Close Call

Close Call by Magic of Isis

"Goyle," sneered Malfoy, "did I speak in small enough words for you to understand what you're supposed to do?"

"Huh?" responded Goyle, looking as clueless as ever. "Yeah, I got it."

Malfoy glared sternly at Goyle and Crabbe in turn. "And make sure it looks like an accident or they'll disqualify us for cheating." The two boys nodded.

Malfoy moved to the stadium entrance displaying his normal regal air; his hair styled to perfection and his hand holding up his broom like a scepter. "All right then, team. Let's crush them!"

The six huge Slytherin players followed their captain onto the Quidditch pitch, looking like an enormous moving shrubbery in their green robes. The cheers from the crowd were deafening and, as usual, they were biased in favor of those sodding Gryffindors. Malfoy was determined to silence his critics. He was going to show Potter - and the rest of the school - who was the better Seeker and the better captain. And he'd come up with the perfect strategy to do it.

"Captains, shake hands," called Madam Hooch. Malfoy and Harry glowered at each other and their hands barely made contact. As they pulled away, Malfoy spat on the ground, purposely missing Harry, but coming just close enough to convey his lack of respect. Harry's eyes narrowed as he debated whether or not to lunge at Malfoy.

Sensing trouble, Madam Hooch yelled loudly, "Mount your brooms!"

As Harry turned away, Malfoy knew he'd gotten the upper hand in the pre-match ceremony. Now it was time to execute the strategy.

It was brilliant, really; so ingeniously nasty that Malfoy thought it worthy of the legendary Marcus Flint. As long as Crabbe and Goyle weren't too stupid to pull it off, they should have Weasel out of the match in no time. And he would be free to find the Snitch while Potter tried to cover two positions at once....

* * * * *

What are they doing? Are they mad? Harry watched in disbelief as Crabbe and Goyle slammed Bludgers with their clubs at the same time, both aiming for Ron. Ron was focused on the Quaffle, watching the Slytherin Chaser move into the Gryffindor end.

"Ron, look out!" shouted Harry as loud as he could, but it was too late. As Ron wheeled around on his broom, he was hit full force with both Bludgers: one to the stomach and one to the head. The sheer impact of the blows knocked him backwards, driving him into the nearby goal post. He fell forty feet onto the grassy field below.

The crowd was silent.

Harry watched in horror as Ron hit the ground. Demonstrating one of his trademark top-speed dives, Harry landed next to Madam Hooch at Ron's side within seconds. Blood was pouring from a gash on Ron's forehead, and it didn't appear that he was breathing. Madam Hooch knelt over him, checking for a pulse. Panicking, Harry looked around frantically for Madam Pomfrey, finally locating her as she dashed from the stands where the teachers had been watching.

"Step aside, Potter," huffed Madam Pomfrey as she reached them. Harry could hear her murmuring a spell and muttering to Madam Hooch. They were blocking his view of Ron's face, and it was annoying him. Ron was his best friend, dammit, and they had no right to push him away.

In the background, he could hear his teammates screaming at the Slytherins, and then a great thud as an ashen-faced Ginny Weasley toppled off her broom and came up beside him. As she approached Harry, she said "Malfoy's saying he caught the Snitch before he knew Ron .. Oh no, Ron!" Halfway through her sentence, Ginny saw the blood gushing from Ron's head. She grabbed Harry's arm in horror, suddenly able to speak.

Vaguely in the back of his mind, Harry realized he'd forgotten to call time out when Ron fell, but he couldn't be bothered thinking about the match now. Damn Crabbe and Goyle and Malfoy and every Slytherin who ever lived. He hated them all.

"I can't get him to breathe on his own," said Madam Pomfrey quietly. "Rolanda, find Albus as quick as you can."

As Madam Hooch flew off to the castle in search of Dumbledore, Harry took her place kneeling at Ron's side. Madam Pomfrey tried to send him away, but he wouldn't leave.

"Ron," he moaned, grabbing hold of his friend's hand. "You have to keep breathing. C'mon, Ron. Breathe!" Harry hardly noticed the steady stream of tears running down his face. Ron was out cold, despite the fact that Madam Pomfrey kept uttering a resuscitation spell. There was so much blood everywhere....

A strong hand pushed his shoulder, causing Harry to fall back unceremoniously on his arse. "Out of the way, Potter," snarled Snape. Instinctively, Harry drew his wand, but before he could utter a suitable curse, Snape had conjured a stretcher and was levitating Ron's limp body onto it. Ginny, who was still too shocked to speak, helped Harry to his feet. The two of them tried to follow as Madam Pomfrey and Snape took Ron back to the castle, but Professor McGonagall appeared from out of nowhere to stop them.

"Professor, you have to let me go with him," said Harry, with unmistakable agitation in his voice. "He needs me."

"You can't do anything for him right now," said Professor McGonagall. "We'll just have to wait and hope for the best." She pushed through the crowd that had gathered; Harry and Ginny followed closely behind her. As they exited the Quidditch pitch, Harry could barely see the stretcher carrying Ron disappear behind the castle doors.

* * * * *

At first, Harry and Ginny had been barred from the hospital wing. When Hermione arrived, she found them with their ears pressed against the double doors and she let out an exasperated sigh.

"You're going to get clobbered if someone leaves the room quickly," she clucked.

"Here, move over." She opened the door, quietly poking her head inside. Seeing no one, she beckoned them to follow her. "Let's sit over here, out of the way. If we're quiet, they probably won't make us leave."

They could hear a lot of commotion behind the curtains of what they presumed to be Ron's bed. The whispering was barely audible, but teachers were coming and going, and the curtains were rustling. What Harry wouldn't give for an Extendable Ear right about now!

An unfamiliar middle-aged witch burst through the doors to the hospital wing. She was introduced to Dumbledore as Healer Worthington from St. Mungo's trauma ward. Madam Worthington quickly disappeared behind Ron's curtains. Soon Harry, Ginny and Hermione could hear strange incantations, and they saw flashes of white light every so often reflecting off the floor.

Some twenty minutes later, Madam Worthington left the room as quickly as she'd arrived, apparently having completed her task. After her departure, the chaos around Ron's bed seemed to die down. Harry could feel some of the tension in the room dissipate. Professor Dumbledore noticed them sitting quietly in the corner and approached them.

"What's going on with Ron, Professor?" asked Ginny impatiently. "Is he going to be all right?"

Dumbledore sighed, and Harry noticed that his blue eyes had lost most of their usual sparkle. "Your brother is an extremely courageous fighter, Ginny. At the moment, he is finally breathing on his own. But I must be candid and say that his condition is very tenuous. The blow to the head caused extensive blood loss, and he is not in any shape to take a blood replenishing draught." Dumbledore put his ancient hand on Ginny's shoulder in a comforting gesture. "We are doing everything we can for him. I'm afraid I'm going to have to summon your parents at once."

Hermione, who had been watching all the activity with uncharacteristic calm, let out a loud sob, and before Harry could react, she and Ginny were consoling each other - streams of tears staining their pale faces.

Harry looked meaningfully at Dumbledore. "It's bad, then?" he asked quietly.

Dumbledore nodded. "I'm afraid so, Harry."

Harry sank into his chair, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead as he covered his face with his hands. How could this be happening? They had been through so much together! They'd knocked out a mountain troll. They'd escaped from hundreds of hungry spiders. They had fought off Death Eaters and worse! And now, just because two gormless thugs decided they had it in for Ron, he was straddling a fine line between life and death... what a nightmare!

When Harry looked up several minutes later, Dumbledore had left, and he could see Hermione and Ginny whispering quietly to each other. He stood up and, not seeing anyone to stop him, strode over to the bed where Ron lay unconscious.

Harry was not prepared for the sight that greeted him. Ron's body looked pale and limp and lifeless. Were it not for the very slight movements of his chest, he would have thought Ron was dead. He shivered. He vividly remembered Cedric's lifeless body - the cold, clammy hand that he had grabbed in haste in the graveyard. He reached over to hold Ron's hand. It was, thankfully, still warm.

Harry could feel the roughness of Ron's calluses as he tenderly traced each finger with his own. Quidditch calluses. Ron loved Quidditch. He was more passionate about Quidditch than any other thing in the world. If Ron dies, at least he will have died doing the thing he loves most, thought Harry. He felt instant remorse over having that thought. How dare he even think such a thing!

Almost as penance for allowing himself to have doubts about Ron's chances of survival, he said aloud, "Ron, it's me, Harry. You're going to make it through this. We'll do it together. I'll stay right here with you."

Madam Pomfrey came and ordered Harry away, but he refused to leave and sat in an armchair at the foot of the bed instead. Ginny and Hermione joined him after a while. There was nothing to do but wait.

* * * * *

Hour after hour he'd sat in the hospital wing. The waiting was insufferable. Harry was reminded of the all-night vigil they'd held at Sirius' house on the night he had witnessed Mr. Weasley being bitten by the snake. But that had been different; as fond as he was of Mr. Weasley, it wasn't nearly as devastating to him as knowing it was Ron's life hanging in the balance.

Hermione had cracked first. After about two hours of waiting, she rose from her chair saying irritably, "I just can't take this anymore. I've got to go do something. Maybe I'll find a useful charm in the library." Harry shook his head in amazement as he watched her leave.

"Everyone deals with grief differently," Ginny had said wisely. "For Hermione, the library is one big coping mechanism."

"I reckon you're right," Harry had replied. He studied Ginny as if for the first time. Her hair was a fright and her face was tear-stained and weary. He felt a little guilty for not offering her more comfort. After all, Ron was her brother. "How about you?" he had asked gently. "How are you dealing with it?"

Ginny had straightened up in her chair. "I'll be fine," she had answered stoically. "Ron's going to make it through this and be back to teasing me in no time." Right, Harry had thought. Denial.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had shown up late in the afternoon. It was horrible, actually, to see their anguished faces as they viewed the motionless figure of their youngest son. Ron had remained unconscious, looking like a bad imitation of Professor Quirrell with his head all bandaged up. Mrs. Weasley immediately rushed to his bedside, and lightly traced his bruised face with her fingertips. Her tears set Ginny off again, and the two of them embraced, softly sobbing and clutching each other for comfort. Harry had left, wanting to give them private time with their son, but after aimlessly wandering the corridors for a short while, he'd remembered his promise to Ron and returned to his bedside.

"Harry," Molly Weasley had said, "Ginny says you've been here since it happened. Why don't you go along and get some rest, dear."

"That's okay," replied Harry. "Ron needs me to be here. I'll stay."

They had sat together for a while then. Harry did not feel like an intruder on the family grief. On the contrary, he felt rather like Ron's family was intruding on his grief. As he had waited and watched each minute pass with excruciating slowness, he had been silently reviewing his history with Ron.

At first blush, it might have seemed like Harry's entrance into the magical world at age eleven was the best thing that ever happened to him. But that revelation, which had allowed him to escape the hell that was life at the Dursleys, also brought him face to face with a new hell: a life fighting against Voldemort. He was still imprisoned, still abused, still being completely controlled by forces quite apart from himself. And yet, he managed to laugh a lot. He had fun - well, most of the time anyway. The reason why was now crystal clear to Harry - it was Ron.

Since the first day they shared chocolate frogs and pumpkin pasties on the Hogwarts Express up to the chat they'd had only just this morning about how much fun they were going to have rubbing Malfoy's nose in his Quidditch loss, Ron's friendship defined all that was good in Harry's life. Harry could, in retrospect, gauge his relative happiness according to how things were going between him and Ron. The times that he remembered feeling the happiest were those moments when he and Ron were the closest: their first Christmas morning together at Hogwarts, winning the Quidditch Cup last year, the ill-fated flight of the Ford Anglia to school their second year, Ron's fierce loyalty to him two years ago when he threatened to give Seamus detention for thinking Harry was a nutter. On the other hand, things had been at their worst when he and Ron had been on the outs. Harry remembered times when Ron wouldn't speak to him or had acted jealous because of the attention Harry was getting. The worst time in his life since coming to Hogwarts - even including the nightmare of facing Voldemort three times - were the weeks during his fourth year when Ron wasn't speaking to him because he refused to believe Harry hadn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire.

Perhaps it was hubris at having bested Voldemort so many times in the past, but Harry found that, despite the grim prophecy Dumbledore had shown him, a showdown with Voldemort wasn't the thing that scared him the most. And the debilitating reaction he had to dementors was certainly a problem, but it no longer scared him either. He was now convinced, after having sat quietly at Ron's bedside all afternoon, that losing Ron now - at this critical time in his life - would be a catastrophe from which he could never recover.

Harry's musings were interrupted by the arrival of Madam Pomfrey. The Weasleys had been summoned to consult with Dumbledore. They invited Harry to join them, but he declined. "I'll just stay here, in case Ron wakes up and needs me."

Around dinnertime, Ron began to move about in his sleep. Harry ran to find Madam Pomfrey, who declared it to be "a good sign" but "too early to tell" whether Ron would be likely to wake up anytime soon.

Madam Pomfrey asked Harry to hold Ron's head while she magically changed the turban-like bandage on his head wound. As Harry carefully supported Ron's neck, he heard faint moans, as if Ron were having an unpleasant dream. Harry spoke to him in relaxing, reassuring tones, telling Ron that he was there and wasn't going anywhere. Ron's lips moved as inaudible speech escaped his mouth. Harry gently brushed his thumb across Ron's lips, while whispering, "Shhhhh - it's okay." Ron's lips were parched, and he asked Madam Pomfrey about it.

She gave him a few drops of water as Harry held him upright to keep him from choking. Though Ron was dead weight, Harry was glad of an excuse to hold his friend. He wanted Ron to feel his presence. When Harry lowered him back onto the mattress, Madam Pomfrey handed him a wet cloth, and Harry swabbed Ron's face. The sleeping Ron let out a contented sigh.

Another hour came and went. Visitors by the score stopped by to ask about Ron, but they were not allowed to see him. A mountain of sweets started to build on the table next to his bed - presents from well-wishers who assumed that Ron would be fine in a few days and able to eat chocolate frogs. Hermione returned, and so did the Weasleys. And Ron still did not wake.

At nine o'clock, Madam Pomfrey threw the lot of them out of the hospital wing. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were to stay close by in a private room next to Madam Pomfrey's quarters. Harry, Hermione and Ginny reluctantly made their way back to the Gryffindor common room. Concerned Gryffindors surrounded them as they stepped through the portrait hole. Harry left Hermione to answer their questions. Right now, he wanted to be alone.

As soon as he reached the dormitory, however, he felt another pang of guilt. How was he supposed to sleep when his best friend was so close to death? Ron needed him right now, and Harry knew he had to go back. He changed out of his Quidditch robes, which were wrinkled and stained with Ron's blood, and put on a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans. He fished through his trunk until he found his invisibility cloak.

Harry had just pulled the hood over his head when Dean and Seamus came into the room. "Didn't Harry come up here?" Seamus was saying as the invisible Harry stole past them. "I swear he did - I must be cracking up."

As luck would have it, the two fifth year prefects were entering the common room as Harry approached the portrait hole. He snuck past them easily and headed back to the hospital wing.

Moving quietly through the hospital wing, Harry observed Madam Pomfrey working in her office. She had dimmed the dormitory lights, and it took a moment for Harry's eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness.

He crept over to Ron's bed and watched him sleep. Ron looked oddly serene - his face relaxed and lips slightly parted. He was fortunate that the Bludger had missed his nose, which was long and straight and freckled. Harry smiled. He loved Ron's freckles. Even when Ron was ranting at him, it was impossible to take him too seriously when those freckles were staring back at him. They were so ... cute.

Harry sat down on the edge of the bed. With great tenderness, he held Ron's hand in his own, gently caressing it. His fingers moved further up Ron's arm, and in the dim light, he could just make out the faint scars that had been left behind from the brain that attacked him at the Department of Mysteries. Harry shook off the guilt that gnawed at him whenever he was reminded of that experience. Ron had never questioned Harry's visions as Hermione had - he just followed blindly, believing in Harry to his own peril. And later, when Harry tried to apologize, Ron wouldn't hear of it.

Harry blinked a few times, trying to rid his eyes of unwelcome tears. With his other hand, he reached up to touch Ron's face. Ron had two black eyes now, but his cheeks were pale, causing his (adorable!) freckles to stand out even more. Harry's finger outlined his lips; they no longer felt parched, but smooth and supple and almost - dare he think it - inviting.

He didn't know what was compelling him to touch Ron like this, but he had to admit to himself, it wasn't the first time he had wanted to do it. Sometimes late at night, when the others could sleep but he could not, Harry would entertain himself the way most boys his age did. And as the tension in his groin built, it would be not Cho's or Parvati's face he pictured, but Ron's. He'd never told anyone about that, of course. He'd passed it off as having spent too much time with Ron that day, or having seen him in the showers after Quidditch practice. But now, alone and wearing his invisibility cloak with Ron in an unconscious state, the urge to kiss him overwhelmed Harry.

Harry stood up and leaned over Ron. He gently pressed his lips against Ron's, savoring their dry softness. He licked Ron's lips lightly with his tongue and kissed him again. Five, six times Harry kissed him, fantasizing what it would feel like to have Ron kiss him back. It thrilled him, to be honest, to think of Ron and him together.

"Ron," Harry whispered in his ear, "You've got to wake up. I need you. I've got to tell you..."

Harry was silent as he heard the steady footsteps of Madam Pomfrey coming toward him. He stood up straight, checking to see that the cloak was covering him completely. Ron shifted in his sleep, sighing softly. While Harry backed away from the bed, Madam Pomfrey's head appeared around the curtains.

Harry watched in awe as Madam Pomfrey went through her ministrations. She checked Ron's bruises and bandages, measured his pulse and placed her hand on his chest, over his heart. Harry silently gasped when he saw the massive bruising, and felt another surge of anger at Crabbe and Goyle.

She retreated back to her office a few minutes later. Harry sat down in his armchair to wait some more.

* * * * *

There was a loud crack behind him, and Harry sat bolt upright in his chair. He had been asleep and, as he looked down, he noticed that the invisibility cloak had fallen around his waist. Craning his neck, he saw Dobby coming towards him bearing a tray with tea and sandwiches. Harry glanced at his watch - it was nearly midnight and it had been many hours since he'd last eaten.

"Hello, Dobby," said Harry quietly.

"I begs your pardon, Harry Potter, sir," said Dobby in his strange high-pitched voice, "but they is saying in the kitchens that Harry Potter's Wheezy is badly hurt." Dobby set down his tray on the table next to Harry and peered at Ron cautiously through his tennis-ball shaped eyes. "Your Wheezy is generous and kind to house-elves. We is hoping he is better soon."

Dobby turned to face Harry. "Dobby brings Harry Potter tea because he knows that Harry Potter has not eaten. Dobby is not surprised. Wheezy is the thing Harry Potter loves most."

Harry's weary brain was moving slowly, and he thickly replied, "Ron is my best friend."

Dobby gazed solemnly into Harry's eyes. "Dobby sees how things are, sir. Dobby knows Harry Potter needs his Wheezy more than anything and loves him most of all. Dobby could not bear for Harry Potter to lose his Wheezy."

Harry eyed him suspiciously. What exactly did Dobby mean when he said he 'sees how things are'?

The strange creature moved closer to Ron's bed and hissed quietly into his ear, "You is having to get better because Harry Potter needs you, sir."

Dobby turned to face Harry, who stared into his large round eyes as if stunned. He continued, "Harry Potter is not to worry, sir. Dobby keeps Harry Potter's secret."

Harry wasn't sure how to respond. He was about to ask "What secret?" but thought better of having any conversation with Dobby that involved the words 'Ron', 'love' and 'need'. "Er, thanks, Dobby," was his noncommittal response.

"I is having to go, Harry Potter. You needs to eat something to keep up your strength. Your Wheezy needs you, too."

And, as was his frequent habit, Dobby disappeared with a loud crack, leaving Harry alone to wonder what had just transpired.

* * * * *

Harry woke the next morning to find himself lying on a bed in the hospital wing. He was extremely disoriented. Somehow he'd moved to this bed; his invisibility cloak was folded neatly on a chair and his glasses were resting on the bedside table. The first light of dawn was streaming in through the windows across the room.

He put on his glasses and stood up, noticing as he did this that his muscles were very stiff. As his brain began to function normally, he realized Ron was in the next bed. Harry peered around the curtain between his bed and Ron's and saw a half-eaten plate of sandwiches and a dirty teacup. His gaze landed on Ron, and he saw his friend's pale eyes staring back at him, wide-open in surprise. A broad smile spread across Harry's face, and he hurried to Ron's bedside.

"Ron? Are you okay? Can you talk?" Harry asked quickly.

Ron blinked a few times. "Yeah," he answered, "I think so." Harry whooped with joy.

"How long have you been awake?"

"I dunno. A minute or two, I guess."

Harry sat on the bed next to Ron, but stood up immediately when he saw Ron wince in pain. "Sorry," said Harry quickly. "I forgot."

"Geez, Harry, I feel like every inch of my body ran full speed into a brick wall," said Ron. "And my head is killing me."

"I'll get Madam Pomfrey," said Harry. "She'll be able to give you a potion for the pain."

"Wait, Harry. Before you go, I have to ask you...did we win?" Harry shook his head.

Harry had to laugh at the distress in Ron's expression. Didn't it just figure that Ron would be more worried about the outcome of the Quidditch match than himself being near death? This was the thing about Ron he loved - his passion for things that made him happy. A wave of relief washed over Harry - Ron was still Ron, and it looked like he was going to be okay.

As they waited for Madam Pomfrey, Harry described to Ron how scary it had been to watch him the day before.

"Yeah, I must have been out of it," Ron replied. "I had these wild dreams, though!" He winced as he smiled a little too broadly. "I dreamed that Dobby whispered in my ear that I had to get better. Oh, and I also dreamed I was kissing someone but I couldn't see his face."

Ron's ears reddened when he suddenly realized what he said. Harry, who was too shocked at hearing what Ron had remembered to notice his embarrassment, asked, "How do you know it was a 'him' if you couldn't see a face?"

"Oh...well...he had your voice." Ron cast Harry a sheepish expression, but Harry merely looked curious.

They were spared an awkward moment when Madam Pomfrey burst through the curtains with several potions for Ron. As Harry waited patiently, he wondered... Should he confess to Ron that he hadn't been dreaming? Ron hadn't looked revolted by the idea that Harry had kissed him in his "dream", just a little embarrassed. Was it possible that Ron had fantasies about him too?

Harry was going to have to think long and hard about what to say to Ron concerning his newly discovered feelings. Ron had been traumatized enough without Harry sending him into shock by recklessly declaring his love.

Because it was obvious Dobby was right; Harry loved Ron most of all.

* * * * *

finis