Especially Our Enemies

The vomiting and the sleepless night were catching up to me, and the halls were practically swimming as I made my way through the corridors. I didn’t know why I was so tired after only one rough night; at twenty I could have stayed awake for almost a week. I caught two Gryffindors making out in a dark stairwell, and sent them back to their dormitories with a stern warning. I was too exhausted to cast the spell that would deduct points. Staggering through one of the halls, I leaned against one of the statues and rubbed my eyes.

“You look tired.”

“I am tired,” I said, giving in to the overwhelming urge to close my eyes. Malfoy put his arm around my waist and pulled me up.

“Come on, we’ll get you to bed.”

“It’s so far to my quarters,” I complained, sagging towards the ground. He held me up.

“March, Weasley,” he growled, and I put one foot in front of the other. I barely noticed him opening a door and pulling me through. He undressed me gently and put me in bed. I murmured what I hoped was thanks and closed my eyes.

A few hours later I woke up and staggered into his bathroom to vomit again. Let me die, I thought, grimacing. I rinsed my mouth out and opened the medicine cabinet to see if Malfoy had any mouthwash. Indeed he did, and I gargled a little. As I put it back in the cabinet, I noticed a capped syringe. I looked at the box next to it, a prescription made out in Malfoy’s name.

“Gemcitabrine,” I read softly, frowning.

“It’s used to prevent the recurrence of pancreatic cancer,” Malfoy said. I looked up and saw him leaning against the doorframe.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” I said quickly. “I just wanted some mouthwash.”

“No, I understand,” he said. “Come on back to bed. You look like shit.”

When I woke up I felt a vague rumbling in my stomach, the kind that you get when your body wants you to ralph again but you can’t. Malfoy was curled up beside me, on his side like a cat in the sun. He slept shallowly, and I saw his eyelids twitch when I sat up.

“Go back to sleep, Weasley,” he murmured. “It’s five o’clock.”

The clock was on the bedside table on my side, and I glanced at it. He was right.

“What time were you planning on getting up?” I asked, getting back under the covers. His body was warm and I snuggled in close.

“Not for another hour and a half. Go back to sleep. You’re sick. A little more rest won’t hurt you.”

I usually got up at five thirty, but I shrugged and closed my eyes. I was still impossibly tired, I realized. He put his hand over mine on his waist and tugged me closer.

When he finally roused me, it was closer to seven than I liked.

“Come shower with me.”

“I won’t have time to go back to my quarters,” I protested. He shook his head and went into the bathroom. “But I need clean robes.”

“Scourgify the ones you wore yesterday,” he said, and the water hissed.

“Someone will notice.”

“Transform them.” I went into the bathroom.

“I can’t do that.”

He looked at me and his eyes narrowed slightly. Then he nodded.

“I’ll do it for you, if you want.” He gestured. “Are you going to get in with me?”

“I don’t know. It’s my turn to get punched.”

Malfoy chuckled and got in, letting the water run over him. I sighed and joined him. There was an unlabeled glass bottle in the shower, and a gritty-looking bar of soap. Malfoy picked up the former and washed his hair with the same efficiency he’d shown in my apartment.

Rinsing his face, he looked at me.

“You look ridiculous with your hair slicked back like that,” he said. I tipped my head down and a few strands fell in front of my forehead. I glanced up at him through the hair. He smirked.

Malfoy kissed me casually, sliding his fingers into my hair. He was really much shorter than me, I realized, and stood on the balls of his feet to reach my face. I craned my neck so he didn’t have to stretch. Our mouths were stale with sleep, but I found myself not caring. I let my hands trail down his body, cupping the high, firm curve of his ass. He had a young man’s body, where mine was easily ten years my senior. His erection jutted unapologetically against my leg.

“Weasley,” he said, looking up at me.

“I’m standing here naked,” I said. “I think we can be on a first-name basis.”

“Do you,” he said, smirking. “Well, all right then, Ron.”

“You say it like it’s a dirty word or something,” I complained. He seemed momentarily entranced by a certain spot on my chest.

“It’s very pedestrian.”

“We can’t all have Roman names,” I said.

“It’s Greek. He was an Athenian legislator.”

“A bit of a hard-ass, I recall.”

He rolled his eyes.

“You have no sense of culture.”

“And you have no sense of humor,” I replied, pushing his hair back out of his face. The black tips were gone, exchanged for dark forest green. A few too many strands came out in my fingers, and amongst the blond hairs I could see that some were coming in white. I decided not to mention this. He had lines beside his mouth, I realized, probably from sneering all the damned time. Perhaps he was not so well-preserved as I had thought.

“Peasant,” he muttered, pulling out of my grasp. “Hurry up, or we’ll be late to breakfast. It’s already seven fifteen.”

He lathered quickly and rinsed without looking at me. I was just washing my hair as he stepped out.

“We can be late to breakfast.”

“Both of us being late would be suspicious,” he said, snatching a towel and drying his hair vigorously.

“And?”

He turned and looked at me.

“Ron,” he began.

“Draco.” I smiled. He looked like he was about to say something important, but swallowed it.

“Kiss me.”

I obediently leaned out and let him pull me down for a kiss.

“What was that about?” I asked. He shrugged and finished drying himself off. I turned back to my washing.

We went in through the rear doors, the ones near the professors’ table, and took the seats that were left. He sat at the end by Dooley, who I noticed was trying to grow a mustache, and I snagged a chair next to Hagrid.

“Good morning,” I said cheerfully. Hagrid smiled at me. I picked up a Daily Prophet and flipped through it. Despite what Malfoy said, nobody seemed to notice that we arrived late or that we came in together, and we had an uneventful breakfast. Bugsy fluttered down to the table a few minutes after I arrived, carrying a response from Hermione, and I scanned through it. There was a second sheet meant for Chaz, which I handed back to Bugsy. He stole a piece of sausage from my plate and took off for the Ravenclaw table.

“You’ve got yourself a fine-looking little bird, there,” Hagrid commented.

“Bugsy? He’s a character.” The owl had settled on the table next to Chaz and given him his letter, and my son was stroking his chest feathers. We’d introduced him to Ferdinand so he wouldn’t eat the poor little fellow by accident. Chaz glanced up at me and I waved.

“So I thinks I’ve found a perfect present for your boy,” Hagrid said.

“Don’t tell me. I can’t keep a secret worth a damn.” I’d never had any trouble with that, actually, but it got a chuckle out of Hagrid.

“Did you sleep alright last night?” he asked. “I wondered if I might be seeing you again this morning.”

“Like a baby,” I said, smiling. I decided not to mention the vomiting. Hagrid nodded.

“That’s good to hear.” He went back to his determined attempts to make the tiny fork in his hand carry food to his mouth.