Really, How Bad Could it Be?
Okay, so one minute he was dripping wet, water sucking at his clothes, slowly making his way to the shore. The next thing Ron knew he was back in the water, with a weight on his chest and pressure on his mouth. Then, he was pulled up and wouldn't you know it – there he was again dripping wet with water sucking at his clothes.
Only this time there was something different. Quite an important 'different' actually. Ron seemed to have acquired an extra pair of lips. Reaching out tentative hands he noted that these extra lips appeared to belong to a body as equally soggy as his own. Ron snatched his hands back quickly, scared of what he might touch if he continued his investigation. At this stage, ignorance was most definitely bliss.
Well, this was certainly an interesting development.
Ron's life was nothing, if not eventful.
He vaguely considered opening his eyes. Then, thought better of it. It was much easier to deny his own existence, the existence of the person that was currently attempting to suck Ron's lungs out via his mouth, and the existence of the many no doubt gawking spectators, if Ron kept his eyes tightly shut. He squeezed them a bit tighter just to make sure that nothing slipped past the closed lids.
No, on the whole Ron thought it best if he kept them well and truly shut for now. He was pretty sure if he was in any real danger – if it was a Dementor, for example – then someone would have mentioned it. And, Ron was also sure, that if it had been one of those joy-sucking bastards then he probably wouldn't have felt quite as cheerful as he did. And there was no denying that Ron was definitely feeling fairly buoyant.
After all, the salient point to take from this situation was that Ron was being snogged. And frankly a snog was a snog. Ron had no delusions. He was quick to recognise what could quite possibly be his one chance for a little tongue on tongue action. So, when his mystery assailant bit lightly on Ron's bottom lip before running their warm tongue eagerly over it, Ron gave a mental shrug and opened his mouth.
As his attacker continued to thoroughly investigate every inch of his mouth, Ron took time to first enjoy the moment (Merlin, that felt good) and then, to consider their possible identity.
Could it be Hermione? Perhaps, seeing Ron in mortal danger had finally made her realise how much she really loved him?
Yeah, right! She was much more likely to be off somewhere doing this to Viktor Krum.
Hey, maybe it was Fleur. That would be brilliant.
Right, and as about as likely as Draco Malfoy turning out to be straight.
Still, whoever it was, they certainly knew what they were doing.
And on that happy note Ron came to a major decision.
Bugger it, he thought, he had to find out eventually – and really how bad could it be?
Ron opened his eyes.
He woke up a short time later in the Hospital Wing.
Apparently, it could be VERY, VERY bad…
Hermione was sitting in the chair next to his bed. She didn't look happy.
Ron smiled; it was nice to know that she cared enough to rush to his bedside.
As the minutes passed and Hermione continued to scowl at him, the smile slipped from his lips. Ron took in her folded arms and narrow-eyed glare and shifted uncomfortably under the bed covers. Oh.
"Hi, Hermione," he said plastering on another hopeful smile.
She didn't reply but her eyes did get narrower.
Ron suppressed a groan; there was a very good chance that he was in for a long, painful lecture.
Several minutes passed until finally unable to stand the uncomfortable silence any longer Ron asked, "Hermione, what exactly happened out there?"
Hermione drew herself up and looked like she was about to spit out something sarcastic (Ron was familiar with the look).
"Please," he said quickly in the hope of heading off a tirade. "I have no idea how I got here or how I was injured." And he reached his hand up to the bandage on his head, trying to look as pitiful as possible.
Hermione didn't reply straight away. She was breathing heavily through her nose and still frowning. Ron was just beginning to think he'd be lucky to get out of this alive, when she suddenly seemed to relent. Sighing loudly she uncrossed her arms and slumped back into her chair.
"It was ridiculous really," she finally said huffily. "I don't know why all the boys at this school have to make such a drama out of everything."
Ron felt that was a little unfair. The last boy to 'make a drama' out of something had been Harry and in his defence he was being chased by a fire-breathing dragon at the time. But Ron wasn't feeling brave enough to point that out to Hermione, so he kept quiet.
"What do you remember?" she asked giving him a shrewd look.
Well, this was bloody awkward. No way was Ron admitting to participation of any kind. And the whole issue of who did what to who should probably be avoided too. All in all, total denial seemed like the way to go.
"Well," he said slowly. "I remember helping Harry to rescue Fleur's little sister (Hermione's roll of the eyes let him know that his lame attempt to garner sympathy had bombed spectacularly) and I vaguely recall dragging myself out of the water," he paused noting the glint in Hermione's eyes. They were about to get to the interesting part and it was dawning on Ron that the next few seconds were make or break time (he just really hoped it wouldn't be him doing the breaking).
In life there comes a time when a boy must stand up for what is right, to be steadfast, brave and true.
This was not that time.
"After that it's a complete blank," he said hurriedly and huddled down under the blankets (this was most definitely the time for lies, subterfuge and stunning cowardice).
Hermione was giving him that look again, the one that said she didn't believe him for a second and was very much looking forward to tearing up the tissue of lies he was currently trying to sell (Ron was definitely very familiar with that look).
"So," Hermione said with a cynical curl of her lip. "You're telling me that you don't remember being accosted as you emerged from the water?" Before Ron could respond she continued, "Or crashing back into the water?"
"Well–" Ron started to say but was cut off.
"Oh, and I suppose you can't recall snogging the face off your attacker either?" Hermione had built up a fine head of steam by now and Ron had started to look around for Madam Pomfrey; it would be such a shame if Hermione undid all the medi-witch's efforts by throttling Ron where he lay.
While Ron panicked and looked for help, Hermione carried on talking, describing how nearly (she'd thrown Ron a very nasty look at that point) everyone had reacted with horror at the sudden turn of events, but on recognising who it was that had attacked Ron (not to mention their chosen method of attack) they had all been too shocked to react.
Ron barely heard her over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. It was worse than he ever could have imagined, hearing it told in cold, stark words. Ron felt sick. And it wasn't because the memory horrified him, wasn't because he felt humiliated or violated. Oh no, tears had sprung to his eyes, his stomach lurching and threatening to have him heaving all over the bedclothes because he couldn't forget how good it had felt. Or how something bright and warm had burst inside him when he'd opened his eyes and seen Malfoy. And now he felt sick because he knew that he couldn't tell anyone any of that. Ever.
"Finally –" Hermione's voice broke into Ron's chaotic thoughts and he forced himself to listen, swallowing down his panic. "You came to your senses and pushed the demented git away. And promptly fainted."
Ron supposed he should be embarrassed by that, but well, there were so many things to be embarrassed about in all of this, that fainting would just have to take a number and get in line.
Hermione had paused and when Ron looked up she was watching him intently. "You know," she said slowly. "Everyone panicked when you fell back into the water, half convinced that Malfoy had murdered you, especially when the water turned red."
Death by snog – how novel. Ron bit his lip to keep from giggling. There was a good chance he was a little hysterical by this point. Hermione's next words soon sobered him though.
"That was one of the worst moments of my life," Hermione's voice was barely a whisper and she had lowered her eyes. When she looked back up at Ron they both blushed and then looked hastily away before she brusquely continued.
"Fred and George were the first into the water, followed by several Gryffindors and lastly Snape, who seemed in no particular rush to get to you."
Ron snorted at that; it figured. Greasy git had probably wanted to make sure the Ferret had enough time to finish the job.
"Fred reached Malfoy first and started screaming at him that he'd killed you. Then he and George dived under the water and pulled you out. It looked like you'd hit your head on a rock when you fell, hence all the blood."
Hermione paused again here. "You did look awful you know," she said a moment later growing visibly paler at the memory. "Everyone really thought you were dead. Then Snape finally arrived. He checked you over and then declared, in a clearly disappointed voice, that you were alive. He placed an automotive spell on you and led you up here."
Ron took a few moments to consider what she'd said and then asked, "And what about Malfoy? What was he doing while all this was going on?"
"Well, that was the strange thing." Hermione hesitated, a perplexed look on her face.
"What?" Ron asked worriedly.
"Malfoy." Hermione pinned Ron with an intense look. "Well, wouldn't you have expected him to sneer, or laugh, or at least try to deny it?" She asked.
Ron nodded. Wasn't that what the Slytherin git had done, then?
"But he just stood there, looking paler than I've ever seen him." Hermione paused again and scowled suspiciously at Ron. "In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd say he was in shock." She narrowed her eyes and scowled deeper.
"What are you looking at me for?" Ron yelped indignantly. "How do I know why the daft git was acting so weird?"
Then he had a sudden inspiration. "Hey! Maybe he was under Imperius and had just come out of it. He was probably appalled when he realised it was me he'd kissed."
It was a clear indication of Ron's own inability to deal with this whole incident that he would much rather believe that the Slytherin bastard had been in shock at the thought that he'd kissed Ron rather than the fact that he might have killed him.
Hermione snorted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Yeah right, and what's your excuse!"
Ron chose to rise above it and ignore it.
"No," she continued shaking her head slowly. "You didn't see his face when they pulled you out." And, biting her bottom lip thoughtfully, Hermione glanced at the white screen that surrounded the bed next to Ron's.
Ron had noticed the screen when he'd woken up, but hadn't really thought much about it, assuming it was surrounding some poor kid who'd swallowed the wrong potion or hexed himself in Charms. Turning to look at the screen now, a sudden suspicion darted into Ron's head.
"Hermione," he asked warily. "Exactly where is Malfoy now?"
Hermione didn't reply but she did nod at the screen.
Ron was horrified. "You mean –?" He started to say loudly but then suddenly remembering who was in the next bed, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "You mean he's been right there all this time?"
Hermione nodded again.
"What!" Ron tried to keep his voice low, but it was difficult; quiet and restrained did not come easily to Ron. "So he's heard our entire conversation?" He felt himself turn beetroot red from the navel up.
"So what, Ron." Hermione had gone back to sounding scathing. "It's not as if any of this is news to him. He was there after all; or have you forgotten who it was you were snogging?"
Ron felt himself turn even redder and whispered frantically, "Please, Hermione, keep your voice down."
She snorted in response and then continued, "It's okay, he can't hear you. He's been sedated." Hermione rolled her eyes at that and mumbled, "Bloody drama queen" under her breath.
Ron frowned, "But why was he sedated?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes and hit him with a look that screamed 'you tell me'.
And, for some reason, Ron felt a sudden surge of guilt. Which was so unfair. After all, all Ron had done was nearly drown – been rescued – nearly drowned again – been rescued again – been snogged – nearly drowned again – been rescued again – been put to bed.
Why should he feel guilty?
Taking a deep breath, and trying to sound calm he asked, "Please, Hermione tell me why he –" and Ron cocked his head at the next bed "was sedated."
Still looking less than pleased Hermione told him. Told him how Malfoy had been so hysterical at the sight of Ron's seemingly lifeless and blood-soaked body that he had had to be restrained and then sedated by Dumbledore.
"Oh." It was spoken in a very small voice. Ron wished he hadn't asked.
"So, Ronald," Hermione straightened in her chair and tightened her arms across her chest, almost as if she was struggling with the urge to reach out and strangle him. "Now would you care to share with me why it took you three minutes and thirty seconds to push that pointy-faced bastard off you?"
Ron was a bit shocked by her language (and more than a little worried about her apparent tendency to carry stopwatches about her person) but he was even more concerned by his own inability to come up with a plausible answer to her question.
"Shock?" He said uncertainly.
Ron suspected it wasn't quite the answer Hermione had been looking for when she let out a strangled cry, grabbed the nearest thing – which unfortunately turned out to be her chair – and threw it across the room. Ron was good at picking up on these little nuances; sometimes he thought he might have a sixth sense for them.
Hermione then proceeded to scream, "Fine! I hope you and Malfoy will both be very happy!" And marched from the room.
Yes, Ron was definitely sensing hostility.
It had been sometime since Hermione's abrupt departure and Ron was sitting alone casting furtive glances at the screen and flinching every time he heard a movement from the other bed.
This was not good. Not good at all.
Just then a bustle of activity over by the door distracted him. Madam Pomfrey was heading a strange procession towards the bed opposite to his own. A dripping body hung in the air behind her, followed by a scowling Snape.
Ron could just make out what the greasy git was mumbling under his breath, "Better things to do with my time than to levitate stupid Gryffindors around the place. If I'd wanted a balloon I would have gone to Hogsmeade and bought one."
By this time the body had been dropped unceremoniously onto the bed and the irate professor strode out of the ward still muttering to himself.
Madam Pomfrey was waving her wand over the boy in the bed and saying a drying charm when Ron finally recognised who it was. He sat up straighter trying to get a better look.
When the medi-witch had finished with the incantation and had settled the new arrival under the covers Ron spoke up. "Madam Pomfrey," he asked. "What's wrong with Harry?"
She turned to Ron and smiled. "No need to be concerned, Mr Weasley, he's just suffering from a mild case of hypothermia. Some Pepper-up tonic when he wakes and he'll be fine."
Ron frowned. "But what happened? How did he get hypothermia?" The lake had been fairly cold but not enough to land anyone in hospital (well, not unless you'd been sexually assaulted by a rabid Slytherin).
"Ah, well that was a little unfortunate." Madam Pomfrey blushed as she spoke. "It seems that when the incident between yourself and Mr Malfoy first occurred, Mr Potter had been, um, somewhat taken aback and had fainted. Sadly, no one noticed." She hung her head, looking ashamed and Ron wondered for a moment exactly what the medi-witch herself had been doing at the time.
"Apparently, Mr Potter had then floated out towards the middle of the lake. The mer people came across him and kindly towed him back to shore, leaving him on the bank. Professor Snape found him there when he went back down to the lake to check for stragglers."
And, with that, she walked into her office leaving Ron to consider her words.
So, he'd finally done it. Ron had finally succeeded in eclipsing Harry with something that he had done.
He lay down and placed his head under his pillow.
But why, why, why did it have to involve Malfoy, tongues and a bloody audience of hundreds?