Title: #6 - Superbia Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron Weasley / Draco Malfoy
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned specifically by J.K. Rowling. Those who produce the movies are merely pawns.
Rating: Teen
Summary: Draco figures if he's going to hell anyway, he might as well make the most of his life first. A series of Ron/Draco minifics based on the seven deadly sins.
Note: Ron saved the Gryffindors's asses, and he's quite proud of it, thank you very much. Except there's the one little thing of how he ended up with a broken arm, a broken leg, and a wise-cracking Slytherin glued to his bedside.
Word Count: 1,382
Superbia [Pride]
Well, this blows.
Oddly, all Ron felt was a strange sense of déjà vu as he plummeted out of the sky. And it really was weird. All of these life-or-death situations were getting so old. And why did they always have to center around Quidditch? Harry never...okay, Harry hardly ever had this much trouble with maneuvering on a damn broom.
As he hit the ground and was immediately numbed with searing pain, Ron thought wryly, If I die, Draco is going to find some completely illegal way to resurrect me, and then he's going to kill me again.
The world faded into black.
Th-thump. Thu-thump.
Something annoyingly loud thudded in Ron's ears, and it went on and on, never stopping, and just when he was about to scream, "Merlin, somebody, turn that bloody racket off!" ...he realized it was his heartbeat.
And that meant he was alive.
And that meant that deceitfully gorgeous blonde bent over his bedside wasn't an angel.
And that meant...
...Draco!
Ron promptly struggled to sit up, breathing heavily. A firm hand pushed him back down, and something...something was trying to choke him, but he wouldn't...let it... Ron grappled frantically at the object enclosed around his neck.
His angel shouted; fingers grabbed his. A soothingly cool hand pressed against his forehead.
Ron's breathing slowed. His eyes, which had been open the entire time but not entirely seeing...focused.
Draco.
"Bloody hell, idiot. If you thrash about like a demented squirrel, it won't set right..."
The fingers entwined in his, as well as the ones pushing back the sweaty copper hair on his forehead, those were Draco's. Madame Pomfrey was on the other side of the room, treating a first-year's horrid case of acne and grinning as if she actually enjoyed her job.
Ron sighed. "A squirrel? Really?" He tried to sound normal, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just gone completely insane and tried to rip off his own neck brace, but his voice was hoarse.
Draco smiled faintly. "I thought you were going to sleep forever."
"Unfortunately..." Ron peered around to get a better view of his surroundings. The hospital wing was relatively empty. "...no."
"Are you in any pain?"
Madame Pomfrey snorted from where she stood. "Don't be underestimating the power of magical painkillers, boy." She shook her head. "Honestly, kids these days..." The first-year looked up at her with wide eyes. "Not you. Shh. This is a delicate process."
Draco glowered at her. "Do you mind?"
She held up the hand that wasn't waving a wand around. "I'm not the one who came rushing into my hospital wing, carrying the same nutty sports enthusiast who got himself beat up last week! Honestly! Is it really possible for one boy to be so accident prone? Confound it, I'm just one woman! I've had to clean up after your daft twin brothers' handiwork for years! And what do I get for it? More exploding toilets, more Puking Pasties, more this, more that-"
Draco rolled his eyes. Ron huffed. "I'm not that accident prone; I just have a delicate composition...wait. You carried me in here?"
"You aren't as heavy as you look, Ron." Draco pretended to study a thread sticking out of Ron's hospital blanket. "And I...I mean, you just leaned off your broom, and blocked the damn Bludger, and it looked ever so simple..." He trailed off. "...then you fell." Draco picked at the thread. "Everything froze. No one expected it."
Madame Pomfrey shooed away the first-year and turned to Ron. "Especially Draco here."
Ron blinked. "What?"
"The very first thing anyone saw was Lucius Malfoy's own little-"
"I'm not little."
"Whatever. Anyway, the first thing anyone saw was Lucius Malfoy's own pride and joy..." She snorted slightly, eliciting a glare from Draco. "...running out onto the playing field and scooping you up." The nurse shrugged. "Course, I wasn't there. Word travels fast."
She leaned over, smiling gently, and tapped Ron on the nose. "But, what I do know is you've got yourself quite a catch. Anyone would be lucky enough to have this young man look after them as much as he does you. Don't underestimate what you've got, there, Ronald. Draco's a fine enough boyfriend." Madame Pomfrey shuffled towards the other side of the room to peer out the window. "I'm not one to judge, 'cause I've always been raised to accept what comes out of life." She shook her head. "Even if it is a Slytherin and a Gryffindor sharing the same-"
Draco interrupted. "Okay, I think that's enough...um, talking." He reached over and closed Ron's mouth. "Flies," He reminded jokingly.
"Everyone...knows..." Ron had gone without blinking for the last minute, and when Draco moved his hand, his mouth fell open again.
"Well, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves-"
"There couldn't have been a worst possible way for them to find out!" Ron groaned loudly.
Draco patted his cheek. "Relax. Even if they do...well, it doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore."
"Aren't you worried? I mean, your father?"
"He's got nothing to do with this. What matters is that we're together, and you're safe, and I'm never letting you on a broom again."
Ron frowned. "I'm not that bad..."
"You aren't," Draco admitted. "You did just win the house cup for the Gryffindors, but you broke a leg, an arm, and nearly broke your neck in the process."
"I WON THE HOUSE CUP?!?"
Draco jumped. "Yes..."
"OHMYGOD."
"Bloody hell, Ron! Settle down!"
"I've got to get out of here." Ron squirmed and threw off his blanket, only to be forcibly shoved back onto the bleached hospital pillow.
"If. You. Move. The. Bones. Will. Not. Set. Right," Draco growled.
"But the house cup..." Ron sighed loudly.
"...is not going anywhere. And neither are your friends."
Ron instantly quieted down, switching, in a stellar example of a bipolar mindset, to an almost-calm voice. "Has anyone tried to visit?"
Knowing Draco, he probably had snapped at all of his friends' heels like a pit bull, driving them out of the hospital wing before they could even catch a glimpse of Ron's poor, mangled body.
Ron grinned to himself.
"Ah...yes..." Draco grimaced uncomfortably. Ron glared at him.
"You chased them out, didn't you?"
"No."
"Draco..." Ron sulked and crossed his arms, trying to hide the pain so he looked at least remotely serious. "Haven't I told you before? I need 'get well' chocolates. And love. And you are a frightening, overprotective hunk of man who probably doesn't even know what the words 'fan service' mean."
"Fan service? Just what in the hell are you talking about?"
"My loyal fans," Ron drew out slowly. "I won the house cup. Me. A Weasley. Not just any Weasley, to be exact, but Ronald Weasley, who is, in fact, the most amazing of them all-"
Draco leaned forward and planted a firm, sweet kiss on Ron's bottom lip. As much as he didn't want to admit it at the moment, that one kiss was better than all the chocolate in the world.
Draco drew away slowly, eyes sparkling. "I'll let them in."
"Wha..." Ron blinked away dancing leprechauns. If this whole kissing thing is going to leave the same results every time, I'm going to be a puddle of goo before I reach age twenty. "...huh?"
"Your fans." Draco stood up, loosening his fingers in an attempt to let go of Ron's.
Ron pouted. "You're leaving?"
"Only for a little while."
The connection broke. Ron felt momentarily lost and pathetically small underneath his neck brace. "You'll come back?" The thought of get well chocolates was long past. He wanted his angel to stay.
"I'll sleep here tonight." Draco's eyes darted warily to where Madame Pomfrey stood. "If that's all right." She nodded curtly.
"Oh. Goodbye, then..."
Draco stopped halfway across the floor. "Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"This whole thing. We'll figure it out."
Ron nodded, smiling softly. "I know."
"So get better. Or else," Draco added sternly. "And...I'm proud of you."
Ron's mouth abruptly dropped open. It turned into sort of a shell-shocked smile as he watched Draco leave.
Proud of me. Proud of me. Oh, Merlin and all his bloody magical ancestors. I could most likely die a happy man right now.
As Ron appreciatively stared at Draco's backside until it disappeared, he thought, proudly, Who needs fans?