Chapter Four

It had been about a week and still no progress on Ron's part. Professor Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, and the Heads of House of Draco and Ron's had convened to try and settle the matter.

"The students have had such fodder with this." McGonagall informed as she settled into an empty seat.

"As students shall do. That is no surprise. No, Poppy has called us here to discuss some pressing matters…?" Dumbledore spoke sagely. They were all in his office, silver instruments scattered neatly about his office area, and pictures listening intently.

The Healer cleared her throat. "Mr. Malfoy is finally responding to treatment, his awaken and stayed that way for longer periods of time. He's responding to environmental stimulus."

"So, he's doing well. I highly doubt that was cause for this meeting." Snape rumbled gently, his voice slightly haunted. The past
year was horrible. "I'm very pleased to hear he is doing fine but I see no reason as to why we must be here. I have lessons to plan. Unless we are here to discuss Weasley's proper punishment, then I don't think I am needed."

"But that is just it, Severus. I believe that there is something else to this scenario." Her wizened yet matronly voice sounded. "The very first night of Ron's observation, and each night since, I have found his sitting next to Mr. Malfoy, keeping close watch on him. He sometime holds his hands. The way he looks at Mr. Malfoy…perhaps there was some hidden…affair between the two. Maybe that is why Mr. Weasley has changed so much."

"Getting into a relationship wouldn't cause such a drastic change. Something happened to Mr. Weasley, something drastic, something much worse than his mother death." Reasoned Minerva.

"You may be correct but that fight was beyond normal for those two but such intimacy…that is completely abnormal. Something has happened to change things around." Said Madam Pomfrey.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers together. "Is Mr. Malfoy able to move about?"

"For brief periods of time, yes."

"Perhaps we should watch them interact."

The Potions Master was quick to action. He leaped out of his seat and slammed his hands flush against the Headmaster's desk causing the surrounding portraits to jerk or fall out of their seats. "The insolence!" one of the Headmistresses muttered.

"No one from my House will be put into suck a perilous position. Weasley attacked Mr. Malfoy! Sir, this is not wise."

Dumbledore remain calm while McGonagall sat with a look of indifference mixed with concern…if such were possible. "I'll have to agree with Severus. It may be dangerous."

"It won't be. As long as someone else is there to watch or stand outside the door. I've seen the way Mr. Weasley gazes at Mr. Malfoy, he's sorry; he regrets what he did." Madam Pomfrey said.

"If what you say is true, then we shall do it. It is easier to talk to a stranger and it's easier to stay and listen to a possible
murderer." Dumbledore rationalized. "It's settled then."

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Seven days had passed and Ron was still trapped in his personal hell. He had done all that there was to do. He had played chess, beat himself and lost for the thrill of things; he'd tried to sit in front of the window and sketch but then he remembered he could barely draw a straight line. Ron read some of the books found on the bookcase. Ron did some thinking and plenty of sleeping. He had even tried to talk to Pomfrey when she came in.

No luck there.

He had discovered writing down his thoughts, his feelings, his real reasons as to his sudden silence. With his specialized quill, life became a bit more bearable. His tormentor told him to never speak a word of this or else his family would suffer, immensely. He could handle what could happen because of his selfishness. Writing was not talking. Cutting was his voice. Umbridge and her capital punishments were all to waste. Those quills were a godsend for Ron. As he etched his madness and pain, they were reflected on his chest. He had to set the writing utensil so his secret would not be exposed on his arms.

He caught hell when his tormentor caught sight of his white, raised scars. That afternoon was brutal.

Once he finished his writings, Ron healed himself with his wand that they finally allowed him to have. He laid on his back; his wounds stung.

Time passed on and the timely Madam Pomfrey entered the room. She had lunch…he wouldn't eat. But this time…this was different. When she left, Ron had a sinking feeling of someone watching him.

"Get up, weasel. I have been forced to spend time with you. Show some respect for a superior." Draco grouched, hobbling into the room, hand placed secure against the wall, in case he became weak in the knees.

Draco Malfoy was recovering slowly and the Healer was sitting outside the door. Why was he even here?

"You should be in Azkaban for this. Once I speak to Father-"

He stared at Weasley. He was so gaunt, sallow. His natural freckles stood out more as his skin seemed to go paler. He noticed that Ron flinched with every word, with every step he advanced toward the reclining redhead, Draco got a better view and sense of the state of tense awareness that Ron was in. It was great to see him so shaken yet it was frightening. Ron was always so strong now he was…broken.

"Why don't you speak until that day?" He leaned against the wall, the world tilted.

Ron raised slowly onto his elbows and gazed at the blonde, blankness shaded his face. He had noticed Draco. He had noticed the still-fresh anger that bubbled in his stomach. He noticed that he wanted to tell him something. He couldn't. He could not speak.

He spoke once…here he was. This was what his tormentor must have been speaking about. This was Hell. He couldn't bear it yet, for some inexplicable reason, he wanted to ask for forgiveness by Malfoy. It may help with the emerging stress and pain that was building in his heart. If he could get this pushed away, maybe he could feel a little better. Maybe he could feel like something was okay in his life.

Draco leaned fully against the wall, awaiting a response. "I asked you a question. Don't you dare think you're better than me. I was having some fun and then you suddenly go berserk."

I said back off, he thought grudgingly. His old, original self came out of hiding. Malfoy would forever be a git. That was the only steady rock in his life. And because of that, he needed to fight.

But he couldn't.

It seemed as if he was fighting against the current, pressing against the castle, forcing it to budge but having no success. Internally, he struggled. He wanted to respond; he wanted to fight back. Against Malfoy, life, his situation, his torment, his fear…why couldn't he be strong like Harry. He always persevered against opposition. He couldn't be Harry. He couldn't even be Ron. He wanted to fight against his silence.

"Why waste my time? You don't care that you almost killed me, do? You don't care about the recover- the long and arduous recovery that I have to go through? I hate you. I can barely walk because of my nerves are shot. My body's reaction system is to waste. I tremor and forget simple thing because of the oxygen loss you inflicted upon me! If you told me House I'm in, what position I play, our current password right now, I would forget a few minutes later! Thank you, Weasley! I really appreciate it! Now I can't go and be who I am for I don't remember the little things that make me! You can't possibly know how that feels!" He was losing his composure; his cheeks flushed.

Ron trembled with fear and anger. He knew what it felt like. It screamed in his head day in and out. He wanted to shout it but he couldn't.

"Forget it! No pun intended. I don't know why they forced me here. I'm going back."

Ron lowered his stare to hands that were rubbing together harshly.

Draco couldn't stand it. He turned to leave.

This was his chance. He had to…if only he could fight…if only he could be who he was but for a second.

Ron raised his gaze upon Draco. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I nearly died is all."

The door slammed shut.

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