The Art of The Affair

5

When I wake in the morning, my ankle is throbbing.  I hadn't been able to make it to the station on foot so I'd had to take a taxi home.  I'd showered, thrown a few pain pills down my throat, and done to bed.  The over-the-counter pills had done almost nothing for the pain, and I'd still been awake when Ron had gotten in the door.  I'd pretended to be asleep, as I'd been strangely torn on whether to out Malfoy as the reason for my throbbing ankle.  Before tonight, I'd have jumped in front of him just to have a reason to have him fired.  Now I had to shelf my personal feelings about the man because of the gut feeling I couldn't shake - the feeling that he knew something I didn't about what was going on at the pub.

Sometime after Ron had gone to sleep, and as the sun was just beginning to rise, I'd given up on sleep and tried to get to my feet.  Keyword: tried.  

I'd nearly blacked out from the pain, and had barely managed a yelp as I'd hit the hardwood floor.  Ron hadn't even stirred.  He could sleep through a truckload of C-4 detonating.  As soon as I'd seen the size of my ankle in the dim glow of the sunrise filtering through the blinds, I'd known this wasn't going to just disappear on its own.  I got up on the knee of my good leg, reached for my phone on my nightstand, and crawled out of the bedroom and into the living room.

I was sweating by the time I fell into the backseat of the taxi.  He was kind enough to go and get a wheelchair from inside and wheel me in, for which I paid him extra.  I'd used my broom as a makeshift crutch, and told him to do whatever he wanted with it as he left me in the emergency waiting area.  

I'd had to wait for quite a while to be seen and have X-rays done, but eventually I was sent home with a prescription for something a little stronger for the pain and a nice pair of crutches that worked a lot better than a broom.  This taxi driver was less helpful and didn't help with the door when I got home.  By the time I fell into a chair in my living room, I was exhausted.  I was startled awake some time later by Ron's voice as he stood over me.

"What the bloody hell happened to you?"

----

Ron had insisted I take a couple of days to rest at home.  I'd caught hell for not waking him up and letting him take me to the hospital.  I'd countered that it was just a sprained ankle - nothing life-threatening and definitely nothing worth losing precious sleep over.  That hadn't exactly helped the strength of my argument.  

Three days later, when Ron had escorted me to the pub, Malfoy's reaction had been priceless.  His usual indifference was carefully masked by concern, or at least there was something there.  One didn't have to be Einstein to know what was probably going through his mind.  His eyes locked with mine as I crutched my way through the empty pub and into the office.  Jason came to the doorway and immediately asked what had happened.  

While Ron answered that I'd fallen and twisted my ankle the other night, my mind wandered from the room and into the next.  I hoped with all of my might that Malfoy was sweating over the prospect of being fired, or worse.  With an unconscious smile, I imagined Ron taking a swing at Malfoy and dropping him behind the bar.  I imagined Malfoy trying to talk his way out of what he'd done, and what explanations he'd give.  I'd zoned out so wholly that Ron had to use my middle name.

"I thought those pain pills weren't going to make you fuzzy?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah right," he chuckled, glancing at Jason.  "Did you see the way she was just smiling?  Like the cat that ate the canary, that one.  But she isn't going to tell us what she's thinking about.  I know her."