Chapter 5. In which Draco decides to go for it...
Breakfast at the Gryffindor table was very subdued. Harry lifted his head and looked around the hall. Actually, it was pretty subdued everywhere. For a moment, his eyes rested on the Slytherin table. Draco wasn't there. Harry wondered if he was still in the Infirmary with Ron - Ron - he squeezed his eyes shut.
"He's probably camping outside the Infirmary. Poor sod!"
Harry looked up quickly. Seamus was sitting across from him. He was talking to Dean and nodding towards Draco's empty seat.
"Wait." Dean suddenly looked worried.
Everyone was looking now.
"Do kisses while one of them is unconscious count?"
Harry looked down the length of the table; everyone seemed uncommonly interested in this conversation. He began to suspect that perhaps he wasn't the remarkably observant person he thought he was.
"No, definitely not." Seamus was shaking his head adamantly. "They both have to be fully conscious and acting of their own free will or it doesn't count." Noticing Harry's wide-eyed stare, he suddenly turned towards the other wizard and asked, "So, Harry, when are you going to join the sweepstake? If you have some insider information that you might be willing to share, I may be able to offer you a discount."
Harry leant down and started to bang his head on the table. Seamus nodded approvingly.
The next five days were a difficult, anxious time for everybody. Madam Pomfrey found herself swamped by a constant stream of concerned enquiries from the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws; the Slytherins naturally kept their distance.
On the second day, Dumbledore smiled as he watched Neville Longbottom whispering the latest report from the Infirmary into Pansy Parkinson's ear. Miss Parkinson was doing a remarkable job of pretending he wasn't there and she wasn't listening, but the old wizard nodded absently as he watched her right hand reach out and give the boy's sleeve a slight tug before he walked away. And Dumbledore was particularly heartened by the way the entire table leant forward as one, and listened intently, as the dark haired girl began to talk.
The Weasleys of course, were keeping a constant vigil at Ron's bedside. Ginny, had been excused from lessons, and Bill and Charlie had both arrived at The Burrow during that first night, and had brought her and the twins back to Hogwarts with them the next morning.
Three others joined them before classes, between classes and after classes; indeed if it hadn't been for a rather stern lecture the first day from Professor McGonagall, it would have included during classes too. The other students had quickly recovered from the shock of seeing Harry Potter and Hermione Granger flanking Draco Malfoy, as they made their way to the Hospital Wing each day. The Slytherins had decided to pretend that they couldn't see them.
Actually, it had come as a bit of a shock to Draco to find himself being welcomed to the Infirmary by Weasley's family. He had expected to be met with hexes and threats, at the very least. But now, he suspected they were all under strict orders from Mrs Weasley to play nicely with him. And he had a feeling that the twins in particular, were having a hard time restraining their natural impulses. But the rest of the family had been nothing but kind to Draco.
He could still recall his own feelings of dawning horror, when he had woken up that first morning to find himself surrounded by Weasleys. Heart thudding in his chest, Draco's whole life had just started to flash painfully past his startled eyes, when Mrs Weasley had stepped forward, pushed the twins firmly out of her way and had kissed Draco on the forehead.
Oh, well that explained it - clearly this was all some sort of weird dream.
"Draco dear, good you're awake. Would you like a cup of tea?" And suddenly he was sitting up, holding a steaming cup in his shaking hands.
Or perhaps not.
Thankfully, everyone's attention, including his own, was soon directed back to the occupant of the other bed. Weasley looked just the same as he had the night before, when Draco had fallen asleep holding his hand. Draco blushed at that; had they all seen him? And then he didn't care. Besides they must have seen him and they hadn't murdered him in his sleep - that was a good sign - right?
Madam Pomfrey had appeared then. "Aah, Mr Malfoy you're awake. Excellent." Everyone seemed unaccountably pleased to see him awake.
She walked to his side and peered closely into his alarmed face, "We seem to have nipped that nasty case of - of…" her voice trailed off and she started to look slightly panicked.
"Arseitis!" A voice in the background supplied.
The medi-witch seemed momentarily nonplussed, then with a slight twitch said, "Quite."
And, before he could say a word, Draco found himself surrounded by a screen and his clothes were being handed to him. More disturbingly, the old witch had paused to cup his face and mumble, "poor dear," before leaving abruptly. Clearly, the entire world had gone mad while he'd been sleeping.
Draco had wasted no time in dressing; loathe as he was to leave Weasley, he suddenly felt like an intruder, and he really needed some time alone to think. But he needed something else too. Taking a deep breath, Draco peered shyly around the edge of the screen. All the Weasleys had their backs to him. For a moment, he was tempted to just slip out unnoticed, but he couldn't; he needed to say something to Mrs Weasley first. Stepping out from behind the screen, he cleared his throat timidly. Several redheads turned in his direction. Draco took a hesitant step, and then, slowly approached Mrs Weasley, who was smiling kindly at him.
"Thank you." His voice felt rough, as if he hadn't used it for a long time. Ducking his head, he suddenly felt lost; what was he supposed to do now? Part of him was shouting run, but a louder, more persistent part was screaming need to see him.
Molly's smile widened as she watched him, and then, she reached forward and took hold of his hand. "Come on, love. I'm sure you're anxious to see how he is." And she led Draco over to her son's bed, past the curious stares of the rest of her family.
As he looked down at Weasley's sleeping face, Draco was overcome with the need to reach out and touch him. Aah, sod it - his reputation was shot anyway. Lifting a trembling hand, he brushed a red strand off the pale forehead and was startled by a snigger. Looking up, he was confronted by a grinning Ginny Weasley on the other side of the bed. If Draco had been surprised by her laugh, then he nearly fell through the floor at her wink.
"Ginny -" Her mother's warning voice soon wiped the smirk from the girl's face, but she continued to stare defiantly at him.
Shaking his head slightly, Draco turned his attention back to the boy in the bed.
"There's been no change." Mrs Weasley had moved closer now, a comforting hand on his back. "But that's a good sign - shows he's fighting it."
Draco turned, a look of grim determination on his face. "He's going to be fine." His tone brooked no argument. Then, not even realising that he'd taken hold of Weasley's hand as he spoke, Draco looked back down at the boy and said. "He has to be."
On the fifth day, his heart stopped.
It was late afternoon, and Dobby had appeared in the middle of Professor McGonagall's lesson, jumping anxiously from foot to foot.
"Dobby is sorry, Professor McGonagalalalgall," (Dobby had no problem starting to say Professor McGonagall's name, he just found it hard to stop) "but the headmaster is sending me." He ran over to Harry's desk and pushed his huge nose into the boy's startled face. "Harry Potter is needed in the Infirmary."
And there it was, right there - the moment that Draco's heart stopped.
It hadn't taken long for it to start beating again though, and so rapidly and loudly that Draco thought his chest would explode, and that McGonagall would yell at him for making so much noise.
Dobby meanwhile had turned his sorrowful eyes to Hermione. "Miss Hermoaney too."
Then he tip-toed rather dramatically over to Draco's desk, and placing a hand at one side of his mouth stated loudly, in what he clearly believed to be a discreet whisper, "Master Draco must come also. But Dobby is not to let anyone else know that."
There were a few nervous sniggers and Draco would have blushed had he not been too concerned by what the sudden summons might mean for Weasley. Turning worried eyes to Harry, he was on his feet instantly and heading for the door without waiting for permission to leave; Harry and Hermione hard on his heels.
They didn't speak as they ran to the Infirmary; unable or at least unwilling to speak their fears. When they reached the large wooden doors all three paused. Taking a collective breath, they stood silently (apart from the sound of their strangled breaths), staring at the implacable wood; what lay beyond it?
Draco felt Hermione slip her hand into his, and looked down to meet fearful eyes. He noticed that she had taken hold of Harry's hand on her other side; with a quick, tense nod they stepped through the doors.
As they walked into the ward, voices greeted them - happy, joyful voices, and then one voice emerged from the babble; croaky and low, but unmistakable and Draco stopped.
Harry and Hermione halted a few steps ahead. Turning back to him, the look on their faces was proof enough that they had heard him too.
Before either one could say anything, Draco shook his head, and speaking quietly, so as not to draw attention to them from the crowd around the bed, said, "I can't, he wouldn't want me here."
Harry stepped forward and started to say something, but Hermione interrupted him. "He's right Harry. Ron doesn't know, it would seem odd."
Then walking back to Draco, she took both his hands in hers, and leaning up, kissed him on the cheek. "But soon Draco…soon."
Smiling shakily at her, Draco gave a hurried nod to Harry, then turned abruptly, and walked quickly out the doors.
Although Ron had been declared out of danger, he was far from being well enough to leave the Hospital Wing; a fact that he bemoaned on a regular basis to anyone who stood still long enough. This, included the specialist summoned from St Mungos to discover how he had managed to contract a disease that he had supposedly been immunised against on a regular basis since birth. It had only taken a handful of tests to ascertain a genetic doobrey (Ron couldn't recall the correct medical term for it) was the culprit and even less potions and waves of a wand to correct it. Ron was naturally relieved that it was nothing serious and even more pleased that it could in no way be blamed on his close association with Muggles.
Ron knew Hermione and Harry (in spite of his father's pureblood ancestry, Harry still thought of himself as Muggle) had felt guilty about the whole 'flu thing, feeling somehow that they were to blame. So, Ron was more than happy to be able to tell them that Healer Peligo had said that, not only had they had no hand in his recent illness, but that his proximity to them, had in fact, likely helped to boost his immune system to Muggle viral agents, and thereby, had in all probability, aided his recent recovery. Or, as Ron had put it, "See. Harry, every time you snotted on me when you had a cold, you were actually doing me a favour." Disgusting as that imagery was, Harry and Hermione had both smiled in relief at his words.
Once all the tests and incantations were over, Ron was more restless than ever; feeling the need to move, to stretch muscles that had lain inert for the better part of two weeks, and he was frustrated by Madam Pomfrey's orders to rest; being still just didn't sit well with Ron. And, to his utter surprise he had come to the realisation that he didn't actually like being popular either; waking up, Ron was appalled to discover himself the centre of so much attention. It was funny really. After all, he'd spent so much time feeling envious of Harry's celebrity, thinking that it would be really cool to be the one in the spotlight for a change. But it turned out that he hated it. As he'd mumbled to Harry at the end of his second week of convalescence, "I don't know how you put up with it, mate." Harry had just shaken his head and grinned (he'd only been trying to tell the pillock that for the last seven years).
Ron couldn't believe the number of visitors he'd been getting and from every House; the day Pansy Parkinson had walked in he'd literally fallen out of his chair. Annoying really, as Madam Pomfrey had chosen to take that as conclusive proof that it was too soon for him to be out of bed. Bloody Slytherins, they were all out to get him.
Parkinson had sniffed snootily down at him, dropped a large bag of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans on his head and mumbled something about thinking she might find Draco there, before wandering out again. Draco - yeah, as if! Ron was half-way through the bag of beans before it suddenly occurred to him – shit, she had – she'd really thought Draco would be there - with Harry. And it all came flooding back.
Pushing the bag of beans away, Ron had slumped down under the bed covers - perhaps Pomfrey was right, maybe he should stay in bed for a while longer.
After that, he couldn't help but notice how often Harry and Hermione mentioned the blond git. Bloody hell, that meant Hermione was in on it now and obviously approved. And now Ron knew, just knew, that they were going to try to convince him too.
Oh hell.
He wondered how difficult it would be to fake a coma.
Ron had been out of the Infirmary for a week and everyone was talking about the upcoming Halloween Ball that Dumbledore had announced the day before in breakfast.
Standing up and waiting for silence, the old wizard had stated that in recognition of a very recent, joyous event – he had paused then to nod in Ron's direction and everyone had started to clap, much to Ron's acute embarrassment – there would be a School Ball at Halloween, instead of the usual feast. And, much to the joy of the lower years, unlike the Yule Ball, this one would be open to all. A loud cheering had broken out then.
A day later and girls were still walking around in clusters, talking excitedly about what they were going to wear, and how they would have their hair on the night. Ron couldn't help but think that if they ever decided to put as much effort into their magic, then Voldemort would be well advised to run screaming in terror at the first sign of a pigtail.
Thankfully, partners weren't compulsory. Ron was very grateful – well, he'd not been well, a boy couldn't be expected to ask someone to a dance when he'd not been well – he didn't have the strength. He tried not to think about who Harry would be going with.
He stopped walking and looked up. He was outside McGonagall's classroom. How did he get here? Ron couldn't even remember leaving the common room.
Suddenly, he remembered the last time he'd stood alone outside this room; a fact that was brought home even more forcibly, when he heard the same two voices that he had heard then floating out the door. Shit, not again. Ron's brain said run, but his heart – stupid, bastard thing – said stay; to his utter self-disgust Ron found himself edging closer to the open door. Bloody brain was such a wuss.
Inside McGonagall's classroom, Harry grinned as he watched Draco pacing nervously back and forth. He had a feeling that the blond boy might have finally reached breaking point.
"Saturday, Harry. It has to be Saturday or I'll never do it." Draco turned to look at Harry, eyes shining with emotion. "Saturday at the Ball I'm going to go for it."
A shadow suddenly fell across the floor as someone walked swiftly past the open door, followed by the sound of running feet. Momentarily distracted, Harry idly wondered who it might have been, then he shifted his attention back to the tense boy in front of him.
"Him, Draco," Harry grinned, "Saturday you're going to go for him."
The other boy blushed and grinned back. Then, fixing a determined look on his face, he gave Harry a quick nod then walked from the room, a definite spring in his step.
Harry shook his head slowly, a smile on his lips. Oh boy, Ron wasn't going to know what hit him.
Ron was breathless by the time he reached his dorm. He had run all the way, spurred on by his desperate need to be alone. Slumping onto his bed he let out a groan, he felt sick. He'd just heard Draco Malfoy declare his intention 'to go for it' at the upcoming Ball. That could only mean one thing - Malfoy and Harry were going to go public. Ron hadn't stuck around to hear anything more. He decided that he really would have to stop listening at doors (and that was the last time Ron let his heart over-rule his brain).
It was no good, he'd have to get out of going to the Ball. There was no way he could stand by and watch them together. The thought alone made him want to vomit - and this time he knew it had nothing to do with the Muggle 'flu. What was it with him and Balls - bad thought Ron, very bad thought! He shook his head grinning ruefully. But it was true; he did seem to have the worse luck when it came to ba- dances.
Ron had tried, he really had. He knew Harry wanted him to be friends with Draco. It had been obvious from the moment he'd woken up in the Infirmary. Harry had taken every opportunity to talk about the blond boy, telling Ron how much the Slytherin had changed. Harry had even tried to tell Ron that Draco had been worried about him while he was ill. Yeah, Ron worried would recover and come between Malfoy and his boyfriend more like.
And, then, Harry had actually dragged Malfoy along with him on a visit. Ron had nearly fallen out of bed when the blond boy had popped out from behind Harry. What was Malfoy trying to do? Give Ron a coronary? It had quickly turned into the most excruciatingly uncomfortable twenty minutes of Ron's life - and Merlin knew Ron was no stranger to embarrassment.
But he'd tried. For Harry's sake he'd tried. The problem was the more Harry talked, the more he attempted to include Draco in their lives, the harder Ron fell. He didn't need his best friend to tell him how much Draco had changed. Ron could see it in every smile, in every nervous glance. This wasn't the cocky Slytherin they'd grown to despise over the years. Where was the arrogant know-it-all who had hidden behind his father's name for so long? - evaporated along with the snide remarks and sneers. In their place was a rather quiet boy, anxious to know Ron and be accepted. No, Ron didn't need Harry to tell him that Draco just wanted a chance. The problem was Ron didn't want to give him a chance, didn't want to accept him - well, not as a friend. And Ron couldn't accept him as Harry's boyfriend. Not when he was pretty sure he was quite possibly, nearly certainly, almost definitely in love with the little bastard himself!
Ron groaned again and turned his head into his pillow. If only he could forget the dreams.
Ever since Ron had woken up in the Infirmary, he had been haunted by the memory of dreams he'd had while sick. They must have been dreams - but they felt so real. Dreams of Draco holding his hand and talking softly to him, pleading with him to get well so Draco could finally tell Ron how he felt. The feel of long fingers sifting through his hair. Of soft lips on his temple, warm breath on his face, tearful words of prayer… 'don't leave me, please don't go…'
And Ron was beginning to wish that he hadn't listened to those pleas, hadn't fought so hard to stay; some days Ron wished he hadn't ever woken up.