CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
Of all the people who might conceivably have taken it upon themselves to visit him in the Infirmary, Ron Weasley was arguably the last person whom Draco would have expected to see. He paused in the act of plucking another seedless grape from the fat bunch that Neville had brought, and eyed Ron with unvarnished curiosity.
"Did you take a wrong turning?" he inquired, after a little pause. Ron glowered at him. Draco felt himself begin to smile. "Or did you, perhaps, drop by to peel me a grape?" He held out the fruit in its battered nest of white paper and watched Ron's pink mouth tighten.
"You're feeling better, then," said Ron, visibly making an effort. He crossed the room with a marked lack of enthusiasm and dragged one of the empty chairs a little further away from Draco's bed before he sat down. Draco watched him quizzically.
"Madame Pomfrey has been her usual zealous self," he said. "I was high as a kite for most of the evening, but I believe that particular potion is wearing off again. The grapes taste almost exactly like grapes now." He popped one into his mouth by way of demonstration.
"Oh." Ron did not appear particularly interested. He licked his lips and fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe, looking everywhere but Draco's face. The space between his freckles was darkening from milk white to an unflattering shade of red with which Draco was familiar. This was all most odd. "Well. It's good you're feeling better."
"Yes," Draco agreed mildly. "Isn't it?"
"I want you to leave Harry alone," Ron said suddenly, the words tumbling over themselves in his haste to be rid of them. There was an embarrassed pause and they stared at one another across the blankets. "I want you to promise that you aren't going to -- you know. Do anything. Lead him on. Try to make him -- well. Like you."
It occurred to Draco, after a startled moment, that gaping like a fish was not one of his more attractive looks. He closed his mouth and searched for an appropriate response that did not involve the use of dark magic.
"Make him like me?" he repeated coldly. "Witty? Urbane? Blond? Devilishly handsome?"
"Irritating, smug, amoral and mean-spirited, I think you mean," replied Ron tartly. "But don't pretend you don't understand me. I've seen the way that you look at him, Malfoy. It's not fair." Ron paused, bit his lip and drew a deep breath. When he continued he had lowered his voice. Someone, Draco reflected, had evidently had a word with him about self-control recently. "Frankly I'm not even sure that I believe this whole gay thing of his -- I think it could be a phase or something. Possibly a spell." He gave Draco a very pointed look. "But either way, I'm not going to let you hurt him. Even if he is a -- even if he's like you, he's still worlds too good for you. He's my best friend. I'll kill you if you hurt him."
Draco stared.
"You are - let me get this straight, as it were; you are asking me whether my intentions are honourable?"
"Hardly," snapped Ron. "I'm telling you to stay the hell away from my friend. He's acting like a love-struck idiot, and it's perfectly obvious why. You've been flirting with him like a, like a veela ever since you came back to school, only I was too damned stupid to recognise it at first. It wasn't until Ginny said that - " His eyes widened. "In fact -- good grief." He drew in a sharp breath. "You've been flirting with him for years."
"I most certainly have not!" exclaimed Draco indignantly.
"Yes you have." Ron looked thoroughly astonished at this sudden revelation. "But -- but it's all wrong. I know you're just messing around -- you just like the attention, just like getting the upper hand every bloody time. It's all about power with you, Malfoy. You can't help it. But Harry isn't like that, and he doesn’t get it. He thinks you're something special -- he's got some stupid romantic idea about you." Ron looked like the words scorched his tongue. "It's not enough that he thinks he's gay -- he has to be gay and obsessing over Draco Malfoy. Even though you were choosing bloody treacherous Death Eater wannabes instead of him."
"Shut. Up."
"You're going to hurt him, but I'm not going to sit back and let it happen, damn it. I'm telling you. Don't. Just -- don't. Just leave him alone."
In the ensuing pause, Draco maintained his composure with some difficulty. He forbore to mention that Potter had very clearly managed to get over whatever fleeting crush he had once harboured.
"And what," he said at last, in a vicious tone that was entirely too like his father's for comfort, "in the name of all that's magical, makes you imagine for the briefest of moments that I would ever pay a blind bit of notice to what you want or don't want? The great respect I feel for you? The sheer terror instilled by the thought of incurring the wrath of Weasley? A sudden attack of unprecedented philanthropy?"
"Are you going to make this difficult?" asked Ron, coldly.
"Yes," replied Draco, after a moment's reflection. "Yes, I rather think that I am."
"Malfoy, if you don't promise to leave him alone I will make you regret it. I swear it." To his credit, Ron looked entirely serious and actually a little intimidating. "Promise me you won't try to seduce him."
"No," said Draco, relishing the effect that the single syllable had upon his visitor.
"No?"
"No. In fact, if you don't get your self-righteous and virginal Gryffindor arse out of the room within the next ten seconds, I may very well promise to shag him insensible the next time I set eyes on him."
"Damn it, Malfoy! You owe him. He saved your bloody life -- the least you could do is stop playing stupid cat and mouse games with him. Don't be such a total shit."
"Weasley, you have already established that I am, in fact, a total shit. So if you don't want me to unleash my big gay wand and transform you too into a mincing queen with a taste for Slytherins, then I suggest you run off to play with your skinny little girlfriend."
"She's not my girlfriend," snapped Ron automatically. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Then for the love of Circe, you useless oaf, ask her out before she finally comes to her senses and stops fancying you altogether." Ron stared. "Now - Go. Away."
"Did you take a wrong turning?" he inquired, after a little pause. Ron glowered at him. Draco felt himself begin to smile. "Or did you, perhaps, drop by to peel me a grape?" He held out the fruit in its battered nest of white paper and watched Ron's pink mouth tighten.
"You're feeling better, then," said Ron, visibly making an effort. He crossed the room with a marked lack of enthusiasm and dragged one of the empty chairs a little further away from Draco's bed before he sat down. Draco watched him quizzically.
"Madame Pomfrey has been her usual zealous self," he said. "I was high as a kite for most of the evening, but I believe that particular potion is wearing off again. The grapes taste almost exactly like grapes now." He popped one into his mouth by way of demonstration.
"Oh." Ron did not appear particularly interested. He licked his lips and fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe, looking everywhere but Draco's face. The space between his freckles was darkening from milk white to an unflattering shade of red with which Draco was familiar. This was all most odd. "Well. It's good you're feeling better."
"Yes," Draco agreed mildly. "Isn't it?"
"I want you to leave Harry alone," Ron said suddenly, the words tumbling over themselves in his haste to be rid of them. There was an embarrassed pause and they stared at one another across the blankets. "I want you to promise that you aren't going to -- you know. Do anything. Lead him on. Try to make him -- well. Like you."
It occurred to Draco, after a startled moment, that gaping like a fish was not one of his more attractive looks. He closed his mouth and searched for an appropriate response that did not involve the use of dark magic.
"Make him like me?" he repeated coldly. "Witty? Urbane? Blond? Devilishly handsome?"
"Irritating, smug, amoral and mean-spirited, I think you mean," replied Ron tartly. "But don't pretend you don't understand me. I've seen the way that you look at him, Malfoy. It's not fair." Ron paused, bit his lip and drew a deep breath. When he continued he had lowered his voice. Someone, Draco reflected, had evidently had a word with him about self-control recently. "Frankly I'm not even sure that I believe this whole gay thing of his -- I think it could be a phase or something. Possibly a spell." He gave Draco a very pointed look. "But either way, I'm not going to let you hurt him. Even if he is a -- even if he's like you, he's still worlds too good for you. He's my best friend. I'll kill you if you hurt him."
Draco stared.
"You are - let me get this straight, as it were; you are asking me whether my intentions are honourable?"
"Hardly," snapped Ron. "I'm telling you to stay the hell away from my friend. He's acting like a love-struck idiot, and it's perfectly obvious why. You've been flirting with him like a, like a veela ever since you came back to school, only I was too damned stupid to recognise it at first. It wasn't until Ginny said that - " His eyes widened. "In fact -- good grief." He drew in a sharp breath. "You've been flirting with him for years."
"I most certainly have not!" exclaimed Draco indignantly.
"Yes you have." Ron looked thoroughly astonished at this sudden revelation. "But -- but it's all wrong. I know you're just messing around -- you just like the attention, just like getting the upper hand every bloody time. It's all about power with you, Malfoy. You can't help it. But Harry isn't like that, and he doesn’t get it. He thinks you're something special -- he's got some stupid romantic idea about you." Ron looked like the words scorched his tongue. "It's not enough that he thinks he's gay -- he has to be gay and obsessing over Draco Malfoy. Even though you were choosing bloody treacherous Death Eater wannabes instead of him."
"Shut. Up."
"You're going to hurt him, but I'm not going to sit back and let it happen, damn it. I'm telling you. Don't. Just -- don't. Just leave him alone."
In the ensuing pause, Draco maintained his composure with some difficulty. He forbore to mention that Potter had very clearly managed to get over whatever fleeting crush he had once harboured.
"And what," he said at last, in a vicious tone that was entirely too like his father's for comfort, "in the name of all that's magical, makes you imagine for the briefest of moments that I would ever pay a blind bit of notice to what you want or don't want? The great respect I feel for you? The sheer terror instilled by the thought of incurring the wrath of Weasley? A sudden attack of unprecedented philanthropy?"
"Are you going to make this difficult?" asked Ron, coldly.
"Yes," replied Draco, after a moment's reflection. "Yes, I rather think that I am."
"Malfoy, if you don't promise to leave him alone I will make you regret it. I swear it." To his credit, Ron looked entirely serious and actually a little intimidating. "Promise me you won't try to seduce him."
"No," said Draco, relishing the effect that the single syllable had upon his visitor.
"No?"
"No. In fact, if you don't get your self-righteous and virginal Gryffindor arse out of the room within the next ten seconds, I may very well promise to shag him insensible the next time I set eyes on him."
"Damn it, Malfoy! You owe him. He saved your bloody life -- the least you could do is stop playing stupid cat and mouse games with him. Don't be such a total shit."
"Weasley, you have already established that I am, in fact, a total shit. So if you don't want me to unleash my big gay wand and transform you too into a mincing queen with a taste for Slytherins, then I suggest you run off to play with your skinny little girlfriend."
"She's not my girlfriend," snapped Ron automatically. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Then for the love of Circe, you useless oaf, ask her out before she finally comes to her senses and stops fancying you altogether." Ron stared. "Now - Go. Away."