Summary: Harry saves Draco's life, mass of stuff ensues.
Author's Note: Harry and Draco do not belong to me. *sobs* However, this
story does. Please don't take it without asking.
Chapter One
Harry was lying in the Hospital Wing, unconscious. Hermione and Ron had
left side and departed nearly two days ago. But Draco remained by his side,
leaving only for his classes. He slept, ate, and studied in the chair
beside Harry's bed.
Draco was now curled up in the chair, reading the play Macbeth for Muggle
Studies. A sudden rustle of Harry's sheet caused Draco's head to snap up,
hope evident in his eyes. But Harry was only thrashing about in his
comatose sleep. Disappointed, Draco's gaze fell back to the pages of the
ancient book.
Harry thrashed about in his bed again, this time calling out, "No. No! I'm
no one's savior! No one's savior."
Suddenly, Harry's thrashings intensified to such a degree that Draco
thought he would surely toss himself off the bed. Draco quickly stood, his
book falling to the floor. Calling for Madame Pomfery, he laid a hand on
Harry's shoulder to try to calm him. The dark-haired boy swatted at Draco's
hand.
Draco pulled his hand back shouting, "Madame Pomfery!"
There had been a large lump on Harry's shoulder. A lump like that of a bee
sting or bug bite, only larger.
Madame Pomfery came bursting into the cubicle, wearing her bathrobe. "What
is it Mr. Mal -" She suddenly caught sight of the tossing Harry. "Good
lord." she gasped.
Draco was practically sobbing. His father was still a Death Eater; his
father had lied to him; his father had been there. Madame Pomfery placed a
comforting hand on Draco's shoulder. "It's only a seizure. He will be
alright when he awakes."
Draco shook his head. "It is not just a seizure."
"Mr. Malfoy, I have medical training. I believe I know more about this than
you."
"Madame Pomfery, I am the son of a Death Eater. I believe I know more about
their tactics than you."
"Well, then," Pomfery huffed, "as you know so much more than I do, what is
making him like this?"
"A potion mixture."
"What potion mixture? And how do you know?"
"I don't think it actually has a name, but I do know what's in it, and the
proportions. Veritiserum, wine, and Draft of the Living Dead. One half
Living Dead, and one quarter of each of the others."
"How do you know?"
"I saw my father use it on my little sister once. It - it killed her,"
Draco sobbed.
"Does it have an anti-toxin?"
"Yes. The same ingredients. Two-thirds wine, nine-sixths Veritiserum, three-
sixths Living Dead. It must be applied to the skin where the original
potion was injected."
"Are you certain?"
Draco nodded.
"I shall contact Professor Snape immediately."
She tuned and almost from the infirmary. Draco dropped his gaze back to
Harry, who had calmed down considerably, and let his tears flow.
Madame Pomfery soon returned with Snape and the potion. "You're certain of
this?" she asked one last time, picking up a pad of gauze from the medicine
cabinet nearby.
"Yes," Draco replied. "You need to smear it on all of the gauze," he added
watching her.
Once she had smeared one side with the creamy potion, she asked Draco,
"Where was it injected?"
"His right shoulder."
Draco bent and carefully unbuttoned Harry's pajama top and slipped his
right arm from the sleeve. Snape and Madame Pomfery gasped. There was a
massive welt on Harry's shoulder that was obviously caused by an injection.
Draco took the potion-covered gauze from Madame Pomfery and laid it over
the peak of the festered welt, smoothing it out against Harry's feverish
skin. "In a day or two - maybe three - he should wake up, but he will still
need the potion applied twice a day, or he will relapse."
Easter break started the next day, so Draco was able to stay by Harry's
side and watch his progress. He would not allow Madame Pomfery to dress
Harry's shoulder; he had to be the one to do it. That Saturday, two days
after the first application of the anti-toxin, while Draco was redressing
Harry's shoulder, he noticed that, though the swelling was down, the skin
on Harry's shoulder remained a smoldering temperature. Draco brushed
Harry's cheek with the back of his hand. "Oh, Harry," he sighed, "why did
you have be so heroic?" Harry stirred, but his eyes did not open, nor did
his breathing change. "Had you not stepped in, they would have given me
this poison. And the world would have been better off, for I am no one's
hero." Wit these words, Draco remembered Harry's protestations from a few
days before. Had these been his cries to the Death Eaters after Draco had
been knocked out? "Harry," Draco sighed.
Once more, Harry stirred. He reached up with one hand and covered Draco's.
Yet, his eyes remained closed. Odd, Draco thought. Perhaps the sleeping
potion is beginning to wear off. Draco smoothed out the gauze bandage over
the reduced welt before curling up in his chair with Macbeth.
"Double, double
Toil and trouble
Fire burn and cauldron bubble?" Draco skeptically said, aloud. "There's no
way that could be part of making a potion; you don't need incantations to
make a potion."
"That's not necessarily true."
Hearing Harry's voice, Draco jumped up and rushed to the side of Harry's
bed. "Harry! You're awake!"
"Really?" Harry asked, his voice filled with sarcasm, "I thought I was
still asleep."
"Sarcasm now is not funny, especially not on that mater," Draco replied
seriously.
"Why?" Harry asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"You've been unconscious for almost a week."
They were silent for a while, only staring into each other's eyes
Both saw relief and gratitude there. Draco reached out and brushed Harry's
bangs from his eyes. "Harry," he sighed, "why did you risk your life to
save mine?"
"Because, I - " Harry had been on the verge of revealing his feelings for
Draco, when Ron and Hermione stepped into the cubicle.
"Malfoy," Ron sneered. "Come to finish what your father's friends started?"
"Hardly, Weasely," Draco's usual malice was absent from his reply. "Though
my father is a Death Eater, I am not."
"And you expect us to believe that?" Ron snorted.
"Yes."
"Why else would a group of Death Eaters be trying to kill him?" Harry
asked.
"You're awake!" Ron gasped.
"No shit, Sherlock."
"Who's Sherlock?"
Harry opened his mouth to explain, but found Draco had already launched
into the explanation. "Sherlock Holms was a fictional detective created by
Sir Arthur Conan Doyal, a Muggle author. He was supposed to be the best
detective of all time."
Ron's mouth hung agape, "How did you know that?"
"We had to read Hound of the Baskervilles for Muggle Studies," Hermione
answered him.
"You're taking Muggle Studies?" Ron stared bewildered at Draco.
"Yes. Now if you would leave, Harry and I need to talk - alone."
Ron glared at the tall blonde, then turned on his heal and stormed out of
the infirmary, and Hermione followed.
"Harry, why did you save my life?" Draco asked for the second time.
"No one deserves the cruciatus curse, or Avada Kedavra."
"That's why I blacked out?"
Harry nodded. "You're the second to survive it, you know? You didn't get a
cool scare, though," Harry joked, lightening the mood.
"I'm not so sure about that," Draco breathed, still gazing into Harry's
eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"You gave me a scar that will never go away." Draco took one of Harry's
hands and placed it over his heart. "You may tihnk you're no one's savior,
but you are mine."
Harry sat up, pulling Draco's head down. Their lips met in a chaste kiss,
The sensation of their lips touching was enough to make their breath catch
in their throats. When they pulled away, Draco still held Harry's left hand
against his chest. Harry yawned and laid back into his pillow. "I'm tired,
Draco," he said, closing his eyes.
Draco gently laid Harry's arm on he bed and sat back down with Macbeth. He
began reading to himself, 'Double, double,
Toil and trouble.' he couldn't concentrate. Harry was getting better wasn't
he? What was all that about possible needing an incantation for a potion?
Draco set the book down on he bedside table and curled up in the chair for
another night.
Author's Note: Harry and Draco do not belong to me. *sobs* However, this
story does. Please don't take it without asking.
Chapter One
Harry was lying in the Hospital Wing, unconscious. Hermione and Ron had
left side and departed nearly two days ago. But Draco remained by his side,
leaving only for his classes. He slept, ate, and studied in the chair
beside Harry's bed.
Draco was now curled up in the chair, reading the play Macbeth for Muggle
Studies. A sudden rustle of Harry's sheet caused Draco's head to snap up,
hope evident in his eyes. But Harry was only thrashing about in his
comatose sleep. Disappointed, Draco's gaze fell back to the pages of the
ancient book.
Harry thrashed about in his bed again, this time calling out, "No. No! I'm
no one's savior! No one's savior."
Suddenly, Harry's thrashings intensified to such a degree that Draco
thought he would surely toss himself off the bed. Draco quickly stood, his
book falling to the floor. Calling for Madame Pomfery, he laid a hand on
Harry's shoulder to try to calm him. The dark-haired boy swatted at Draco's
hand.
Draco pulled his hand back shouting, "Madame Pomfery!"
There had been a large lump on Harry's shoulder. A lump like that of a bee
sting or bug bite, only larger.
Madame Pomfery came bursting into the cubicle, wearing her bathrobe. "What
is it Mr. Mal -" She suddenly caught sight of the tossing Harry. "Good
lord." she gasped.
Draco was practically sobbing. His father was still a Death Eater; his
father had lied to him; his father had been there. Madame Pomfery placed a
comforting hand on Draco's shoulder. "It's only a seizure. He will be
alright when he awakes."
Draco shook his head. "It is not just a seizure."
"Mr. Malfoy, I have medical training. I believe I know more about this than
you."
"Madame Pomfery, I am the son of a Death Eater. I believe I know more about
their tactics than you."
"Well, then," Pomfery huffed, "as you know so much more than I do, what is
making him like this?"
"A potion mixture."
"What potion mixture? And how do you know?"
"I don't think it actually has a name, but I do know what's in it, and the
proportions. Veritiserum, wine, and Draft of the Living Dead. One half
Living Dead, and one quarter of each of the others."
"How do you know?"
"I saw my father use it on my little sister once. It - it killed her,"
Draco sobbed.
"Does it have an anti-toxin?"
"Yes. The same ingredients. Two-thirds wine, nine-sixths Veritiserum, three-
sixths Living Dead. It must be applied to the skin where the original
potion was injected."
"Are you certain?"
Draco nodded.
"I shall contact Professor Snape immediately."
She tuned and almost from the infirmary. Draco dropped his gaze back to
Harry, who had calmed down considerably, and let his tears flow.
Madame Pomfery soon returned with Snape and the potion. "You're certain of
this?" she asked one last time, picking up a pad of gauze from the medicine
cabinet nearby.
"Yes," Draco replied. "You need to smear it on all of the gauze," he added
watching her.
Once she had smeared one side with the creamy potion, she asked Draco,
"Where was it injected?"
"His right shoulder."
Draco bent and carefully unbuttoned Harry's pajama top and slipped his
right arm from the sleeve. Snape and Madame Pomfery gasped. There was a
massive welt on Harry's shoulder that was obviously caused by an injection.
Draco took the potion-covered gauze from Madame Pomfery and laid it over
the peak of the festered welt, smoothing it out against Harry's feverish
skin. "In a day or two - maybe three - he should wake up, but he will still
need the potion applied twice a day, or he will relapse."
Easter break started the next day, so Draco was able to stay by Harry's
side and watch his progress. He would not allow Madame Pomfery to dress
Harry's shoulder; he had to be the one to do it. That Saturday, two days
after the first application of the anti-toxin, while Draco was redressing
Harry's shoulder, he noticed that, though the swelling was down, the skin
on Harry's shoulder remained a smoldering temperature. Draco brushed
Harry's cheek with the back of his hand. "Oh, Harry," he sighed, "why did
you have be so heroic?" Harry stirred, but his eyes did not open, nor did
his breathing change. "Had you not stepped in, they would have given me
this poison. And the world would have been better off, for I am no one's
hero." Wit these words, Draco remembered Harry's protestations from a few
days before. Had these been his cries to the Death Eaters after Draco had
been knocked out? "Harry," Draco sighed.
Once more, Harry stirred. He reached up with one hand and covered Draco's.
Yet, his eyes remained closed. Odd, Draco thought. Perhaps the sleeping
potion is beginning to wear off. Draco smoothed out the gauze bandage over
the reduced welt before curling up in his chair with Macbeth.
"Double, double
Toil and trouble
Fire burn and cauldron bubble?" Draco skeptically said, aloud. "There's no
way that could be part of making a potion; you don't need incantations to
make a potion."
"That's not necessarily true."
Hearing Harry's voice, Draco jumped up and rushed to the side of Harry's
bed. "Harry! You're awake!"
"Really?" Harry asked, his voice filled with sarcasm, "I thought I was
still asleep."
"Sarcasm now is not funny, especially not on that mater," Draco replied
seriously.
"Why?" Harry asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"You've been unconscious for almost a week."
They were silent for a while, only staring into each other's eyes
Both saw relief and gratitude there. Draco reached out and brushed Harry's
bangs from his eyes. "Harry," he sighed, "why did you risk your life to
save mine?"
"Because, I - " Harry had been on the verge of revealing his feelings for
Draco, when Ron and Hermione stepped into the cubicle.
"Malfoy," Ron sneered. "Come to finish what your father's friends started?"
"Hardly, Weasely," Draco's usual malice was absent from his reply. "Though
my father is a Death Eater, I am not."
"And you expect us to believe that?" Ron snorted.
"Yes."
"Why else would a group of Death Eaters be trying to kill him?" Harry
asked.
"You're awake!" Ron gasped.
"No shit, Sherlock."
"Who's Sherlock?"
Harry opened his mouth to explain, but found Draco had already launched
into the explanation. "Sherlock Holms was a fictional detective created by
Sir Arthur Conan Doyal, a Muggle author. He was supposed to be the best
detective of all time."
Ron's mouth hung agape, "How did you know that?"
"We had to read Hound of the Baskervilles for Muggle Studies," Hermione
answered him.
"You're taking Muggle Studies?" Ron stared bewildered at Draco.
"Yes. Now if you would leave, Harry and I need to talk - alone."
Ron glared at the tall blonde, then turned on his heal and stormed out of
the infirmary, and Hermione followed.
"Harry, why did you save my life?" Draco asked for the second time.
"No one deserves the cruciatus curse, or Avada Kedavra."
"That's why I blacked out?"
Harry nodded. "You're the second to survive it, you know? You didn't get a
cool scare, though," Harry joked, lightening the mood.
"I'm not so sure about that," Draco breathed, still gazing into Harry's
eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"You gave me a scar that will never go away." Draco took one of Harry's
hands and placed it over his heart. "You may tihnk you're no one's savior,
but you are mine."
Harry sat up, pulling Draco's head down. Their lips met in a chaste kiss,
The sensation of their lips touching was enough to make their breath catch
in their throats. When they pulled away, Draco still held Harry's left hand
against his chest. Harry yawned and laid back into his pillow. "I'm tired,
Draco," he said, closing his eyes.
Draco gently laid Harry's arm on he bed and sat back down with Macbeth. He
began reading to himself, 'Double, double,
Toil and trouble.' he couldn't concentrate. Harry was getting better wasn't
he? What was all that about possible needing an incantation for a potion?
Draco set the book down on he bedside table and curled up in the chair for
another night.