Chapter 6: Confrontations

Hermione ducked behind Ron's partition and stopped short as she took in the sight of him. He lay back on his pillow with an arm flung over his face, groaning incoherently as his lower limbs fought valiantly to kick off his clinging bed sheets. Pausing in his struggles, he lifted his hips off of the mattress to move lower on the hospital bed. Hermione's mouth opened with a slight gasp of surprise, and she watched in horror as his robe shifted to expose a healthy expanse of Weasley skin. Her eyes skimmed his thin, freckled calves, noting the sparse strawberry-blonde hairs that winked at her in the afternoon sunlight, and watched as her friend froze upon the bed before her.

Dragging his hand slowly down his face, his eyes opening slightly to squint at Hermione's shocked expression, Ron groaned dismally and writhed against his sheets in misery.

"Ron?" Hermione asked with concern, overcoming her initial shock and embarrassment to step up close to his bedside. She looked down at him cautiously, commanding her eyes to behave themselves and focus on his face rather than the tempting limbs below his waist. She cleared her throat nervously as a stray thought flitted through her mind—What exactly do those little ginger hairs feel like?

Turning his head away, he refused to look at her, choosing instead to renew the struggle with his evil hospital robe and the bed sheets that refused to obey him. Grunting with the effort, he twisted, limbs flailing as his hands blindly sought the sheets that refused to untangle from around his feet. Mistaking his movements for some kind of spell-induced fit, Hermione fought to take his wrists in her tiny hands as she tried to stop him from shifting so restlessly on his bed.

"Ron, what's wrong?" She gasped.

"I'm embarrassed," he muttered, rolling his eyes at his lack of control. Begrudgingly, he noticed that while he couldn't stop himself from telling her the truth he'd still managed to maintain control over his volume.

Hermione frowned slightly as she heard him mumble incoherently.

"Madam Pomfrey!—" She called suddenly.

"Hermione, stop!" Ron sputtered. Softly, he disengaged his wrists from her grip and turned forlorn eyes to hers.

"Oh, Ron . . . is it the potion? Some interaction or . . . should I get Madam Pomfrey?" She began to move towards the foot of the bed as if she were headed towards Madam Pomfrey's office before stopping to shake her head violently, obviously debating herself over the appropriate course of action.

"Where is she?" She muttered desperately to herself, turning back to pace towards the head of the bed.

Leaning forward, Ron reached out to grasp her wrist, stopping her from moving any farther towards Madam Pomfrey's office. The sudden momentum, caused by her change in direction and Ron's tugging, forced Hermione to fall sideways onto Ron's bed.

Hermione stiffened as she found herself splayed across Ron's lap, her face wedged into the bedclothes bunched around his waist and hips. Carefully raising her arms and face, she frantically padded the sheets with her hands, trying to figure out how to rise from the unseemly position without groping her friend. She began to slide backwards across his abdomen when Ron's hands suddenly gripped her upper arms, stopping her. She could feel him shaking beneath her and flushed as she turned onto her hip, bravely forcing herself to look up at him.

The prat was laughing at her! Hermione watched Ron's head fall back as he began to openly laugh out loud, his hair falling across his tightly closed eyes. She could hardly believe it. One minute she was trying to help her friend, the next she found herself sprawled atop him like a true scarlet woman, and his response was to laugh at her! She struggled to sit up, smacking him soundly across his stomach and chest until, howling in pain, he released her. She sat up fully and was about to slide off the edge of the bed, leaving him to lick his own well-deserved wounds, when she realized that his hospital robe was still neatly knotted shut.

Gaping, she asked, "Ron, hasn't Madam Pomfrey given you a shot yet?"

She watched him shake his head, still clutching the belly made tender by her recent attack. She sucked in a deep breath, her brows rising high in surprise as she concluded that Ron wasn't really laughing at her—he was still infected!

"Oh, Ron! Oh, no. I'm so sorry . . . I thought . . . oh, how could I be so stupid! You poor thing . . . ." She leaned forward to brush his hair back from his forehead, running her hands down the sides of his face.

Slowly, his moaning stopped, and he opened his eyes to look right at her. She blushed under his frank appraisal, dropping her hands to pat his neck and shoulders in apology. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought he was fully conscious as he looked at her. More shocking was the fact that his gaze held no recrimination. In fact, as Hermione's cheeks heated furiously again, she surmised that he seemed to be looking at her as if she were right where she belonged, at his side, and that he wanted to kiss her.

Brushing the absurd thoughts aside, she laughed out loud at herself and sat back on the bed. She fitted her hip into the notch of his waist and looked first at the floor and then back towards the hospital doors through which Harry had yet to come.

"I mean it, Malfoy," Harry replied softly. "What do you want?"

"I'm a Malfoy, Potter," Draco scoffed. "I want for nothing."

"And yet, you spend the majority of your time shadowing me and my friends." Harry retorted, leaning back against the doorframe as he confidently crossed his arms over his chest. "So tell me, Malfoy, do you have some ulterior motive here or are you simply harboring a love that dare not speak its name?"

Draco nearly turned purple as he looked from Harry's confident stance to Goyle's confused expression, but he looked absolutely apoplectic as he turned to Crabbe, who had turned his face into the corner of the wall to smother his giggles.

Smacking his henchman on the arm he screamed, "What the bloody hell are you laughing at?"

Crabbe rubbed his upper arm with an absent hand as he fought to control himself. Pointing towards Harry with his opposite hand, he answered, "He just asked if you had a crush on him, Draco! And we do seem to follow him around quite a bit . . . ."

"Oh, really, Crabbe?" Malfoy asked menacingly. "We do, huh? Are you trying to tell me something, mate?"

"What?" Crabbe asked, his face falling immediately as he glanced anxiously between Malfoy and Harry. "No, Draco . . . no! You know that . . . I'm just here for the pride of Slytherin . . . to keep the Gryffindors in their place—"

"That's right!" Malfoy added, popping him in the chest. "And don't you forget it."

"Oh . . . go easy on the boy, Draco," a silky voice interjected. "We can't all be as clever as you."

The four boys turned to watch Pansy Parkinson sashay back onto the scene. Tapping a flimsy scroll against her open palm with one hand, a slow smile broke across her features. Unfurling the parchment slowly, Pansy handed the document to Draco with a sly glance. "Just a little love-note from the Head of Slytherin, Draco . . . I thought you'd be intrigued."

Taking up the spot between Crabbe and Goyle, Harry watched as Pansy leaned back against the wall opposite himself. Licking her lips in malicious glee, she sized him up coyly before bursting into giggles.

Drawing himself up defensively, Harry fought the impulse to rip the paper from Malfoy's hands. He had only just counted silently to ten when Draco finally looked up from the parchment, sharing a wicked grin with his fellow Slytherins. Stepping forward to face Pansy, he asked in a low voice, "This is from Professor Snape? But it's signed here by Dumbledore . . . ."

"I was sent by Professor Snape to collect one, Harry James Potter, to Dumbledore's office." Letting her mouth curl into a disgruntled pout, she added, "It's in preparation for the Second Task . . . some preliminary examination, Professor Snape said."

Malfoy shared her frown for a moment before turning back to Harry. "It would seem your presence is required elsewhere, Potter." Malfoy replied, holding the parchment out to Harry. "It seems as if we shall have the duty of escorting you to the Headmaster's office as well."

Tearing the parchment from his hands, Harry quickly scanned the note. Easily verifying Dumbledore's script with a glance, Harry looked first up at the Slytherins and then back at the hospital wing doors. "Alright," he replied finally, rolling the parchment between his hands, "I'll go to the Headmaster's directly." Turning, he moved to enter the hospital wing.

"And where do you think you're going now, Potter?" Malfoy inquired, the malice behind his words stopping Harry in his tracks.

Turning sideways to face him, his hand on the doorknob, Harry replied, "I'm just going to tell Hermione where I've gone. Why? Miss me already, Malfoy?"

Laughing bitterly, Draco answered, "You wish, Potter."

"Besides," Pansy interjected, moving forward to draw a finger down the length of the scroll, "that's not in the plan, Potter."

"Oh?" Harry asked, growing annoyed with Pansy's forward behavior. This was the same tart that was responsible for his friend's infection, and he wasn't going to forget it any time soon. Ron was the first friend Harry had ever made—he was brave, he was loyal, and he was one of a kind. He treasured his friendship like nothing else in the whole wide world. There was no way any of these Slytherin slags were ever going to put him in danger again; he'd make sure of that. "And what exactly is the plan, patsy?"

"Pansy." She corrected.

"He knew that." Malfoy pointed out, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

Huffing softly, Pansy clarified, "My orders were to remove you directly to the Headmaster's office, Potter. Professor Snape was emphatically clear; you are not to tell either Weasley or that chipmunk upstart Granger where you are going. He sent Slytherins to do the job because he knew we could guarantee this level of . . . discretion."

"Better a chipmunk than a pug-faced bitch, Pansy." Harry said vehemently. "And no one would ever accuse you of being discreet."

"Stand down, Potter." Malfoy interjected, watching Pansy's face turn a mottled shade of magenta. "You read the note yourself. You'd better hurry along now with Crabbe and Goyle before you disappointment your hero Dumbledore."

"Pug-faced!" Pansy screeched, refusing to be put off. "Pug-faced? You know what, Potter? You're right. In your world, where a bucktoothed Mudblood is considered preferable, I'll take your insult. By comparison alone, the rest of the wizarding world must think I'm Aphrodite herself."

"Just thinking it won't make it so," Harry answered quickly, refusing to let this foul-mouthed harpy abuse his friends. "You should just get over yourself, Parkinson, because you're never going to be as loyal, as smart, or as bloody BEAUTIFUL as Hermione!"

"You—!" Pansy began, sputtering incoherently as she attempted to form a verbal attack. She was distracted by Goyle's barely contained chuckles. Rushing over to him, she grasped his arm in her claw-like grip and shook him violently. "What are you laughing at, you halfwit?"

Goyle shook off her grasp, taking deep breaths to calm his chuckles. Meeting her glance with a defiant look, he bellowed, "Well, he's got a point, doesn't he? You'll never be as loyal or smart as Hermione . . . not to him! And if you could see your face right now you'd see you're not in the best of looks either."

Huffing in fury, Pansy reached into the sleeve of her robes to remove the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. Wringing it between stern hands, she finally unleashed her temper upon Goyle by beating him about the shoulders and face with the rolled-up newspaper. She howled in outrage as Crabbe came up behind her to pick her up, holding her back from doing anymore damage to his fellow henchman.

"Goyle," Malfoy interjected. "Perhaps you should go ahead and take Potter to Dumbledore's office while Crabbe and I calm Pansy."

Before Harry could fully protest, Goyle had moved forward to twist his arm behind his back. "Come along, you Gryffindor git," he mumbled, pushing Harry away from the door and down the hall.

"This isn't over, Malfoy!" Harry called over his shoulder. "You will have your time with the Headmaster . . . I'll see to it!"

Draco watched them depart until they had turned the corner before turning back to Crabbe and Pansy. He rolled his eyes at the pair, noting that the once kicking and screeching Pansy now stood within the circle of Crabbe's arms with her head bowed forward, listening to his fervent whispers which reassured her that she was beautiful when she was angry and that Goyle must have spent too much time in the hospital wing with the Gryffindors to show such disloyalty to her.

"You'll see," he finished quietly, his arms loosening around her until she was standing on her own. "Those Gryffs must've enchanted his bandage or something. By tomorrow we'll all be back to normal."

"True," Pansy agreed quietly, stepping out of Crabbe's arms while smoothing her hair down.

"Right," Malfoy interjected. "All will be back to normal tomorrow, but I want to have some fun today."

Moving towards the hospital wing doors, Malfoy pauses as he feels a hand grip his elbow.

"Draco?" Pansy asks quietly before biting her lower lip, obviously confused by his cryptic declaration.

"Now that you've regained your senses, you should hurry along to make sure Potter gets to his destination un-bruised," Malfoy told her. "I have some unfinished business here with the Weasel."

"Oh, Draco," she squealed. "Let me stay and play, please!"

Draco shook his head sadly, pointing towards the end of the hall. "I'd like to say yes, Pansy, but you're expected with Potter. Professor Snape won't be pleased if the person he sent doesn't return."

"I know," she answered quietly, her lower lip protruding slightly. "But you'll tell me everything at dinner, right?"

Draco's smile lit up the hall as he moved to open the door. "Sure . . . if you're good." He teased.

Rolling her eyes softly before returning his grin, Pansy moved to link arms with Crabbe. "Come along, Crabbe. Let's see if we can catch up to them."

He watched them march down the hallway, before turning back to the doors. Making sure to make no noise, he slipped through the doorway and padded across the floor to Ron's partition.

Harry's voice carried into the sickroom, and Hermione froze over Ron as she was tucking his sheets under his arms. Meeting his startled gaze, she collapsed on the bed beside Ron in a fit of giggles, leaning heavily against his side.

Ron could only stare up at her, at her face which was so close to his own that her laughter wafted across his cheeks in warm puffs. He felt the heat seeping into his skin as he realized that her arms now bracketed his body, with her left hand resting just inside the elbow of his right arm, and her right hand nestled beside his left shoulder. He noted the way her hair shook around her shoulders as she was wracked by mirth.

The curls fell forward, tantalizingly close to the knuckles of his raised right hand. He watched as his fingers flexed slowly before capturing a nearby curl, tugging it softly as he allowed the strands to slip between the pads of his fingers. He dropped the curl guiltily as she suddenly sat back, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. Breathing slowly, she finally turned her gaze to his.

"Oh yes…I am so beautiful." Hermione joked. "Aren't you just enthralled by my beauty, Ron?"

Rolling her eyes in disbelief, Hermione laughed softly as Pansy's piercing shrieks of fury ricocheted through the sickroom along with the loud—thwack!—her copy of the Daily Prophet made as she slapped the recalcitrant Goyle about the shoulders for his impertinence.

Somehow, Ron managed to block the noise from his mind as he finally allowed himself to focus on Hermione. He looked at her then, watched as her head tilted just so as she chuckled self-deprecatingly. He marveled at the way the sunlight sparkled off of her white smile and golden skin. She ran her hands through her hair, fluffing the maddening curls with wicked glee before moving to lean over him to reach something that had caught her eye, causing him to inhale quickly in surprise.

She picked up his peaked hat from the bedside table and fiddled with the tip absently as she moved back, shifting her small hips to seat herself more firmly on the bed, just inside the notch between his hips and lower ribs. Finally, her honey-glazed eyes caught his and her lips shifted into a cheeky grin, inviting him to join her in a laugh.

He stared at her, feeling something inside him go still. He recognized it as his own fear, his trepidation about acting on the growing tendrils of attraction that were snaking their way from his heart to hers, binding him to Hermione with an inexpressible desire. Ron steeled himself against what he knew was coming. His features settled into a determined expression as he felt the words humming through his veins, manipulating his vocal chords, and stealing his breath. Swallowing briefly, his gaze fell to admire her tiny hands as they rested on her knee, manipulating his hat with slight fingers, before he finally moved his hand over hers, stroking the skin with a light, reverent touch.

Softly, he replied, "Yes, Hermione. I am."

Hermione sat up straight, nearly withdrawing her hand in shock.

"What did you say?" She choked out, her golden eyes glistening with restrained emotion as they met and caught his own.

Taking a deep breath before cupping her hand with his full palm, Ron steeled himself against her reaction. Now, as before, the words came unbidden from his mouth, but he spoke slowly and clearly, daring her to scorn him.

"I said yes, Hermione," Ron replied, pausing to swallow, hard, before continuing. "I am enthralled by your beauty."

After the words left his mouth, self-doubt returned full-force to the forefront of his mind. He watched her wordlessly, his fears plainly marring his face as he monitored her reaction.

Her mouth opened briefly in shock before snapping itself shut. His heart nearly cleaved itself in two as she withdrew her hand from beneath his own. He watched her press it against her stomach as if she were struggling to breathe, and as he raised his eyes to her face her eyes burned into his with a fervor he couldn't define. His lungs began to burn painfully, and his chest felt impossibly full, weighted down by the force of his words. He felt, rather than saw, her other hand slowly creep into his own as her face slowly, finally, broke into a smile.

"Honestly, Ron?" She breathed girlishly, blushing as she boldly interlaced her fingers with his.

"Honestly, Hermione," he answered eagerly, squeezing her hand to emphasize his words.

The pair barely reacted as the partition parted to admit a newcomer.

"Ah . . . what a surprise," a ferrety voice invaded the space, causing them to drop one another's hand in response. As Malfoy took in the scene his face cracked into a glee-filled smirk. "Oh . . . so that's how it is, Granger."

Straightening her back, but refusing to rise from the hospital bed, Hermione met his gaze full on, tossing her head at his impertinence.

"What are you implying, Malfoy?" She asked haughtily.

"Just relishing the evidence of what I've suspected all along, Granger." Malfoy rejoined.

"Oh?" Hermione scoffed. "Enlighten me—which suspicions generally occupy the ferret mind?"

Gaze hardening, he replied, "Well, you do get around, don't you, Granger? First Potter, then Krum, and now . . . trading down, I see."

Ron felt Hermione's body stiffen almost imperceptibly as she scathingly sputtered, "You pompous—git! Your ignorance is staggering."

Malfoy slowly paced before them, stalking his prey. Finally, he came to a stop by the window, leaning his slight frame against it before continuing.

"So . . . they pass you between them, eh? I didn't realize that you liked to play it fast and loose like that, Mudblood."

"You're disgusting!" She snarled, almost leaping off of the bed at him. Ron stayed her with a hand on her leg and another on her waist, sitting up to hold her in a loose embrace. Gripping his hands with her own, she stilled her movements, fighting to catch her breath. Her face flushed, and her eyes flashed indignantly. Dropping her voice into softer tones, she continued.

"What rubbish! Your home-life must be simply deranged, Malfoy."

"Hmm . . . what's disturbing, Granger, is that Potter doesn't seem to be aware of this . . . development." Draco said, his mouth curling into a feral grin. Tapping a finger against his chin, he pretended to ponder the situation. "Perhaps he should be . . . ."

"Oh, stuff it, ferret!" Ron and Hermione cried simultaneously. Surprised, they caught one another's eye. Blushing furiously in response, suddenly shy, they hastily looked away. Mindful of the exchange, Malfoy's smirk blossomed into a spiteful grin.

"Okay, you two aren't together." He amended slyly. "You just snog a bit here and there?"

He watched them scoff and regrouped, pushing home his point with a skeptically raised eyebrow.

"Hmm," he continued, tilting his head to one side. "Maybe not . . . but you definitely want to!"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione folded her arms across her chest and huffed. Almost as an aside she growled, "Tend to your henchmen, Malfoy. Psychology is obviously not your forte."

Ignoring her, Malfoy continued, his gaze seizing on the look of growing concern and guilt that marred Ron's rueful face. Seizing upon the weakness, Malfoy went in for the kill.

"I'm right, aren't I, Weasley? You can barely wait to be alone with Granger here . . . to start a brood of ginger-nap brats, no doubt."

Ron's soft, "Yes," was completely dwarfed by Hermione's impassioned response.

"What?" She growled menacingly. "You're absolutely mental!"

Laughing softly, Malfoy replied, "Sounds like a case of the lady protesting too much, though no one could ever mistake you for a lady, Granger."

Stepping closer to the bed, he watched Ron's embrace tighten, restraining Hermione from attacking him.

"I hate to be trite," she finally ground out in response, "but I'm more of a man than you'll ever be, and more of a lady than you'll ever get, you cretin!"

Ignoring her outburst, he caught Ron's gaze and continued.

"What about you, Weasley? Ever thought about snogging Miss Granger here?"

"Malfoy . . . ." Hermione warned. She paused as Ron's grip tightened on her waist. Looking up, she saw Ron's eyes close, shutting tightly as he obviously struggled to contain something. She was about to continue when his soft, breathy response cut her short.

"Yes." He replied solemnly, turning to look at Malfoy dead on.

"Oh, we have a live one!" Malfoy crowed.

"Stop it, Malfoy," Hermione demanded, raising her hand absently to brush Ron's hair back from his face. Steeling herself against Malfoy's vindictiveness, she finished. "—that's enough."

Gracing her with a nasty expression, Malfoy replied. "Not until I say when, Mudblood."

Seating himself upon the bedside chair, Malfoy took up a serious pose before continuing.

"Now, Mr. Weasley . . . you say you've thought about snogging Miss Granger, but have you ever acted on your . . . desires?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Hermione interjected, even as Ron calmly replied, "No."

"See, Malfoy?" She continued, "You just—"

"Did you want to?" Malfoy interrupted, raising his steepled fingers before his face as he slumped low in his chair. His eyes bored into Ron's as if they alone could ferret out the information.

"Yes." Ron responded clearly, inspiring a shocked gasp from Hermione.

"Ron?" She whispered, her face wrinkling in concern.

"When?" Malfoy broke in excitedly, "—this morning; last week; the Yule Ball?" Getting no immediate response from his rapid fire questions, he settled on one final inquiry.

"Okay, Weasley. How often do you think about it?"

"Draco, just stop—!" Hermione interjected, pleading softly.

"Every . . . Everyday." Ron answered defiantly, lifting his chin and daring Draco to ridicule him. Still, he was unable to look the object of his affection in the eye, fearful of seeing nothing but pity or disgust there.

While the Veritaserum forced him to answer, he was determined to show Malfoy that he was not ashamed. While he might never be worthy of Hermione's returned affection, he had felt something pass between them that convinced him to hope. He loved her . . . he would not fear it.

She deserved no less than his Gryffindor best.

"Just everyday?" Malfoy wheedled. "What about the nights?"

Hermione balked at his suggestive leer. "You pervert," she accused menacingly. "Just stop it! Stop putting words in his mouth—!"

"Yes." Ron answered firmly, raising his voice in conviction. "Every night since . . . before the Yule Ball."

Hermione looked at him in surprise, her face revealing her internal struggle as she too dared to hope. Ron could tell that she wanted his words to be true, but, dishearteningly, she couldn't quite believe that they were.

"Priceless!" Malfoy shouted gleefully. "And you've never acted on your impulses?"

Ron met Hermione's gaze, smiling softly as it caught and held his own.

"Ron," she spoke softly, "you don't have to—"

Ron found himself answering with an apologetic quirk of his lips, "No."

"Not yet?" Malfoy goaded.

"No," Ron answered, his hands tightening on Hermione's body, willing her to feel the truth behind his words. "Not yet."

Her mouth parted slightly in a gasp.

"Would you like to?" Draco prompted.

Hermione broke from Ron's gaze to cast a disgusted look at Draco.

It was all his fault, she thought—the dashing of her dreams. Finally, Ron was saying the words that seeped into her love-starved heart, but they were all lies . . . a manipulation at the hands of a sad, inbred, hateful little ferret. She couldn't allow herself to be a party to this manipulation, no matter how hard her heart cried to be satisfied. By losing herself in this selfish fantasy, she could kill everything, every possible chance at a future they could have together. She had to remain strong; she had to protect him.

"Draco," she muttered. "You loathsome, little . . . ."

"Yes." Ron interjected, flushing slowly.

Ron's words cut straight through her heart, paining her. Her mind flashed forward to a day when he would mean these words. She wondered fervently if he had ever really wanted to kiss her. Was she really such an awful person for hesitating, for pretending, if only for a moment, that they were back in the Gryffindor Common Room after the Yule Ball and that, instead of fighting he had simply seized her face with his hands and kissed her? Kissed her until her hair streamed over her shoulders, enveloping their faces as she clung to him with desperate hands; kissing him back as if her heart would fail if they were to ever stop. Taking a deep breath, she pushed aside these hopes and dreams, fighting to salvage the future and Ron's vulnerable pride.

In the interim, Malfoy leaned forward and continued.

"Then do so," he commanded matter-of-factly. "Kiss her," he urged, laughing softly to himself.

Ron's hands tightened on her frame, pulling her closer with a shy sort of determination. He focused his gaze on her mouth, watching the corners twitch with indecision and concern. He knew that it wasn't the best time; it was never part of the plan to share this special moment with the ferret standing less than six feet away. He had pictured something far more intimate . . . catching her by surprise as she laughed softly at one of his jokes, for example. She had always exuded a 'come kiss me' vibe whenever she had wantonly let go and let herself enjoy his company or perspective. They were moments when he felt like she really understood him, and that maybe her rule-conscious demeanor was simply a shield that protected her from getting hurt . . . by him.

Maybe she held herself so rigidly because she feared he would recoil from her softness as he had in the past? He thought back to the Buckbeak incident, cringing as he recalled patting her on the head when he had wanted to hug her back, absorbing her grief like his school robes did her tears. How often had he emphasized their friendship over their relationship? How often had he held her at a distance, so scared that if she got close enough she would see the inner longing of his heart and laugh at him for presuming that she could ever love him? Or that he could ever deserve even half of her affection?

It wasn't the best moment, but it was the right time. If he backed down now she would always believe that his feelings were a lie. And even with the supposed Gryffindor courage, would he ever again get to the point where he could, and would, express to her, so freely, exactly what he wanted and felt? He had to let her know it wasn't a lie . . . that neither his emotions nor his desires were the product of Draco's prompting. Sliding his hand through her hair to cup the back of her neck, his face a mask of determination, Ron concentrated on her mouth. Taking a deep breath, he watched them flex and draw across her teeth as they formed silent words.

Bracing her hand on his chest, squirming in his arms as she saw the raw determination settle over his features, she tried to catch Ron's gaze and plead logic against the power of the overwhelming influences that must be clouding his brain.

"Ron? . . . Ron, please—" She whispered, breathless.

But he was already turning his head, rushing forward to bump his lips against her own. With his eyes squeezed shut, refusing to meet her gaze lest it be filled with disgust and recrimination, he pressed his lips hard against hers desperately. He drew back almost immediately, hand dropping to his side as he finally opened his eyes and faced her reaction.

He scanned her face nervously, cursing himself for being so sloppy. He watched as she raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes looking both at and through him in shock and awe. He couldn't believe he'd finally done it. Did she like it, he wondered desperately as his mind raced. Was it awful? Should he apologize? Or should he banish Malfoy from the room and demand that she return the favor?

Hermione gazed at him, her eyes burning softly with the first prick of tears. It had been a clumsy kiss, but so sweet and heartfelt—much like Ron himself. She wanted to smile tremulously at him, but as she caught his gaze she could see the anxiety radiating from his face, and it nearly broke her heart.

He was horrified by what he'd done, and she'd enjoyed it. How could she be so insensitive? Of course, he was horrified! He'd never shown any signs of wanting her to kiss him before. His actions had been orchestrated by a petty Malfoy, and she had dared to reap the benefits. But, she hadn't really. She was too stunned to even try to kiss him back; she had merely received his kiss. Maybe he didn't know how much the kiss, or even the semblance of a real kiss meant to her. Maybe she could play it off, and shield his pride. Though they might never speak of it again, at least she had the bittersweet memory of his warm, firm mouth pressed so passionately against hers. It would have to be enough for her, because she loved him too much to give him up for good.

Softly breaking his embrace, Hermione turned to face Draco with a cold, aloof expression. "Happy now, ferret?" She asked quietly, her dignity surrounding her in an impenetrable shield.

Looking between her disdain and Ron's shame-faced guilt, Malfoy smiled. "I'd be happier still if I had Creevey's camera! But, I suppose I'll have to be content without physical proof."

Backing away with a confident step, Draco tilted his head to the side while a wicked expression crossed his face. "Who knows? Maybe I can conjure something up!" Tapping the tip of his wand against his temple, he suggested, "A pensieve, perhaps?"

Laughing heartily, Draco relished Ron and Hermione's distraught expressions. He could tell that Hermione knew exactly what he meant, and that her certainty drove the knife of fear more deeply into Weasley's heart. Draco veritably skipped across the room to the hospital wing doors, stopping only to add, "We'll have to do this again, sometime!"

His cackling subsided as he neared the exit, leaving Ron and Hermione in an oppressive silence.

Slowly pulling her wand from her sleeve, Hermione trained the point of the wand on Malfoy's back. Turning to catch Ron's fear-filled eyes, she whispered reassuringly, "Don't worry, Ron. I'll protect you."

With that, she leapt from the bed, calling Malfoy's name shrilly. As his hand caught the doorknob, he turned to look back at her. Eyes widening in surprise, he had no time to react before the spell slipped past her lips.

"Obliviate," she said forcefully.