Title: Whose Side Are You On?
Note: As most of my fics, this one is accompanied by a drawing. So, just follow the link found in my bio.

Whose Side Are You On?

Some things were just meant to happen as if they had been written on stone. You can't choose who your father and mother because you're just born into the family. You can't choose your name either, at least not until you've decided to separate yourself from your roots completely; unless, by some chance, your family would still accept you despite your blatant disregard of the family name too much of an insult for a proud clan. And you can't choose the time of war, either. This was something not within your control, among the many things that seemed to fill your long wish list of the what-could-have-beens.

You hoped you wouldn't come across each other in this war. You hoped that he had the same thoughts as yours. But, as fate had always been unkind to you, he was right there when you turned the corner.

And your wand hand rose on sheer reflex, as his did.

"Avada kedavra!"

The difference? You hesitated, "Avada...!"

You hesitated.

He missed your heart by a mile. Well, it was just some ten or so inches, but considering this was Malfoy who probably killed a few before you came across each other here... that was a pathetic shot. But, it still hurt.

Ron collapsed to the ground, clutching his right shoulder. He couldn't help to comment sarcastically, "So, this is what that spell does."

He looked at his arm and the spell had eaten through his skin and muscles, creating a crater of a wound. His mind continued to wonder, 'No wonder wizards died immediately with this spell if it hits square through the heart.' It could literally eat the life out of a person. It was painful, but his mind had gone past the physical pain and settled with plain shock. He was losing too much blood and his right arm was useless. He couldn't use his left hand to cast spells with a lousy aim. Malfoy might as well finish the job.

Just then, two hands yanked his shirt and turned him over. At first, he thought it was Hermione or Harry finally coming to his rescue, but then, he supposed his mind could take a few more shocks. Yet, he still managed a dry, "Nice aim, Malfoy."

Draco buried his face in Ron's neck, ignoring the stench of blood and the stain it'd leave on his face and clothes. He didn't think he'd miss. He didn't think Weasley would hesitate either. He didn't think. Period. And now, he couldn't speak as well.

Blood.

The smell of blood finally registered in his mind and now that he could think clearly, he noticed that Weasley was losing too much of it. "Bastard. Get up, Weasley."

Try as he might, the lanky body seemed to be attached to the floor. "Get up and I have to get you to Snape or whoever…"

Ron used his good arm to reach for Draco, marring the blond hair with his blood as his fingers tangled with the strands. He felt hopeless as more blood left his body, and the spell still continued to eat away the flesh on his right shoulder. Nonetheless, his lips twitched in an unreadable smile.

He didn't blame Draco.

As their eyes met, Ron asked softly, "Just whose side are you on?"

Draco gave no reply but settled with holding on to Ron, hiding his face.

The smile on Ron's face softened and he leaned over to kiss Draco's head. With a reassuring pat, Ron whispered, "I'll live. You were a lousy shot."

Draco slapped the wounded shoulder but struggled to get them both out of the hallway, "We can change our names once the war's over."

"Dramatic. But, no."

"Your loyalty's unnerving."

"I love you, too."

Draco stopped short.

Ron snickered, "It just never fails."

"Seems you can walk on your own," Draco let go and left Ron's side, crossing his arms in annoyance.

"I'd hit you but there's a hole through my right shoulder. Take a rain check, will you?"

With a sigh, Draco took that one step forward and returned to Ron's side, slinging the good arm over his shoulders to help the other man walk.

Some things were just meant to happen as if they had been written on stone. But in the end, the choices we made would matter.

end