The Sleeping Beauty Curse

Chapter 2

Harry turned to glare at her. "I don't want to," he said. It came out sounding more pathetic than he'd intended, but he supposed that was probably OK in the circumstances. His fame was trying at the best of times; he couldn't even begin to imagine how annoying the press were going to be now they thought his so-called 'arch nemesis' was his soulmate. How on earth was he going to explain his way out of this one? All the interviews – and all the evidence – in the world weren't going to help.

Sometimes, when Harry closed his eyes, he could see the front page of last issue of the Prophet he'd ever read, before he'd cancelled his subscription and sworn to never, ever open a copy of that rag again. The headline had read: HARRY POTTER – THE BI WHO LIVED. It had been their best-selling ever issue, apparently. Sometimes, when Harry opened his eyes, he could see the front page, too. More than one person had whipped it out of their pockets as he'd approached, and tried to get him to sign the 'historic issue'. Harry had cancelled more dates with the bloke who'd sold the kiss-and-tell story behind the headlines than he'd actually gone on! He didn't know why, but somehow that had made the whole thing even worse. That he'd missed dates to go and do his fucking job, to protect the wizarding world again, and this had apparently been enough to justify selling him out to the press. The Bi Who Lived, indeed. The whole thing made him shudder with embarrassment.

And now . . . as well as having to face the press – Merlin only knew what a wankstain of a headline they'd come up with this time – he'd have to face Malfoy, too. It almost made him more uncomfortable to think of that than anything else. He suspected that overwork and lack of sleep had sent him loopy.

"Oh, Harry, I know you don't want to," Hermione said, knitting her fingers together, "but Madam Iatric was frantic when she realised you'd legged it. No one's sure what's going to happen next, so we need to get you back to the hospital."

"I'm sorry, what? Happen next?" Harry echoed faintly. His insides did a little wriggle, like he'd accidentally swallowed a sleeping Acromantula and it had just woken the fuck up.

Hermione frowned at him. "Are you an Auror or an idiot, Harry?" she asked, in a way that suggested she was leaning towards one of the two options more heavily. "Just because Malfoy's awake now, it doesn't mean everything's fixed," she said in what Harry considered a truly insufferable manner.

"It is though," Harry pointed out, extremely reasonably. "I woke him up. End of!" He experienced a brief moment of happiness at the thought that at least it wasn't him who'd have to deal with the resulting paperwork, before it was swallowed up again in dread.

"Oh, honestly, Harry!" Hermione said, in the manner of a small explosion. "Don't you think it's even the slightest bit suspicious that whoever cursed Malfoy picked you as the only person who could wake him up? I mean, come on, Harry! You and Malfoy? Why on earth would anyone want to give the world the impression the two of you were made for each other? As much as I hate to say it, I agreed with Zabini about the likelihood of any of us being the antidote to the sleeping potion. I would have been first in the queue to help, otherwise, regardless of personal feelings!" she added, although a little doubtfully, as if she was trying to convince herself more than them. "It just doesn't make sense."

'Yeah, you and Malfoy?" Ron said, in sick fascination. "Most unlikely couple ever. Mind you," he muttered, as though he couldn't stop himself, "I thought you and Ginny were made for each other, so maybe I'm not the best judge, eh?"

There was an awkward pause. Harry wanted to say something, but for the life of him he couldn't think of anything appropriate. It still seemed odd to him that out of everyone – himself and Ginny included – Ron had seemed the most heartbroken when they'd split up, over a year ago now. It was almost as if Ron had felt Harry had chucked him, rather than his sister, although that was a poor way of describing the way his relationship with Ginny had fizzled out into flat, room-temperature romance, leaving only friendship behind. For a horrible, miserable few weeks, Harry had wondered if things would ever be the same again between him and Ron, but Ginny had thoughtfully applied a series of Bat-Bogey Hexes to 'help' Ron regain his spirits, and Ron's brotherly rage had soon overcome any lingering animosity towards Harry.