolled over again, eyes still shut. He wasn't leaving until Pomfrey kicked him out, he had to think.
One thing he knew already was he hadn't been lying. Eventually he would talk to the mutt. He just had to deal with his initiation first. Shouldn't be that hard, it wasn't like the old man would be expecting it.
Author:
Giftee: orionnoire
Characters/Pairing: Draco/Ron
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1100
Author/Artist's Notes: I tried my best to make it neither ooc, nor irritatingly Draco. I hope you enjoy, I tried to troll your journal for more ideas, but came up flat.
Summary: Draco finds himself waking up in a new place, as a new person. Or not. Sort of an alternate HBP.
When Draco woke up it wasn't a slow developing of consciousness like every morning. Draco had never been a morning person, but at least his subconscious had developed the grace to spring a new day on him gently. This waking was different, it was consciousness bashing him about the head. He groaned, and refused steadfastly to open his eyes. He could tell from the red-white behind the lids that he had fallen asleep with the lights on, and it just wouldn't do to open his eyes and have the world be too bright.
On second thought, he doubted he had fallen asleep on his bed. The mattress was uncomfortable, much harder then he laid on. Draco considered a softening spell, but that would involve opening his eyes to find his wand. Opening his eyes wasn't an option.
Uncomfortable now that he was aware of the unyielding bed, he gathered the blankets around himself, planning to cocoon. It became certain this wasn't his bed, the blankets were much too coarse, they felt like horsehair. And they stunk. Not like a cauldron had vomited on them, though Draco knew that smell too. He couldn't count the number of times mum had taken him to visit Severus, before he became Professor Snape. The blankets smelled as if too many people with too many different perfumes had slept underneath, and it didn't surprise him. Pomfrey probably didn't wash them. He would have to have a bath the moment he got discharged.
“Draco? You awake?” the immediate thought was to snap 'no, I'm not, that's why I've groaned and rolled over and grabbed all the blankets. Because I'm asleep!' but he decided that being mute would make the berk go away faster. Then it occurred to him that he recognised the voice. Draco was sure he knew who it was, but why would he of all people be sitting beside the bed?
“Weasley?”
“Well, at least you didn’t call me weasel.”
“I could start, if you wanted.” It sounded proper in his head, but it came out less snap and more soft. For some reason that he couldn't yet grasp, he didn’t feel like being hostile.
“No, no. I’m good.”
Draco left his eyes closed as he rolled in the direction of the voice. Weasley wasn't high enough in rank that he deserved open eyes, but he wasn't the muck of the earth to be ignored. He wasn't sure when his opinion had changed, but had already decided the best way to move on was to refuse to acknowledge that he had changed his mind. Better to just act as though he had always hated Ron Weasley less then the rest of the Gryffindors. Possibly target Longbottom now? He too was a pureblood traitor. The only problem being, Longbottom was weak and wouldn't put up a fight. Draco commented on the people he hated because he wanted to be fought, a battle of wills was fun. Neville wouldn't provide that.
Still, the question was why Weasley was near his hospital bed in the first place. It couldn't possibly be because he cared about him, the loathing was mutual. There was no logical reason for Weasley to be near him. Unless...“You give me a cheap shot that got me in here?”
“Depends on the definition of cheap shot.” the mix of depression and defensiveness in Weasley's tone was nearly enough to make his eyes open. Draco had never heard Weasley on defence, he had always attacked back. And god knew none of the Weasley family had the capability of feeling sadness, smiles smeared across the freckled faces of the lot. But the light behind his eyelids was still white-red, and that meant his eyes wouldn't open.
“But you did cause my hospitalization," he asked, just to make sure. He knew the answer was yes, but that was all he knew. Draco didn't understand why his trip to Pomfrey would cause upset instead of glee.
“Yes.” Weasley said blearily.
“What did you do, Weasel?” It seemed there was a difference between knowing someone had hurt you, and them admitting it. The hostility was back in his voice, and his eyes nearly opened, just so he could aim a retaliation punch at the proper angle. He didn't understand why it hurt to think of Weasley purposely injuring him, when just the other week Potter had ripped him from stem to stern and that hadn't phased him a bit. It was almost as if he had feelings for the mutt.
“I saw you in the hall, and shoved you against a wall and kissed you. You hit your head. Ennervate didn't work, so I took you here.”
“Lovely. Leave, now.” Ugh. How improper. Whatever happened to courting?
Wait. Whatever happened to being heterosexual? The emotion had changed from pain to disgust to confusion in mere seconds, and Draco didn't like it. He was used to understanding what went on around him, regardless of if he got personally involved. Now that he was personally involved- it didn't get much more personal then a sex life- he knew nothing.
"Malfoy," he heard the man say, and rolled to leave his back to Weasley. He was too distressed for this, it was a cataclysmic event, not understanding his own mind. It could have been entire minutes before he realized Weasley wasn't going to go away until he responded.
"What!" it was brittle, but it was enough to make Weasley speak.
"I'm not sorry."
"Of course you're not. You're a Gryffindor." God, wouldn't he just go away? He needed Weasley to go away, so he could think. Like he didn't already have enough to think about.
Weasley was silent, and he could picture the look of dismay on his stupid freckled face. For some reason though, the idea didn't make him happy. Damn stupid Weasleys.
"Look, I'm not saying never. Just, go away for now." It was as nice as he could be, and maybe Weasley understood that, Draco heard him leave. He rolled over again, eyes still shut. He wasn't leaving until Pomfrey kicked him out, he had to think.
One thing he knew already was he hadn't been lying. Eventually he would talk to the mutt. He just had to deal with his initiation first. Shouldn't be that hard, it wasn't like the old man would be expecting it.