"A maybe is but an answer within the question being asked."

___

Two weeks had past, and Ron had gotten absolutely nowhere. Harry was off doing, well, whatever exactly it was that he did. And Hermoine, Ron didn't know. Things just felt odd with her. Like, he could feel her eyes on him, all the time. There was just this unspoken thing between them.

And, the funny thing was, Ron wasn't sure he actually ever wanted it to be spoken. So, he tried to avoid her, mildly. Don't get hom wrong, he loved her (he thought). But he just wasn't ready to take on anything more than friendship with Hermoine. It would have been to much change.

With that, October dragged on like a slug on pavement. Classes were hard, tensions were high, nothing really felt as bright as it used to. Was it just him or did the Quidditch posts seem smaller? Did walloping willow always look so tired? Ron was sure that something was wrong, missing.

A memory but also a feeling. For a second, he thought he was mad. But decided to chalk it up to the fact that he had to work with his enemy on a school project. Speaking of which, they had been meeting twice a week to research possible creatures that would fit the criteria. Surely they would have found something, that is, if they hadn't spent the entire time arguing with one another.

It was impossible to have a normal, civil conversation between the two of them. Ron just found him so frustrating; his existence disgraceful and his attitude deplorable. Was it even a possiblity to loathe a person as much as he did? He didn't know. But he was positively sure that the feeling was mutual, considering that Malfoy never ceased to retaliate with some genuinely hurtful comment.

Such as (his least favorite), "I'm surprised your blood hasn't been purely tainted yet with that of Grangers." It was strange, because if anything Ron thought Malfoy had been rather quiet so far that year. He was still rude, and arrogant, and unbearable to be around, but he carried himself differently. It was as if there was this darkness about him, one that had entirely possessed him. He was a shell, one with platinum blonde hair and steely grey eyes, moving about like the living dead. It made Harry suspicious, but Ron, he just felt confused.

____

It was a deathly teusday, and, Ron observed happily, the snow had come earlier that year. Although Ron was very parcial to autumn, winter was undoubtedly second best to him (but only for the snow). It made him happy to see something, anything, that always stayed the same. Snow on a Hogwarts windowsill would forever be a constant, a temporary pause in the ever-shifting gears of the world. He smiled, making his way quickly to the secluded corner of the library where he and Malfoy always sat.

He resented the table, mangled oak wood, smelling of dust and lime. The light on it was faint, a tired yellow glimmer that reminded Ron of a muggle mystery film. Malfoy was already there, sitting and reading a book: Twenty Astonishing Creatures with Hives and Horns. Ron thought, only for a moment, that he looked like the image of peace. The model of a "perfect" student, nearly putting Hermoine to shame.

Ron plopped his bag on the table, taking out a stack of parchment and the same small qwuill. "Took you long enough," Malfoy said, his voice faraway, lost in the book. "Sorry we can't all have perfect perceptions of time," Ron responded, questioning himself almost instantly. "What?" Malfoy asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Just-," he took a breath, Ron was truly tired of arguing, and, in all honesty, he was out of witty comebacks. "I'm sorry. I got distracted."

"By your own breathing I suppose,"

"Hilarious," Ron said sarcastically, adjusting his bag on the table. "Just get a book and read, we haven't gotten anything yet," Malfoy said, finally turning away from the page he was on.

He looked at him directly in his eyes, a vampire staring at a blood bag. Ron couldn't help but chuckle at his tone, it was so familiar. "You sound like Hermoine," he said, trying to be rid of the smile lingering on his lips. "Well at least she isn't as iddiotic and completely incapable as you." He said, making a face that looked like he just smelt spoiled milk.

"Is is possible for you to make a compliment that isn't back handed?" Ron grabbed a book off the top of the stack, not bothering to look at the title. He really didn't want to read.

"Merlin, you thought that was compliment?" At that point Malfoy had returned to the book, taking down notes on a peice of parchment at random.

"No, you complimented Hermoine, saying she isn't as idiotic as me." Mafloy looked at him again, taken aback by his words.

"Why must you be so bloody dim-witted?" Malfoy asked, lacking any true bite or snark. He said the words almost tenderly.

Ron laughed, a chuckle that was both infinitely akward and comfortable. Wrong yet undeniably right. And, for the smallest, most minuscule portion of a second. Ron could've sworn he saw the corner of Malfoy's mouth creep upward in a smirk.

_____

For the rest of the day, Ron was purely distracted. Thinking of nothing other than his weird moment with Malfoy. He drifted off in class, forgot to answer Harry when he asked him a question, and even ended up walking in the wrong classroom for potions. It was weird wasn't it? He was dieing to ask someone that, especially at dinner when Hermione was rambling on about charms and Harry was pretending to listen.

It rose to his tongue a few times, the forbidden, tantalizing question. He felt like he did something wrong, something worthy of life in Azkaban. Yet there was this odd, nagging voice within him. A cord trying to pull him, divert him from his normal, mundane path. It whispered to him, that maybe, just maybe, Malfoy wasn't as absolutely terrible as he once thought.

That maybe, he was just as normal as him. All it was was a smile, a fleeting one at that. But it felt so raw, something Ron could never, not in a million years put into legitmate words. He was tired, sleep-deprived from homework for potions. That had to be it. After all, it was just a smile, a laugh. No harm done.