Eight Days a Week
Chapter 1 - Sunday
Ron is leaning back against the wall, chewing nervously at his
stubby fingernails, when Draco Malfoy comes striding into the waiting
room. The two freeze as they catch sight of each other, face-to-face
for the first time in seven years. Ron takes a moment to note that
Malfoy doesn't look much different. Not much taller. Not much paler.
The same arrogant gait, the same infuriating sneer. Everything Malfoy
ever said to taunt him in school comes rushing back in one sickening
wave, and Ron finds himself as furious as he would be had the insults
been traded yesterday.
"Malfoy," he greets with a snarl. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I'm here to visit my girlfriend, Weasel. Not that it's any business of yours."
"St. Mungo's doesn't have visiting hours on Sunday."
"I have special permission to be here."
"So do I."
"Let me guess," Draco crosses his arms, haughtily. "Your boyfriend fall off his broom?"
"Harry is not my boyfriend."
"So it is the Boy Wonder who's the invalid. Thought so."
Ron moves to stand in front of Draco, fists clenching and unclenching.
"Is there some reason you're still here, Malfoy? Please don't let me
keep you from your trollop."
"My, my. Jealous, are we? Love life got you down? Still spending your nights flying solo?"
"How could I ever be jealous of anyone daft enough to get involved with you?"
Draco raises an imperious eyebrow, smirking. "I take it that's a 'yes' then."
The redhead blanches. "Oh, leave off, Ferret. This isn't Hogwarts. You can't get under my skin anymore."
The Slytherin looks inordinately pleased by the admission, however inadvertent, that he was ever able to get under Ron's skin. "Really? That's a shame. I thought we could go at it right here and now just like old times."
"We are going at it!"
"I don't think so. I'm pretty sure I'd know it if we were."
Ron blinks. "Oh, shove off with your perverted innuendo, Malfoy."
"I have every bit as much of a right to be here as you do, Weasley."
"Well, just... stay away from me. You wait on that side of the room and I'll wait over here."
Draco seems amused. "I know some people find it difficult to endure my
presence even for brief periods of time without wanting to... go at it,
if you will... but drawing lines in the sand? Surely, you have more
self-control than that."
Ron pointedly ignores him. A middle-aged medi-witch bustles into the
room, unintentionally traipsing over their heavy silence. "Mr. Weasley?
Mr. Potter can see you now."
"Thank Merlin," Ron mumbles, shooting the maddening blond a final glare, and follows the medi-witch down the hall.
