A/N: Wow! I've got over 10,000 hits on this! Hee. I found out right before I went to work and believe me you would not have wanted to be there! I was really hyper! And my buddies there got all excited too! I'm so glad people like this story! Thanks everyone!
Disclaimer: Same thing as usual! Harry Potter and his world aren't mine, and I'm not making any money off this anyway.
Matchmakers, Inc.: Discussions
Pansy Parkinson snapped her fingers in front of her best friend's face for the third time in the past twenty minutes. "Draco Malfoy! If you don't start paying attention, I'm going to shave you bald!" she threatened. Draco flinched and shook his head, drawing himself out of his revere. Pansy was staring at him, posed with a hand on her hip and frowning angrily. "Did you say something about my hair?" he asked, reaching up to smooth a few loose strands behind his ear. Pansy rolled her eyes. "If you paid attention the first time, I wouldn't have to repeat myself so often." She collapsed with an exasperated sigh on one of the chairs across from Draco's desk.
"You realize it's been three days since that dinner, right?" she asked, still sounding very much annoyed. "Don't you think it's about time you stopped daydreaming?" Draco blushed. "I wasn't…Okay. Maybe I was, but just a little!" he protested. He leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm. "It's just…he was sweet, okay?" Pansy waved a hand at him. "I know, I know." A lovesick expression came over her face and she began to speak in a high-pitched voice, punctuating each phrase with a dramatic heartfelt sigh, in a clear, if exaggerated, imitation of him. "He held my hand, and he just looked so bloody cute sitting there and then he took me home and we talked about nothing all the way there and then he watched a sappy movie with me so I would feel better and stop worrying about my best friend who went MIA after being Pansy-napped by my furious ex-boyfriend and then made me cocoa in my own house and didn't go home until--"
Her tirade was interrupted by the crumpled paper that flew from Draco's hand to Pansy's face. "Hey!" the woman cried, rubbing gently at the spot. Draco sent her a mock-frown, the effect of which was somewhat diminished by the blush that still glowed on his face. "First off, I do not talk like that and you well know it. Second, I don't think The Mummy quite qualifies as a sappy movie. And third," Draco paused and rolled his eyes. "Pansy, you left me a message when I got home. It's not MIA if you're not actually missing." His best friend stuck her tongue out at him, hiding the guilt she felt about lying in that message, and once more waved a hand airily. "Details, details. The point is you need to focus. The show is tomorrow!"
Draco nodded. "I know. I've picked all the clothes and the models that look best in them. So what's the problem?" Pansy groaned. She stood and leaned over the desk to grasp her friend by his shoulders. "Draco, we have to confirm the press list, the guest list, make sure the preparations are going as planned and about a million and one other things by seven tomorrow. This is no time to be relaxing!" The blond sighed and shrugged away from Pansy's hands. He stood, stretched and, picking up a jacket, headed for the door. "We'd better get busy then, Parkinson," he called over his shoulder.
Pansy smiled helplessly. She hadn't seen Draco so happy in a long time. The smile faded a bit when she thought of what happened that night. Walking around with Zabini hadn't been unpleasant. They hadn't said much, but it was comforting not to be alone with so much on her mind. The two had parted ways less than a block from her house, where Pansy called Draco and left a message saying she'd been feeling a tad queasy after her talk with Zabini. He'd asked her about it later, but she only supplied a vague answer to his inquiries and eventually the subject was dropped. She wanted very much to tell him what Zabini had revealed, but felt somehow that Draco's ignorance of the truth was important to Finnigan's plans. Besides, it wasn't her story to tell. Draco's head appeared back in the room. "Come on, Pansy. We don't have all bloody day, you know." Pansy lifted her brow. "This from the man who spent half of it daydreaming?" she returned as she followed him out the room, shutting the door behind her.
Harry couldn't help the wide grin that settled on his face as he hung up the phone in his living room. It had been a week since he called Boston and reached the office of Roy Hamilton, the American born wizard/surgeon. After a somewhat trying day at work, Harry returned home to find a message on his answering machine from the surgeon himself, asking him to call back and explain Ron's situation more thoroughly. Forgetting the time difference, Harry called back immediately, just barely catching Dr. Hamilton as he headed out for lunch. Harry told him about Ron's paralysis and the crash that caused it. When he asked if the doctor would consider taking Ron into his program, Harry got a reply that said basically "For Harry Potter? Anything!" Right now, it didn't matter that it was because Harry the Hero had called. In time, Ron was going to walk again. Harry stood, threw on his coat, and left the house. It was time for his weekly visit to Hermione's house. At least this time he'd have some good news.
Harry shook out his jacket and paused for a moment to settle his stomach. Apparating always did that to him, made him nauseous. It was an annoying way to travel but he hadn't wanted to wait the time it took to floo or ride a broom. The air was getting cooler, with just a touch of the bite that would come with winter. He crossed the street quickly and rang the bell. Hermione had obviously been expecting him and opened the door almost immediately. "Harry," she said happily and hugged him. "We've been waiting for you." The woman released him to grab his hand and pull him inside, shutting the door as she did so. Ron appeared at the end of the hall, smiling and lifting his hand in a careless wave. "Hey, mate!" he called. "Come on in! Hermione made a pumpkin pie." The red-head wheeled his chair closer, examining his friend for a moment before asking, "Harry, mate, what's with the grin? Get a new girlfriend or something?"
Harry shook his head, still smiling. "Let's go have a seat first. You'll want to be sitting when I tell you this!" Hermione, clearly restraining her curiosity led the way to the kitchen. Ron rolled his eyes, looked pointedly down at his chair and earned an apologetic smile from Harry, before the two followed. Seated, a slice of pie for each in front of the three once known as the Golden Trio, Harry decided to share his news. "There's a surgeon who may be able to help you, Ron." Hermione gasped, dropping her fork as she covered her mouth. Ron stared at his plate, chewing and swallowing calmly without meeting his friend's gaze, before placing the fork down next to his plate.
Harry took a breath and continued. "His name's Hamilton, and he practices in Boston. I've talked to him and he said he'd take you into his rehab program. Ron," Harry paused, unsure about his best friend's lack of response. "Ron, he has a 70 success rate." A broken sob came from Hermione and she swiped at the tears that fell slowly down her cheeks. Still not looking up, Ron asked quietly, "And how does he expect to help?" He glared up into Harry's surprised face. "Harry, how is he going to help? The muggles couldn't. That St. Mungo's nurse couldn't! What can this Hamilton guy do that they couldn't? Who asked you to interfere anyway?" He pulled back from the table with surprising swiftness and pushed himself away. He already disappeared down the hall when Harry heard the red-head's parting shot. "They only said yes because it was you." A door slammed.
Hermione sat quietly, still brushing the tears. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I'll go talk to him." Harry reached out, grabbing her arm and pulling back to the chair. "I'll go," he said simply and Hermione shivered at the anger underlying the words. "Harry," she started, "maybe you should—," but the man had already left her alone in the kitchen.
Harry stormed down the hall, pausing for only a moment before shoving his way into Ron's room, slamming the door loudly behind him. Ron glared at him and started to speak but Harry interrupted. "What's your problem? Why do you always have to blow your top every time someone tries to help?" Ron opened his mouth but closed it when Harry sliced a hand angrily through the air. "You want to know how he's going to help? Well, I don't know how, Ron! He's the specialist, not me. What he does though," Harry continued, striding across the room to Ron's dresser "is both. He uses magic and muggle ways to help people." Harry opened a drawer and began rifling through it. "What are you—," Ron started belligerently but was once more cut off. "You say it's none of my business? Not to interfere?" Harry spun around and fixed the other man in a heated glare. "You're my bloody best mate, and damn it, Ron! I'm making it my business!"
Harry pulled his hand out of the drawer and held up a picture that had been hidden from sight beneath piles of socks. The light from the ceiling fan created a glare across the glass, but Ron didn't need to see it to know what picture the wooden frame held. Harry leaned down and, using the arms of Ron's chair for support, brought his face close. He spoke quietly but the fury he had shown moments before echoed in every word. "You can be mad at Dean, at that nurse, at the world, Ron, and I won't stop you. But you can't just give up. You made a promise to someone and she's still waiting. Think about her for once instead of always feeling sorry for yourself." Harry straightened, dropped the picture in Ron's lap and stormed from the room.
Hermione stood frozen in the hall, hands covering her mouth and eyes wide. Harry gave a curt nod as he passed her, slowing only when he reached the door. Then he left, without so much as a glance backwards. She bit her lip nervously. Ron and Harry had fought many times over many things, but never about something so serious. She hadn't known how to handle those fights either and this one seemed infinitely more important. Walking quietly, she went into her fiancé's room and stood behind him. Ron was holding a picture, taken in their last year at Hogwarts, that showed the three of them after Gryffindor won the school's Quidditch cup. Harry's image alternated between smiling happily into the camera, waving the hand that gripped the Snitch, and eyeing his friends with a faint blush. Ron's image held the cup loosely in one hand. The other arm was wrapped around Hermione's waist, holding her close as they kissed. It had been their first kiss together. She watched as the images broke apart and laughed into the camera.
"Hermione," Ron's voice sounded husky, and she knew he was fighting to keep his tears away. "I…" He took a deep breath and lifted the picture from his lap, setting it on top of the dresser. He let his fingers trace the edge before running the hand through his hair. "So," he started again, "ever been to Boston?" Hermione smiled and brushed away yet another tear. "I'll just go and pack then." Ron turned slightly in his chair and smiled apologetically. "I've been a bit of a prat, haven't I?" Hermione nodded, then laughed at Ron's offended gasp. She leaned down and hugged him tightly. "Never ask questions you don't want the answer to, love." She smiled into Ron's shoulder, and closed her eyes as he awkwardly returned the embrace.
A/N: Okay! That's all for now, because it seemed like a good place to end it. Sorry if it's a tad short, but them's the breaks, as my co-worker would say. Anyhow, here're my call-outs. Thanks to fifespice, Ann, azamystic, To lo sai, inc., MorteDolce, SaphireGoddess57, unforgiveable curse caster, silverpen18, LadyDragonWolfKnight, and MiraiYume for their great reviews! Thank you all so, so, so much! I'll make the next one a longer one, promise!