Ron sighed and shifted to take pressure off a sore spot on his right hip. He occupied a padded recliner borrowed from Madame Pomfrey's personal quarters and set beside Harry's bed. After four hours of bedside vigil, he had yet to release his best friend's hand. Every few minutes he would slip a handkerchief between their palms to absorb the fever-generated perspiration.
On the other side of the room, Madame Pomfrey readied the next batch of potions, placing each individual-dose bottle on a silver tray and occasionally glancing in their direction. On the few instances when her eyes met Ron's, the mediwitch would offer a smile of support. However, she hadn't spoken to Ron since Hermione, Neville, and Professor Snape left to find the hidden garden.
Somewhere far off in the castle a clock chimed the hour. Ron confirmed the time on his watch--1:00 a.m.
The exhausted fifth year yawned and shifted again. He dug the heel of his free hand into his eyes. The orbs felt like lumps of coal coated with sand.
A hand touched his shoulder. Startled, Ron turned but relaxed to see Albus Dumbledore smiling down on him. The old wizard's velvet robes, the shade of burnished copper, shimmered like fresh-minted coins. A cap-pin decorated the side of a matching peaked hat. The center stone, an oval slice of amber the size of an egg, harvested the faint light of both moon and torches.
The headmaster studied Ron's face for a long moment.
"Your loyalty does you credit, my young friend," Albus whispered, "but Harry would not want you to exhaust yourself on his account. You should get what rest you can. If you don't wish to go to the Gryffindor tower, I'm sure Poppy would let you use one of the empty beds."
"I'm all right, Professor. Thanks. It wouldn't really matter where I laid down. I won't be able to sleep until I know Harry's on the mend."
A shadow of concern creased Dumbledore's forehead. "We have no way of knowing how long it will take Severus and the others to navigate the maze, find the room, gather the blossoms, and get out again. It might well be a full day, perhaps two."
Ron shrugged. "I'll wait."
Dumbledore studied him over the top rim of his spectacles, sighed, and nodded. "Very well then. My sole advice is to pace yourself. You will do Harry no good if you needlessly exhaust yourself."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, Professor."
The headmaster turned and left the hospital wing, his shoulders stooped and his steps heavy. Ron considered, very briefly, taking the old wizard's advice. His body yearned most desperately for a soft mattress to ease the aches that worried almost every muscle in his body. He considered it, and dismissed it once again. Harry would never leave him. Hence, he would not leave Harry.
"He's right."
The hand beneath Ron's palm twitched. Fingers curled tight around his own. Ron smiled to see his friend's brilliant green eyes appear beneath heavy eyelids.
"Hiya, Harry. Feeling better?"
Harry tried to shrug but aborted the move with a pained grunt.
"I've been better." He made a chuffing sound, possibly a laugh. "Been worse, too."
"Like when Gilderoy Lockhart tried to fix your broken arm and made your bones disappear instead."
"That one did come to mind, yeah." Harry's gaze sharpened. "Dumbledore's right. You need to rest. You look terrible. Not to mention very uncomfortable."
"I'm fine right here."
"Ron-"
"I'm not budging so you might as well stop arguing. At this point, I'm a bloody sight more stubborn than you."
After a final grumble of protest, Harry gave in with a weary smile. "I'll admit it. I'm glad you're here." His eyes clouded. "Ron, it hurts and I'm scared, more scared than I've ever been in my entire life."
Ron squeezed Harry's hand. "More scared than when you fought You-Know-Who?"
"With Voldemort, I could fight back. Most of the time, anyway. With this . . . there's nothing I can do but lie here and wait, and pray they find the room and get back in time to make the antidote."
"They'll do it. I mean, this is Hermione we're talking about. And Snape--he'll make good and damn sure they get back in time just so he can hold it over your head for the rest of your student life."
Harry tried hard not to laugh, knowing the movement would awaken greater pain throughout his body. The light-hearted banter did more to raise his spirits than any of Poppy's foul-tasting potions, palliatives, and elixirs.
"Speaking of Hermione," Harry asked, "how long have they been gone?"
"A little over four hours."
Harry looked up at the windows that encircled the far wall. Indirect moonlight glistened off piles of snow gathered along the sills. Whisps of silver-blue cloud scudded like restless ghosts across the winter night's sky. As he watched, an owl flew past the window, the spoils of a successful hunt clutched in its talons.
He shivered and clutched his blankets tighter around his throat.
"It's late?" Harry asked.
"Past one o'clock."
"You should rest."
Ron rolled his eyes and heaved a melodramatic sigh. "We've been through this already."
"I know. Just thought I'd mention it one more time in case you changed your mind."
"Not ruddy likely, mate."
"Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
###
The clock on the mantle marked straight up one a.m. Dormant shadows dotted the Slytherin common room, broken only by the hearty blaze that filled the hearth. Where the fire's golden glow didn't touch, a phosphorescent green shimmer from lake waters beyond the transparent walls threw furniture and decorations in stark relief. Draco Malfoy reclined on one of two black leather sofas and stared into the flames. He thought and he waited, brooding and impatient.
The letter from his father had arrived an hour after Neville Longbottom's surprise revelation. The message was succinct, short, and brutal, with no room for defiance. Draco was to light a fire in the Slytherin common room at one o'clock. He was to wait before it, alone and ready to accept his father's instructions.
Anger and hurt raged in his soul. A lifetime of training, of unquestioning obedience, warred with the unfairness of it all. On several occasions he laid the blame for his turmoil on Harry Potter. On others, he blamed Severus Snape. The whole sordid mess began when the Potions Master betrayed Lord Voldemort. Snape should be the one to end it, not 15-year-old Draco Malfoy.
What could his father want him to do? Draco certainly would not be able to lure the Head of Slytherin House into another trap, nor could Lucius ask him to do anything directly against the former Death Eater. The idea was ridiculous. Snape would hex him into old age!
The flames morphed into a face--hard, merciless, and very familiar. Draco sat up and faced the hearth.
Lucius Malfoy wasted no time on pleasantries. "Are you alone?"
"Yes, sir. Everyone's left for the holidays."
"Tell me happened after the battle."
"After you and the others disapparated, Professor Snape carried Potter back to Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey met us outside the main doors. They took Potter to the hospital wing-"
Lucius scowled. His tone carried a distinctly unhappy bark. "Hospital! Potter is alive?"
"Yes."
"But the spell did affect him."
"Somewhat."
The old, blindly obedient Draco disapproved of the half-answer. Bitter Draco overrode him. He wouldn't give over any more information than absolutely necessary.
"Continue."
Draco arched a shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Not much else to say, really."
The elder Malfoy narrowed his eyes in dissatisfaction. Their blue hardened to shards of ice made all the more noticeable by the flames that danced around his head.
"You've had an entire day to investigate. Surely you have more information than that."
Draco lounged over the arm of the sofa, his pose distinctly apathetic. "Dumbledore suspects I was somehow involved in the attack on Professor Snape. He's keeping a close watch on me. I can't get near anyone to learn anything."
"I am most disappointed in you, Draco. You are my son. I expect loyalty before all else."
"Loyalty," Draco repeated, his own eyes hard as flints. "Are you by chance referring to the same type of loyalty you showed me when you refused to save me in the Dark Forest? You would have let that Death Eater cast the Killing Curse at me."
"What are you angry about? You survived."
"Because of Harry Potter," Draco
snapped. "I don't like owing anyone, Saint Potter least of all."
Draco sneered. His nose crinkled in disgust.
"The thought of it makes me ill."
"Mind your tongue, boy. You are dangerously close to making me angry."
"Good, because then we'll be even. I am angry. I have been since you abandoned me, your own son! You would have let him kill me!"
Lucius ground his teeth together and spoke through them in an almost sibilant hiss. "When Lord Voldemort wants something done, he expects his followers to carry out his orders by whatever means necessary. If you want to join his service, you had best be prepared to make similar choices."
Draco said nothing, only glared at his father.
"You will do better, Draco. Our Lord does not accept excuses from anyone, especially not a 15-year-old boy. I will firecall you again tomorrow night at 11. I expect a full report of what is happening to and around Harry Potter."
"I can't promise anything."
"I'm not interested in promises," Lucius snapped, "only results."
The face vanished from the fire before Draco could answer.
TBC