Draco sat up in the bed of his private room at St. Mungo's, obsessively unfolding and refolding the top of the smooth sheet draped over him. There was a hand mirror on his bedside table, and while he fingers nearly itched to pick it up, he wouldn't. He couldn't bear to see them again.

There was a light knock at the door. "Do you need anything, Mr. Abraxas?" a nurse asked through the heavy wood.

The nursing staff had been given explicit instructions that they weren't to enter his room. Draco didn't want anyone to know he was even there, let alone see him. He'd admitted himself in the middle of the night under an assumed name, and because of the hefty sum his father had plunked into the place, the administration didn't ask questions.

However, he'd made a note to speak to someone as soon as his condition was remedied -- he'd been waiting far too long for his liking. "What I need, is a doctor. Where the hell is he?" Draco fumed.

"Sir, the medi-wizard has been owled. He should be with here momentarily."

"He'd better be," he mumbled.

Another twenty or two-hundred minutes passed. There was a brief knock, followed by a click as the door was opened. A tall man with dark red hair stepped into the dimly lit room, his face buried in a folder. "Mr. Abraxas?"

"Yes?" Draco said, his stomach twisting. He knew that voice.

"Sorry for the wait -- wasn't planning to come into today." He was flipping through a thin stack of papers. "According to the report, it seems you've got a rather nasty case of sp--"

The medi-wizard looked up and Draco found himself staring at Ron.

"Spattergroit," Weasley managed, his mouth trembling slightly before he burst into a peal of laughter.

"Shut up!" Draco shouted, ducking under the sheets, mortified. "Just shut up, Weasel."

Ron walked over to the bed and pulled the thin bedclothes off of Draco's head. "You don't have to hide from me," he said quietly. "I've been spotted all my life."

The blond looked up. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"You could have just told me." He leaned forward and placed a kiss on a spot on Draco's forehead.

"Well, I didn't think they'd call you." Draco winced. "Don't do that -- I'm ugly."

"You won't be winning any beauty contests this week, but I still love you. We've managed to get past a lifetime of hating each other, Dark Marks, bad marriages and your monstrous snoring--"

"I don't snore."

Ron grinned. "My point is, I can manage a few spots."

"I probably got them from you."

"Freckles aren't contagious." Ron kissed Draco on the lips and moved his tongue along the seam of his open mouth.

Draco felt his body warming, responding to his lover's touch. "What makes you so sure?"

"Trust me," the redhead answered as he began undoing the buttons of Draco's pyjama top. "I'm a doctor."