Eventually someone had to enter the dorm, and that person was Neville. He saw Harry first and after taking in the situation Harry was in, cast a finite on him, almost tripping over Malfoy in his eagerness to help. Harry leapt to his feet, forgetting, in his desperation to see to Malfoy, that his limbs would be stiff and unresponsive for a while. Clutching Neville for support, he went down on one knee and touched Malfoy’s chest to check if he was breathing.
“Get help!” he gasped. “Quick.”
Neville’s yelling had brought several other Gryffindors. Harry felt rather than saw Hermione kneeling beside him, her wand busy. “What happened?” she asked as she siphoned up the worst of Malfoy’s blood to see the damage beneath.
“It was Ron,” Harry whispered, appalled at the livid cuts and bruises that marred Malfoy’s alabaster skin. “He found us... and beat him. He froze him and then beat him...” He was so close to tears that his nose was prickling sharply. He held his breath, hoping that the tears would stay away and that The Chosen One would not disgrace himself in front of all his house-mates.
“Ron? It couldn’t have been!” Hermione’s voice was small and shocked. “You were mistaken.”
“I’m not!” Harry snapped. “I know what I saw.... oh my God, Hermione... there’s so much blood...” He cradled Malfoy’s head in his arms, staring at the bright crimson that stained his own fingers. “Get help. Please...” he whispered. Even his voice seemed unable to function properly.
Everything began to blur. He was closed in by people wanting to help, or wanting to see, and the air in the room didn’t seem as if it was enough for them all. Hermione seemed to understand how he felt because she stood up and firmly dismissed everyone.
“Madam Pomfrey is on her way,” she said quietly once they were alone. “Are you hurt, Harry?”
“No... just cramped. I’ll be fine.” Harry grew impatient and found his wand. “I’m taking him to the infirmary. We can’t wait. He’s been here long enough.”
“No, Harry. That could hurt him even more. He’s got a couple of broken bones.” Hermione lay a hand on his wrist and he looked down at it, anger suddenly coursing through his veins. “Okay,” he muttered, “so where’s Ron?”
And now his veins ran pure livid ice.
**********
Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room as Harry left it, his Marauder’s map in hand. He heard her shocked exclamations and Hermione attempting to explain what had happened – although she barely knew, herself. Immediately, he was surrounded by Gryffindors all wanting to know what had happened, yet, once they saw the look on his face, each boy or girl drew back, falling into silence. Harry paid them no heed. He was searching for Ron’s name on his map, hardly noticing when the Fat Lady made some clever comment or other behind him.
At last he spotted Ron’s name. He was alone in the astronomy tower. Harry drew his wand and sprinted up the stairs as fast as he could.
He burst through the door and immediately spotted Ron standing by the wall, gazing out at the forest. Before Ron could turn or react, Harry screamed out “Expelliarmus! Incarcerous!” and watched with great satisfaction as Ron’s wand flew out of his hand and over the wall, then thick ropes appeared like whips from thin air and wrapped themselves around him, binding him tightly.
“What the fuck!” yelled Ron, struggling wildly. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll ask the questions!” Harry pointed his wand at Ron.
Ron glared back hatefully at him. “Accio wand! Accio wand!” he yelled. “Give me back my wand you bastard!”
“Fuck your wand! Why the hell did you hit Malfoy? Why did you hurt him? What the hell is wrong with you?” Harry demanded. He prodded Ron’s neck hard with his wand. “Give me one really damn good reason why I shouldn’t crucio you right now, Ron Weasley!”
“He was kissing you!”
“I wanted him to kiss me!” Harry bawled. “What’s wrong with you? A few weeks ago you didn’t care that I fancied him – you thought it was funny... now you.. you hurt him. He’s covered in blood and got broken bones and.... oh God! How could you? How the fuck could you?”
“He’s a Death Eater!” Ron growled. “He deserves to die, not swan about free, being a slut with everyone. Fred is dead because of his kind – Tonks, Remus! Sirius! They’re all dead and you’re fucking kissing him like it never happened! I should ask you the same question, Harry Potter – how could you?”
Harry took a step back and stared at Ron. “We had this conversation before. I’m not having it again.”
“Let me go! I want to go finish the job. He needs to die!”
“No. I’m taking you to McGonagall – I don’t care if you’re expelled – and we’re no longer friends. Nothing you can do or say will ever make me forgive you!” Harry levitated Ron with a flick of his wand and steered him back down the stairs, casting a silencing charm when Ron’s curses and screams became too loud.
**********
“This is a very serious accusation,” The Headmistress said, staring at Harry and Hermione over her glasses.
“I was there, Professor,” Harry insisted. “He stupefied me then beat up Malfoy.”
“And what, do you suppose, made him act so violently. What were you doing?”
Harry muttered something and Professor McGonagall leaned forward. “I beg your pardon?”
“We were kissing!” Harry said in a too loud and too rude voice. He inwardly cursed Malfoy for jumping on him. Neither of them would be in their various situations if he hadn’t. Admittedly Harry had kissed him back, but...
“You were... kissing?” McGonagall’s eyebrows rose so high they almost disappeared into her hair. “You and Mr. Malfoy?”
Harry nodded, then a flash of temper burst out of him. “It doesn’t matter what we were doing, Professor! We could have been dancing the hokey-cokey or knitting, or having an orgy – the fact is, Ron Weasley hexed us both and beat up Malfoy – bad enough to break his ribs and his nose! What are you going to do about it?”
McGonagall leaned back in her chair and considered. “Did he say why?”
“He hates Malfoy. He thinks he’s a Death Eater and he blames him for... all kinds of stuff.” He finished lamely.
“Professor...” Hermione interjected softly. “I think he’s been Imperiused.”
Again the eyebrows went up. “Mr. Weasley? By whom, Miss Granger?”
Hermione glanced at Harry and he nodded his head slightly. She took a deep breath. “We thought Professor Hexam...”
“I’ve already explained Professor Hexam’s presence in this school,” McGonagall interrupted. “Please come up with something more tangible as evidence or stop these ridiculous accusations.”
“I’ve been right before,” Harry muttered. “When Malfoy poisoned Ron and cursed Katie Bell – I told you and you ignored me. I was right then, and I’m right now. Hexam is up to something.”
“That is enough, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall rapped out. “I shall, of course, be investigating your speculation that Mr. Weasley has been cursed, and will react accordingly, but I will hear no more about Professor Hexam. Kindly return to your rooms.”
“Can I... I mean, is it all right if I go to the infirmary?” Harry asked, completely cowed by the Headmistress’s severe tones.
“Of course.” Her frown softened. “But not for long.”
************
Malfoy lay like a broken doll on the bed, his skin so pale it was transparent. Livid marks bruised his face – and probably his body, although Madam Pomfrey had put pyjamas on him so Harry couldn’t tell.. He was either asleep or still unconscious, his chest scarcely rising as Harry watched him, holding his fingers with a barely-there touch.
Hermione stood behind him. She said nothing, but Harry could feel the waves of horror and pity coming from her as a tangible thing. “Ron wouldn’t do this,” she whispered at last. “It’s not in him to be so violent.”
So far, Harry had been irrational when it came to thinking about Ron, but here, in the calm and peace of the infirmary, looking down at Malfoy’s limp body, he understood what Hermione was saying.
“So you think he was cursed?”
“Of course I do. And so do you, Harry. Deep down, you know he would never ever do something like this. He might storm off and rage about like a mini cyclone; he might even punch someone to make a point – but this... he’s just not that violent. This is the work of a madman, or someone who isn’t in control of their actions.”
Harry let out a deep sigh as her words sunk in, then he nodded. “I agree.” He said. “I just didn’t...” he squeezed Malfoy’s slim fingers, then let go, and stood up.
“How do you really feel, Harry?” Hermione asked gently, reaching up to stroke his messy hair away from his forehead. “About Draco, I mean. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t know how I feel,” he admitted. “But I know that I feel.... strongly... it’s just all mixed up between love and hate. I want him, but... I can’t... I hate him, but at the same time... he confuses me. What I feel confuses the hell out of me and I don’t know what to do about it.”
Hermione laughed a little. “You’ll work it out eventually.” She nudged him with her elbow. “It sounds like you two were attempting to work it out when Ron found you.”
Harry couldn’t help a quick smile, before remembering, once more, the hatred in Ron’s eyes as he kicked Malfoy into a pulp.
“Right... we need to find out what the bloody hell is happening. I’m sick of this uncertainty.” He set his jaw into a firm line and marched out of the infirmary, Hermione hot on his heels.
To his surprise, when they got back to the Gryffindor common room, every single pupil was milling about outside, either waiting at the door, or talking in small groups, or attempting to finish last minute homework by using friends as parchment holders.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked, grabbing Neville.
“Hexam and Tubbs are in there,” Neville replied. “They’re searching the place.”
Harry stared at Neville. “What? Why?”
“Something about reason to believe Dark Arts were involved or something. What’s going on, Harry?” he added. “You seem to know...”
Hermione let out a quick breath. “Glad you put that book away,” she said in an undertone.
But the book was the last thing on Harry’s mind. He was more concerned with the little vials of memory in Malfoy’s bedside cabinet.