"Something amazing isn't always something we like, or care for. It just is, and always will be."

Ron felt sick to his stomach the days after he had stolen Draco's paper. He had trespassed on something vulnerable and all too delicate, he knew that. It wasn't his place, it wasn't him. And, the only thing he could think about was how he could properly apologize. The letter was the first step, and he hoped that with time (as they trudged through the mire that was their project) he would forgive him. He had no idea why he so craved for Malfoy to forgive him, but he just did.

It was something that he couldn't exactly put into words. A buzzing in his skin that told him that it was certainly the right thing to do. Or maybe he had just gone daffy. Yeah, that had to be it. But, as he sat next to his desk, staring at the wonders of the snowy Hogwarts scene, he kept reviewing the same thing over and over again in his mind.

Maybe Malfoy wasn't actually that bad. It was becoming a highly probable idea, to him anyways. After all, he wrote poetry, Ron would have never thought something like that in a zillion years. So, what else was he hiding? Was everything that he did, every ounce of pain that he caused, just an act? He was dying to ask Hermione those questions, seeing as she would likely have all of the answers (and more).

But he couldn't, he would likely be disowned from Gryffindor as a whole if he voiced his opinions on Malfoy's character. Or, lack there of. Could it be that it was all joke? And Malfoy was really scheming his downfall by luring him in? A part of Ron thought it was the most real and true idea in the world, that Malfoy was really as twisted and terrible as he once thought.

Yet, another part of him said otherwise. He felt, everyday after the parchment-incident, that he was having a mental war within himself. That everything he once thought true was falling on it's head. It was really quite exhausting. He was disrupted by the swish of his curtains, and the flash of white cascading through his open window. An owl sat on his desk, one as white as the snow outside.

It reminded him almost alarmingly of Hedwig, but once he looked closer he noticed that the black spots on it were much larger, and the feathers on the side of it's head were turned up instead of down. It's yellow eyes pierced his own, and he noticed with astonishment that it held a small, fine piece of black parchment in it's mouth. He had never seen anything like it, and thought for a minute, that he was dreaming. He took it out of the creature's beak, making sure to give it a scratch around the neck and a small piece of a biscuit that Harry had left. It flew away instantly, disappearing into the blocks of white and cold air of the outside world.

It would have been a perfect day to go to Hogsmeade, he thought to himself, staring at the forlorn towers. The parchment had been folded into the shape of an envelope, and, when he so much as touched it, it feel apart. The writing was a silky white color, scrawled beautifully, curving and waving as if it had been written by professor Dumbledore himself. The rest of the paper was decorated at the corners, frilly tasseled like things almost caught his eye more than that of the writing. It read:

I must say, I am rather taken aback by how profound you're writing is, it's something worthy of being read in the ministry! I would also like to express my confusion as to why you think I am so hurt. I will say this once, and one time only because it brings me unadulterated revulsion to write. I forgive you, plain and simply. So, if you say "I'm sorry," one more time, I shall give you something to be sorry for.

Yours,"Malfoy"

P.s. If you are late to todays session I will surely come to the Gryffindor table and drag you there.

___

"What was that on you're desk?" Harry asked, mouthful of pumpkin juice (ah, how he never changed). Ron was so taken aback by this question that he stopped eating, resting his forkful of potato back on his plate. The entire table could see his bewilderment with the way that his eyes widened to oblivion and his mouth shrunk in his usual, Ron-esc. way. "What's what?" He said, his voice clearly shaking. He did a purely terrible job of hiding anything, even Ginny could tell. "The paper on your desk, it was completely black, hard to miss," he said, now bearing an extremely suspicious tone. "Oh that! That was letter," he said, sounding more confident considering that it was the truth. Everyone's eyes were on him, causing his palms to sweat profusely. "From?"

"My aunt . . . Tessie," at that Fred smirked,

"Oooh does Ronald have a secret admirer?" He said, so loudly to the point where the next table over could hear. Thankfully however, Malfoy wasn't paying any attention, seeing as he was in a rather heated discussion with Pansy. "No! That's not- it's from Tessie! Come on Fred you know she tends to send odd letters."

"I don't know Ron, she hasn't written to us in ages. Seems peculiar, don't you think?" Fred said, looking to George for support.

"Oh, I definitely think," they were both smirking, waiting for someone to say something. But Hermione shut it down instantly with, "Would you stop that? Pestering is not, in this scenario, a valid way of gaining information for someone, and it is just plain rude. If Ron did have an admirer why would she send him a letter and not just speak to him in the hallways?" Her face was expectant and her arms were crossed, it was clear that at that point she had given up eating.

"What did the letter say Ron? I haven't heard from Great Aunt Tessie in ages," Ginny asked, looking mystified. He tried to compose himself before he continued, taking in a breath and shoving some food in his mouth. "She wished us a Happy Halloween, and said that she would be joining us for Christmas." He said, trying his hardest to fight the lingering eyes of everyone around him.

"Really? Yes! What do you think we should get for her? Perhaps a-" Ron stopped listening, and couldn't help but notice that Malfoy had, for a second, turned his way. His grey eyes pierced through the horde of kids at his table, and if felt as if, even if they were worlds apart, he could have made them out through mountains and valleys.

In his eyes, his face, the pallor of his skin, there was nothing but a forceful peace that shook Ron to his core. He looked away as fast as possible, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. Harry could see that he was flustered, that much was evident with the scrutiny with which he was looking at him. Ron however, tried not to focus on it, eyeing his food instead.

____

After dinner, having made it a point to not be the slightest bit late, Ron hurried up stairways and through hallways. He saw snow through windows, kids in conversation, and paintings that wouldn't stop begging for his attention. He hurried out of both fear and allure for what could happen in the coming moments. Although, he would never say it aloud. But, when he arrived at the vast, wooden double doors to enter the library he saw Malfoy.

He was standing there, arms flailing, legs abominably straight, arguing with Ms. Pince, the librarian. "Remodeling? I've been to Hogwarts for six years now and never seen any of the classrooms being remodeled," he said, voice like white fire. "Well, you must have been ignorant to the goings on of school Mr. Malfoy," she said heatedly, her tall witches hat bobbing back and forth as she talked. "Where then, do you expect students to do work and research?"

He said, completely unknowing of Ron who was just walking up to them. "There will be temporary space in the music storage hall for today. It can perfectly accommodate you're need for a unified study space, approved by Dumbledore himself." She pointed her finger in the air, waving it as if it were the most interesting thing in existence. Ron came to a stop, both of them finally noticing his presence.

"Ah, Weasley, could this day be anymore perfect?"

"What's going on?" Ron asked, feeling like he was intruding. Ms. Pince turned to him and crossed her arms, "the library is closed for today Mr. Weasley. If you wish to have a study space for tonight it must be in the music storage hall."

She said, growing more and more impatient by the second. "They are remodeling apparently," Malfoy chimed in vindictively. "Where is the music hall? I don't think I've ever seen it." Ron was confused, and he was dying to ask why they couldn't just study in the hallway.

"Here, I shall show you, follow me," she said, her heals clacking against the stone as they followed her down the hallway. Her black dress was bunched in frills, and Ron couldn't help but be reminded of the suit he wore for the Yule Ball. They stopped at a small room nestled close to a few empty classrooms. It was small, and had likely been otherwise unnoticed. The door was open with a sign propped in the hallway saying "temporary study; library is being remodeled."

"Here it is, now I have rather important matters to attend to.

I trust that you will behave and respect the contents of the room. It is to only be used as a study space," she said, eyebrows raised and finger pointed. She walked off quickly, disappearing behind a corridor as if she was about to miss a quidditch match. They walked in together, both examining the room with mild confusion. Wizard instruments lined the bare stone walls, the light glistening off of their golden form.

Ron had no idea what any of them were besides the fact that they had tubes and mouthpieces. Other than that, the room had a few tables, nothing abundantly fancy but still made the it look furnished. However, by far the most interesting thing in the room, was the old, black instrument in the center of the space. It was huge, and sat much like a table. Ron thought it looked familiar but couldn't quite remember the name.

"I didn't know this room even existed," Ron said in amazement. "Neither did I, although I don't know why you asked to come. We can't do any research, there's no books." Malfoy said, sounding like a mix of agitation and wonder. As soon as he said that his eyes caught the gaint, table-like thing in the center of the room.

And, without any haste he dropped his bag and ran towards it. He took a seat at the worn stool, dusting it off with his hands. Ron walked over to him reluctantly, taken aback by his sudden interest. Fearful of being yelled at, he hovered a bit, and seeing that Malfoy wasn't frustrated, took a seat on the same stool. They were inches apart, close enough that their legs could rest together. "You know what this is?"

Ron asked in a state of pure enticement with the way Malfoy's eyes scathed over the instruments from. He looked over to him in disarray, "you don't?"

"I haven't got a clue," he said, watching as Malfoy lifted the black cover to reveal a set of black and white rectangles. "It's a muggle instrument, called a piano, you play these things called keys" he hovered his pale, vein-covered hand over the rectangles, clicking one ever-so-slightly. The sound it made was angelic, and soft, and the exact kind of peace Ron felt when he thought of Malfoy.

He couldn't help but wonder something though, a voice in the back of his head. "I thought you were anti-muggle," Ron said, purely out of curiosity. The last thing he wanted was an argument to ensue. To this, Malfoy made no answer, only sat in in silence, his eyes flickering between Ron and the "Piano."

"Give me your hand," he said, holding out his own.

Ron couldn't help but notice the clean, pale, boniness of it. It had the veins and strength of a fighter, yet the delicacy of an upscale school-boy. "What? Why?" Ron said, purely in shock at his offer. He felt a bit strange then, in that moment.

He was sitting in an unknown room, talking to his worst enemy, contemplating about taking his hand. Where, at which point, had everything gone so wrong? "Bloody hell Weasley, I want to show you something. I won't bite," he said in a soft yell. Sure, Ron thought to himself suspiciously.

He took his hand slowly, somewhat regretfully, taken aback by how cold it was. It was like touching ice, like something that wasn't human. A snake. "Now," he said, dragging their hands down collectively towards the white keys. He put his fingers over his own, a shade of white to pink, causing a shudder to run through Ron's heart.

Their fingers were nearly intertwining, and Ron couldn't tell if he wanted to sit still or run for the hills. "Touch this key, right here," he pressed his finger down, dominating over Ron's. The same angelic noise echoed throughout the room, a siren's call amidst the sea. "And this," he pressed another key, farther away from the first one. He played a bit, only small, singular noises, but after a few tries with Malfoy's fingers resting on his, he got it down.

"Now, keep playing that," he said, voice like butter, it was disturbing to Ron how soft and sharp it could be. He moved his hands away, resting on a different section of the piano. He began to play a song, one that Ron thought, no matter how much he hated him, how angry he still was for everything he had done, he could never forget. It was something out of dreams, hell, Ron wouldn't be surprised if the song was playing when he arrived at the gates of heaven itself. They sat like that for awhile, just playing, listening to the sounds, stealing much too forbidden glances at one another.

And, once it was over, Ron couldn't help but crave more. Pray to Merlin, that someway, the moment could last forever. Ron sat in silence, just staring at Malfoy, and Malfoy at him. He noticed there was smile creeping upon his lips, one that was filled with both desire and innocence. Ron's face turned the shade of a tomato, and he glanced back down at the keys. "What's the matter Weasley?

Cat got your tongue?" He said, drawing out the words to the point where Ron's heart was in his throat. He thought, all at once, hoping that he could get a grip on himself that Malfoy really was something amazing.