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Ron groaned in pain again, the salve on his back stinging his skin enough he would not have been surprised if little sparks were falling off of him still and onto the floor of the infirmary.
"Bloody dragon," he muttered, and not for the first time in the last twenty minutes.
"Yes, yes, we know, Weasley. The bloody dragon savagely attacked you, leaving you helpless and at the mercy of it's razor claws, and it would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for us meddling Tamers."
"Ain't right," Ron said, cracking open one eye to glare at his brother. "Calling me by our last name. Doesn't sound right."
"Would you rather I call you 'Ronniekins'-"
"No!"
"Charlie, if you don't stop harassing my patient I am going to flay you alive."
Charlie chuckled as Millicent Bulstrode, resident Healer of the Italian Dragon Sanctuary, stormed into the room through a door cracked open enough so Ron could still have privacy but so she heard everything happening. Her hands were full of fresh linens and several jars of ointments and lotions floated along behind her head, and her dark curls, rolled into thick braids, shone in the bright lights overhead.
Millicent waved her hands at Charlie in annoyance, the linens discarded onto a bedside table. "Be gone with you."
Raising his hands in surrender, Charlie backed towards the door with one last serious glance at his brother, then Millicent, a quick nod, and he was gone.
"Prat," Ron muttered into the pillows, back facing up so Millicent could start to work on replacing the soiled linens on his wounds. He hissed as she peeled away the layer closest to his skin.
"Cooling gel wore off," she said, flicking her wrist to call over one of the jars to reapply the desensitizing gel. "You've done a spectacular job of pissing off one of the dragons, Weasley, judging by the state of your back and the slow healing. You'll be lucky when you get back to England that you can handle all the Quidditch gear again."
Ron fisted the sheets near his head under the pillow where Millicent couldn't see, but she could tell by the tension in his back muscles and the hiss of pain as several blisters broke from his movements that Ron was hurt more by her words than the actual wounds on his back. Caught between wanting to roll her eyes at his obsession with Quidditch, second only to Oliver Wood but still part of Hogwarts legend, and feeling empathetic for his plight, Millicent continued to mix ingredients for the next round of treatment.
"Although I'm sure with the proper rest and missing one game you will be in tip-top shape for the rest of the season."
"Merlin, Blaise is going to fucking kill me."
"I don't know about kill you, but if rumors are to be believed you'll still get to shag him left, right, and any which way you want-"
"What!"
"Lay back down this instant!" Millicent gently pushed the indignant Ron back down to lay flat on her examination table, biting her lip at the easy reaction she pulled from the Gryffindor. So easy to rile up. I can see why Zabini keeps him around. "Calm down, Weasley. I'm taking the piss."
Muffled into the pillow, Ron replied in a tone Millicent read as highly annoyed, but the flush that started behind his freckled ears belied other emotions.
"Healer's Oath, remember? And it helps I don't give a damn that you're with Blaise. Or is it Oliver?" More muttering from the table as she worked the healing lotions into his skin with delicate motions. "Ah, I see. I would have a hard time picking, too."
Ron was certain to be much more careful the next time he visited Charlie in Italy, this time with Blaise and Oliver as they all three hid for a few days from the scandal they'd caused, since he didn't want to suffer through Millicent's knowing gazes a second time.