AN: For an anon who wanted a fluffy Drarry drabble. It would appear that I am incapable of writing fluff. This is set in an AU seventh year, while the Trio are on the run.
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't be worrying about my university fees.
When they find him, there's more blood on him than there is in his body.
"It had to be Malfoy," Ron says, in a voice that announces that he is done with life, the universe and everything, but even he helps out with Hermione's frantic attempts at first-aid with the kind of concentration that Professor McGonagall never saw from him. She's digging books out of her back and flicking through them, swiftly and with increasing desperation, casting spell after spell, while Ron works diligently beside her and Harry sits helplessly by their half-conscious patient, trying to think of something comforting to say.
"How did this happen?" he asks eventually of the bedraggled and thoroughly wretched-looking Malfoy.
Malfoy smiles mirthlessly. "The Dark Lord wanted to know where you were." Harry flinches. "He was not best pleased when he discovered my parents had no idea."
"So why are you –"
"You're not the only one who can be stupid and reckless, Potter," Malfoy snarls through gritted teeth, and his sneer as he says the last part is the most self-deprecating expression Harry has ever seen on him.
The thought that Malfoy got seriously hurt trying to protect his parents is not a comfortable one.
Eventually Hermione declares that she's done as much as she can for the now-unconscious Malfoy. "One of us should probably sit with him during the night, though," she concludes. "Just to make sure he's all right."
"What on earth do you think is going to happen to him during the night?" Ron demands.
"I don't know!" Hermione snaps. "I am not a medical encyclopaedia, Ronald, I am a teenager trying to make sure that one of her classmates doesn't die!"
Ron wisely backs off. "You're probably right," he allows. "One of us should stay with him, to keep an eye on him if nothing else."
"Ron Weasley, if you honestly think at this point that he did this on purpose to somehow use it against us –"
"I wasn't going to suggest that!" Ron protests, and Harry's pretty sure he's telling the truth. "It's just, you know, I wouldn't put it past You-Know-Who to do this to him and send him here deliberately, like a trap or something."
Hermione sighs. "It's horrible to think that that's actually quite likely," she says. She sounds absolutely exhausted. "I'll take first watch."
Of all the uncomfortable things that have ever happened to Harry, sitting next to an unconscious Malfoy while Hermione sleeps and Ron keeps watch outside the tent has to be ranked pretty high. It's unsettling to see his one-time enemy so – he really doesn't want to use this word but it's the only one that fits – vulnerable.
Of course, then Malfoy starts twitching and moving around in his sleep, and everything is suddenly even more awkward than it was before.
Now he's making tiny, pained noises. And he's – oh God, he's whispering something.
He's whispering No like he's in pain.
Shit.
Hermione would probably tell him not to do this, Harry reflects, as he attempts to gently shake Malfoy awake. She'd probably say Malfoy needs rest after everything that's happened to him, and that Harry shouldn't try to wake him up when he's so badly injured.
Harry does not, at this point, particularly care what Hermione would say.
"Malfoy," he hisses, "wake up."
Ice-grey eyes stare blearily up at him, and Malfoy blinks. "What d'you want, Potter?" he groans, words slightly slurred.
Why do I bother trying to be nice to him again, Harry thinks grumpily (hey, he's sleep-deprived), but can't bring himself to regret it. "You – looked like you were having a nightmare," he says uncomfortably.
He looks back at Malfoy only to see that his ex-nemesis looks, if possible, even more uncomfortable than he does. And Harry knows that look: it's the same one he wore during fifth year, after every time he woke up breathing hard and sweating and desperately trying to remind himself that he wasn't in that graveyard anymore and Cedric wasn't dying right in front of his eyes –
"I'm fine," Malfoy grits out.
Harry is too tired – and too much reminded of himself – to argue with him. "Malfoy," he says patiently, "in case you've forgotten, I've had the Cruciatus Curse used on me before. I know what it looks like when someone's reliving it."
Malfoy flinches.
"Oh, for God's sake, Malfoy," Harry snaps, finding himself sounding uncannily like Hermione, "don't tell me you're embarrassed about being Crucio'd."
"Don't be an idiot, Potter," Malfoy retorts, "of course I'm not." He sounds a little more like his former self. Harry is pretty sure that shouldn't be as reassuring as it is.
They don't speak any more after that. Harry sits there and tries not to think about anything that's just happened, while Malfoy lies next to him attempting to sleep and failing miserably. The sight is almost pitiful, except that it's hard to use the word pitiful about Malfoy. He seems to resist it.
Somehow, at some point during the night, Harry finds himself stroking Malfoy's hair. He hears Malfoy's breath hitch, but the other boy (is he really a boy anymore?) says nothing, a clear sign that he's been worse affected than he pretends. Harry should probably feel embarrassed, but he's too tired for that.
He can feel it as Malfoy slowly starts to relax; he can feel it as Malfoy finally drops off into mercifully dreamless sleep. In sleep he looks uncharacteristically peaceful, the constant tension that Harry hadn't even realised was there finally gone. Harry feels an odd, sad smile creep onto his face. He does not remove his hand from Malfoy's hair.
Ron comes into the tent to take over from Harry and, in an unexpected display of tact, says nothing.
