Chapter 5: The Treatment
"Alright, Mr. Potter . . . Ms. Granger, I need you to step outside for a moment while I administer the first battery of tonics." Madam Pomfrey instructed. "Yes, just beyond the partition please." She gestured for them to step outside.
"Madam Pomfrey," Hermione inquired, "I don't mean to sound impudent, but why must we leave for the administration of a simple potion?"
Madam Pomfrey's face broke into a small smile as she looked at Hermione. "For it to have its full effect, it must be injected into the posterior," she explained.
Hermione blushed slightly while Harry clarified, "You mean, you have to give him a shot in the bum?"
At Madam Pomfrey's amused nod, Harry blinked rapidly, his mouth twisting slightly to the side, before slowly replying, "Yeah. We'll wait outside, then."
Pulling Hermione along by the wrist, they made a desperate exit through the gap in the partition.
"Harry! You needn't pull so hard on my wrist," Hermione admonished as they stumbled towards the hospital wing doors. Digging into the ground with her heels, she managed to pull her wrist free from his grasp. He gazed at her ruefully, watching her as she rubbed her abused wrist.
He turned away from her slightly with an apologetic smile and ran a nervous hand through his naturally-mussed hair.
"Sorry, Hermione," he began. "I just, well . . . panicked. After the past few weeks, the last thing I want to be burdened with is the image of my best mate's bare-but-for-the-freckles arse. Call it psychological self-preservation."
"Harry, that's ridiculous." Hermione scoffed. "Madam Pomfrey asked us to step outside. Did you really think she was just going to flip Ron's hospital robe open and flash his . . . freckled bits at us?"
Hermione blushed as the words rushed past her lips, the image they suggested solidifying in her mind, but Harry took no notice as he rushed forward with his own hasty words.
"Who said anything about Ron's bits?" Harry demanded in a strained voice.
Looking hard at the flush that was slowly staining his friend's countenance, he continued with his accusations, shaking his head in growing disbelief. "You're acting so strangely today! Are you sure Ron was the only one affected by magick interaction?"
Hermione, face reddening furiously, exclaimed, "You're the one who seems to be fixated on freckled Weasley flesh, Harry!"
Harry took a step backwards, watching Hermione with a startled expression. Panting slightly, she crossed her arms over her chest and bowed her shoulders as if the words she was about to utter were being torn from some hiding place deep inside her brittle heart.
Meeting his eyes with a stark look, she asked plaintively, "What is so wrong with my wanting to help our friend, Harry? I've just as much right as you!"
Harry grimaced as he watched Hermione's face grow taut, struggling against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her luminous eyes.
"You always do this," she continued softly, shaking her head miserably slow, "both of you. Just because I'm the girl."
Sighing harshly, Harry rubbed his burning scar in concentration as he struggled to clarify himself. "I . . . we don't mean to, Hermione."
He looked away as she turned the full brunt of her pained expression onto him. Running his hands frantically through his hair, forcing choppy pieces to stand on end, he tried to make sense of his jumbled thoughts.
For Harry, there was something so strange about watching Hermione interact with Ron so tenderly. She was always a nurturing, and at times nagging, influence over them both, but since the Yule Ball debacle, Harry had watched as his friends changed before his eyes.
Hermione had always been a girl—like a sister, or a mothering hen—to him, but as Harry watched the way she was becoming with Ron, something so tenuously feminine that it boggled the mind, his brain shut down. He wondered, just what was so shocking about Hermione helping Ron? Maybe she only saw him in a brotherly light, like she saw Harry himself. He struggled to figure out why was his brain was so fiercely determined to portray her intentions as less than honorable.
"Who knows, Hermione?" Harry finally mumbled. Rolling his eyes at his own confusion, he replied, "I don't know why I'm being such a prat. Maybe I was more concerned about youwanting to play medi-nurse with his . . . er . . . ." He gestured loosely at his clothes with his hands, trying to find the words to defend his unease. Failing, he finished lamely by saying, "Um, than I should have been."
"What!" Hermione squeaked, her eyes rounding in shock. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"
Hermione paled as she uttered the words. She covered her horrified expression with both hands as her mind raced, putting together the puzzling subtext underlying Harry's cryptic accusation. Gaping at him, she concluded that he must think that she was a perverted witch who dreamed of nothing better than molesting her incapacitated friend!
"No!" Harry interjected, sensing the turn of her thoughts as he watched the wheels in Hermione's mind spin furiously. As he recognized his blunder, his eyes grew so wide that his glasses threatened to fall off of his face, and he sputtered, "Nothing, Hermione . . . I didn't mean anything by that. Look, it's just that you've been very . . . hands-on with Ron today. You know, more so than usual."
Noting his friend's increasingly dismayed expression, he rushed on to clarify himself. "I mean . . . not that you meant anything by it. Look, I know you want to help, Hermione, but I don't think Ron would appreciate you, or us, gazing at him in the all-together . . . or even in the nearly all-together . . . even for clinical reasons, you know? I just don't want to embarrass him . . . or you—"
"You embarrassed yourself, Potter," a voice from the other side of the hospital wing door taunted.
Frowning at one another, Harry and Hermione moved forward to see who was lurking behind the hospital wing door.
"Alright, Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey said, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Open your mouth, please. Yes, there's a good boy."
She proceeded to place a dropper in his mouth and dripped three drops of a cloudy liquid onto his tongue. Next, she helped him close his mouth with a firm hand under his jaw and replied, "Now don't swallow that Mr. Weasley. Let it set on your tongue for a moment."
She tilted his head back, and pulled an eyelid open, watching as the acid-green sheen receded to the corners of his eyes. Wiping the excess away with a gentle thumb, she watched as his eyes quickly dilated. Soon he was wresting his face free from her gentle grip, and rubbing his eyes with loosely fisted hands.
"Malfoy," Harry muttered, the word turning his mouth sour.
Harry and Hermione stood in the open doorway, staring at the pale-haired Slytherin who lounged so casually against the opposite doorjamb. In the shadows to their right, they could see Crabbe and Goyle's hulking forms slouching against the opposite wall as well.
"Yes, Potter?" Malfoy answered as a small smirk pricked at the corners of his mouth.
"Did you have something to say, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, cocking an arrogant eyebrow at him in challenge. Surreptitiously, she glanced at Harry as she crossed her arms tightly across her chest.
Draco chuckled softly at her posturing and pushed himself away from the doorframe. Sharing a smile with his mates, he turned back to face Harry and Hermione with a raised eyebrow of his own. Looking back at Harry, he drawled, "She does act a bit brazen, doesn't she, Saint Potter? Yes. Just like a—oh, what did Measley-Weasley call her?—a Scarlet Woman!"
Hermione gasped before clamping her mouth closed, hard. She looked at Harry with a fierce frown, daring him to confirm Malfoy's statement.
"Brazen, Malfoy?" Harry answered quickly. "Don't you mean brilliant? You're just sulking because Hermione put a stop to your little prank. Didn't get to enjoy a bit of it, did you? Don't worry though; I'm sure Dumbledore will have plenty of amusing things to share when I tell him about your penchant for illegal Imperious Curses!"
Malfoy's face crumpled into a fierce scowl before he sputtered, "And what exactly will you tell him, Potter? You can't prove that I did anything and you know it. Why don't you stop deflecting and admit it . . . you're jealous!"
"Jealous of you, Ferret?" Hermione interjected. "In what warped sense of wizarding reality would anyone EVER be jealous of you?"
Hermione's fit of pique, rather than enraging Draco, merely seemed to bring him a cold satisfaction. Allowing his gaze to absorb her fiery expression and heaving chest, he stepped closer to Harry, cocked his head to the side, and dropped his voice to a stage-whisper.
"It seems like the Mudblood bitch is certainly in heat, but not for you, Potter."
Taking a few steps back, he threw his hands up in a nonchalant pose. Draco chuckled softly as Hermione and Harry struggled under one another's restraining hands before quietly adding: "First she dumps you for Krum, and now Krum for the Weasel— it's pathetic!"
"Come on, Harry," Hermione urged. "Ignore his prattle. Madam Pomfrey may have finished . . . we should go and check on Ron."
Harry shook free from her grasp and moved to face Malfoy. Panting with outrage, Harry glanced at him with a dark expression.
"Don't call her that again, Malfoy, or you'll live to regret it." Harry muttered ominously.
Draco brushed an invisible speck of dirt from his uniform and continued to smirk at Harry as Crabbe and Goyle moved to position themselves behind their leader once again. Feeling confident, Malfoy leaned closer to Harry until he could feel the heat emanating from his body.
"Look how it makes you squirm, Potter!" Malfoy mocked.
"Embarrassed?" He continued. "Embarrassed, you said. Let's face it— you're only worried that Rita Skeeter will make this new development known. Let's picture the headline, shall we? 'Potter Cast-off Seeks Weasel Love.' How charming! Or maybe you don't want your little Mudblood comparing Weasley's bits and baubles to your own . . . feeling insecure there, Potter?"
Scoffing, Hermione growled, "You wish, Malfoy."
Madam Pomfrey's face broke into a small smile as she looked at her scowling patient.
"Welcome back to the world, Mr. Weasley." She said brightly.
Ron finished rubbing his eyes and blinked rapidly as he collapsed against the pillows on his hospital ward bed. Looking up at Madam Pomfrey, he watched her lean over him to press a hand to his forehead and cheek. He felt his mind start to emerge from the cottony layers that had so recently occupied his skull.
Inhaling sharply, he met Madam Pomfrey's gaze and asked, "What happened?"
"It seems you were infected by a Cheer Charm and Veritaserum, Mr. Weasley."
"What?" He squeaked. He closed his eyes sharply and ran a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck absently. "But . . . how?"
"That I am unsure of, Mr. Weasley." Madam Pomfrey answered. "I am only here to counteract the curse, not to pinpoint the culprits. I leave that duty to the headmaster. However, I would wager that one, if not all, of the Slytherins I spied earlier in the hallway had something to do with it."
Ron's mind cleared a bit more and he began to remember the events of the day. He could still feel the remnants of Neville's Cheer Charm creeping through his veins as it worked its way out of his system. He could remember that, being struck by the Cheer Charm in Flitwick's class, but he couldn't remember when he had ingested the Veritaserum. He crept slowly through his memories, and found himself stumbling into the Great Hall . . . sitting with Ginny and the Creeveys . . . accepting Malfoy's offered pumpkin juice. His expression hardened as he focused on the drink, recalling how the liquid had seemed cloyingly sweet and thick . . . .
"Malfoy!" He growled, his eyes opening to flash with anger. Madam Pomfrey firmed her lips as she met his gaze and reached a hand into the front pocket of her apron.
"It is not the Who, but the healing I am concerned with, Mr. Weasley. Now, please turn over onto your side so that I can administer the second potion."
"What?" Ron gasped, scandalized. "What is that? Not one of those Muggle hypothermic needles!"
Madam Pomfrey stopped to pat Ron's hand as she watched the color drain slowly from his face. "It's alright, Mr. Weasley. The needle is charmed to cause no pain. But I must administer the antiserum soon."
"Wait," Ron pleaded. "Please . . . I really just don't understand. Okay, I remember Hermione said something about a three step cure . . . um, something about the antiserum and a sleeping draught . . . ."
"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey affirmed. "She must have read up on the disorder. As late as five years ago, the only treatment for your condition was a combination of shepherd's cowl, antiserum, and a sleeping draught."
"Yeah," Ron interjected. "And the shepherd's cowl is supposed to stop the symptoms, which explains why I'm thinking more clearly."
"Actually, the shepherd's cowl only puts an end to your physical symptoms, Mr. Weasley." Madam Pomfrey replied before continuing excitedly. "It clears the sinuses, which puts to right the lacrimal glands, the eustachian tubes and auditory canals, and then, of course, the gastro-intestinal tract!"
Noting Ron's confused and nearly horrified expression, Madam Pomfrey clarified, "It cures the acid green tears, lavender ear smoke, and stomach cramps."
Ron nodded slowly, pursing his lips as his eyes cast about furtively for anything else to look at. Tightening her lips in response, Madam Pomfrey continued, replying, "As I was saying before, five years ago there was only a three-step treatment that included shepherds cowl, antiserum, and a sleeping draught.
"Four years ago, however, Professor Snape and I discovered an alternative treatment that incorporates the sententiae clarus thistle."
"Wait . . . that's Latin isn't it?" Ron interjected.
"Yes, Mr. Weasley. It means 'clear thoughts' or 'clear thinking' thistle." Madam Pomfrey answered.
"By adding the sententiae clarus thistle to the shepherd's cowl," she explained, "the potion not only stops the patient's physical symptoms but also clears up the remaining effect of the Cheer Charm. The patient is fully cognizant of their actions thereafter. Unfortunately, the effect of the Veritaserum must still be counteracted by an injection of antiserum. As the antiserum clears the Veritaserum from the patient's system, it tends to leave them incredibly fatigued. Hence, the sleeping draught," Madam Pomfrey concluded.
"And in this scenario, I am the patient, right?" Ron asked.
"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey answered, sounding a bit exasperated. "We'll keep you overnight for observation, and by tomorrow morning you should be right as rain."
"But don't the effects of the Veritaserum wear off on their own? I could just go back to class and let it . . . ." He began to swing his legs from the hospital bed as he spoke, and Madam Pomfrey moved quickly to push him back into bed with a firm shove.
"Absolutely not, Mr. Weasley!" Madam Pomfrey commanded. "The antiserum is essential. While you may not realize it, you are still operating under the potion's effects. You may feel clear-headed, and in complete control of your faculties, but you will still feel compelled to answer anything asked of you truthfully. Do you really want to take a chance and expose some of your darker secrets to everyone?"
"Well . . . no, Madam Pomfrey," Ron answered slowly. "But I don't think—"
"How old were you when you stopped wetting the bed, Mr. Weasley." Madam Pomfrey interjected with a dry expression.
"Eight. But I don't see . . . Oh." Ron felt heat rising from his neck and ears to the roots of his ginger hair and he groaned aloud. "Oh, for the love of Merlin!"
"You see, Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey added, glancing at him sadly. "I can't allow you to leave the sickroom in such a weakened condition."
Sighing in resignation, he stared forward for a few moments contemplating the inevitable. He wondered whether he should still risk it. After all, he thought, what were the chances that Hermione would ask the same question? Or Harry? Meeting Madam Pomfrey's gaze once more, he shuddered. In their gray depths he spied an answer to his question that he did not want to ponder further. He could tell that she was willing to ask far more probing questions, and that she was not above inquiring in front of his friends in order to prove her point. Ron shifted restlessly against his pillows and again rubbed his eyes with frustrated hands.
"Can I please just have a moment, Madam Pomfrey. My head hurts."
"Yes, Mr. Weasley, I'm sure that this is all pretty shocking." Madam Pomfrey seemed to consider his request very carefully before responding. "Very well. I needed to go back into my office to retrieve the vial of antiserum for your injection anyway. I will leave you fifteen minutes to collect yourself while I brew your sleeping draft, but then we will conclude your treatment."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey." Ron said quietly, sighing dejectedly at her firm tone.
He watched as she slipped through the partition surrounding his bed and heard her sweeping purposefully back towards her office.
"Bloody tyrant," he muttered bitterly, crossing his arms across his chest in a mild huff.
Cocking his head to the other side, he heard a brief scuffle and lowered voices issuing from the hallway outside the sick ward.
Turning swiftly to grip Harry's forearm, Hermione whispered desperately into his ear.
"The cup, Harry! I left it with Ginny in the Great Hall. We DO have proof."
"What? Hermione, what are you talking about?" Harry whispered fervently as his eyes met Malfoy's over Hermione's shoulder. He pursed his lips derisively as Malfoy blew him a taunting kiss and met Hermione's gaze as she shifted impatiently from one foot to the other.
She met his gaze dead on, forcing herself to calmly whisper, "Let's stop this now, Harry. We have proof that we can take to Dumbledore once Ron is cured. Let's go. Malfoy loves to rile us up, but he has no power over us. If we allow him to continue to detain us out here, he wins. We should be with our friend, Harry . . . not wasting time with this notorious prat."
She watched as Harry waffled between taking her advice and hexing Malfoy into next week. After a brief struggle he relented.
"You're right. Let's go then." Harry opened the door for Hermione and urged her to precede him into the hospital wing. Straightening his glasses, he moved to follow her.
"Coward." Malfoy hissed.
Pausing in the doorway, Harry watched as Hermione moved further into the sickroom, obviously having missed the Slytherin's taunt. He could also see Madame Pomfrey's retreating form once again disappearing into her office at the back of the hospital wing. Taking a step back into the hallway, he pulled the door nearly closed behind himself. His hand still on the door handle, he turned to meet Draco's cold glare with an inquisitive squint. Sliding his glasses higher up on his nose with a slow finger, he said:
"What are you really after, Malfoy?"