…Pain, utter pain, burning through his arm just as Voldemort's eyes burned through his head, seemingly reading his every thought and feeling…won't it stop burning?! Searing through him, making him forget who he was, making him believe the pain would go on forever, had been going on forever. He couldn't escape, he'd never escape. The only thing he knew was he must not scream, he must not cry, for that was what weaklings did and he would never be weak….
"Draco?" The blonde didn't reply, his eyes were squeezed shut, his forehead beaded with sweat.
"Draco!" Madam Pomfrey shook him. Still, he wouldn't wake. Finally she slapped him. "Mr. Malfoy! Wake up this instant!"
Draco's eyes flew open; unshed tears dotting his pale lashes. They were wide, the gaze abstracted with terror.
"No! No! Stop! I don't want this!" he screamed, his hand painfully clamped over his left arm, the long silk sleeve crumpling under his fingers. His voice was harsh, startling Madam Pomfrey so much that she stumbled back, her arm knocking over one of the vases.
His voice subsided into a whimper, "Don't want this. Never wanted this." He started rocking back and forth, still clutching his arm in a death grip.
"No." he rocked forward, "No." he rocked back.
His eyes were wide and glazed, the pupils dilated to pinpoints of remembered pain.
Madam Pomfrey recovered from her shock and backed away slowly, carefully, so as not to alarm him. Dumbledore had warned her that this kind of behavior could possibly occur more and more after Voldemort's return. As soon as she got out the door, she turned and ran to the Headmaster's office.
Draco took no notice, his eyes looking past her, past the hospital ward, seeing once again those eyes…the Dark Lord's eyes…whimpering, he shrank back, covered his eyes. But he couldn't escape them, they searched him out, forced him to see their horribly lurid red glow. They were laughing at him! Mocking, terrible laughter filled his ears, and he couldn't escape.
You are weak.
Eyes clenched shut, his hands unsuccessfully trying to block out that terrible derisive laughter; Draco lay there, tears flowing unchecked down his cheeks.
"Malfoy?"
Cool hands upon his own, trying to pry them off his ears.
"Crying…?" the voice muttered, a note of incredulity in his tone, as whoever it was noticed the tear tracks on Draco's cheeks.
Draco's hands were grasped tightly in a firm, warm hand, effectively holding them still.
The laughter seemed to subside in the tortured youth's mind as a clear voice cut through that ghastly laughter, making it fade away. He couldn't place where it came from but it was soothing, comforting, and he allowed his eyes to open, just a crack, in case this was a trick of his "Dark Lord's".
Instead of seeing red, he saw green…emerald green-no, emeralds were gems and gems were hard in their beauty- they were gentle with concern and they reminded Draco of the dew-dropped leaves on flowers, or on trees.
"M-Draco? Are you okay?"
That voice, as gentle as his eyes….
"Draco?"
Draco just kept staring at Harry Potter, as if never seeing him before, "Gentle, gently now…" he giggled, the movement of his mouth ungainly.
The seemingly insane blonde continued staring at Harry, then traced the scar on Harry's forehead, "Scarred…marked…me too, me too!"
Harry turned away for a second, and as Draco lost sight of those eyes, the red reappeared and he began to whimper. Harry turned back, holding a vial.
"Here. Drink this," he said.
Draco didn't want to, it might be poison…those red eyes were still there, lurking….
"Please?" Harry asked helplessly.
Draco, seeing the frustration he was causing in those beautiful gentle eyes nodded resignedly and took the vial.
If it were a poison, the better it would be for everyone else, he thought wryly, before gulping it down.
Draco sank into darkness, those green eyes the last bit of color he saw.
Harry stared down at the sleeping boy, who finally seemed to be at peace, and sighed. How different he looked when he was asleep…the arrogant, spoiled brat was no more, and in its place was this beautiful…child.
He sighed and sat back, running his hand through his dark hair. When would he stop thinking things like that?! Beautiful…yes, Draco was…argh!
He silently fumed to himself, even as he subconsciously smoothed down the sheets, fluffed up Draco's pillow, and tucked in the blankets around him.
How did he manage to screw his life up so bad?
Sighing again, he bonked his head softly on the wall.
Oh yes, very smart Harry--kill whatever few brain cells you have left, he thought sarcastically.
A few hours ago he could safely say that he only liked Draco a little and that was because his superficial hormones liked how he looked. But a few hours ago he hadn't been hit by a Bludger, hadn't fallen off his broom (again), and been sent immediately to Madam Pomfrey to heal his leg. A few hours ago he hadn't seen Draco Malfoy crying, rocking, his eyes crushed shut, and in obvious pain. A few hours ago he hadn't seen Draco actually happy to see him.
Harry glanced at the vial that lay, half-full of Sleeping Draught, next to Draco's prone body.
Maybe I should drink some, too…he mused to himself, and then I could pretend nothing happened…or that it was just a dream.
The dark-haired "hero" grabbed the vial and lifted it to his lips, drank it, and fell asleep, one arm outstretched, his fingers slightly brushing Draco's. Unconsciously, Draco took the offered hand and held it tightly.