Harry awoke in a hospital bed surrounded by people whom he cared about, and who cared about him. Finally lucid after what must have been a week or so, he peered at their worried faces through blurred vision, trying to find one in particular, before abruptly thrusting his hand out in a silent demand for his glasses. No bedside table, nowhere to grope for them; somehow, the familiar circular frames found themselves in his hand almost immediately anyway. He slid them on, blinking away crusts of sleep and the raging headache that throbbed dully in the front of his head, and began peering more readily, green eyes darting as they scanned for that head of blond hair.
But nothing.
"Where's Draco?" The words were distant, unattached from his voice and completely unfamiliar. Hermione, her hair strangely neat in its perfect curls, glanced nervously over to Ron, clutching more desperately to her husband's hand. Harry swallowed deeply, frowning suddenly before turning far too quickly, an IV pinching where it was slid deep into his wrist; he winced, checking it briefly, now distracted from his initial thought process. Hermione continued to frown at him, words on the tip of her tongue that she refused to let loose; beside her, the redhead refused to look at his best mate, focusing on his shoes and his wife's hand in his. Neither replied, nor did the other Weasleys lingering far behind where the Golden Trio sat: Fred and George, looking serious as they ever could in their full business attire - though in the most obnoxious plaid the pair could find; Ginny, looking nervous and awkward as she twisted her own wedding ring about her finger; little Rose, peering out the door for wherever her tiny brother, barely big enough to crawl, had ran off to; Bill, his arm around Fleur, both looking stoic at the far back of the room.
It was a massive family, extended through marriage to grow even larger - so unlike Harry's own. Harry's family included a set of dead parents and the man he loved, a soccer player so well known he was stopped in the streets more often than either of them could even count; the brunet had learned to ignore it whenever Draco was halted for an autograph, though he had never quite gotten past how famous his lover was. They'd been together far too long, after all, even longer than Ron and Hermione had been, but neither of the latter pair was a household name.
Still, Harry stared around, green eyes nervously desperate for a glimpse of his partner.
"Harry, he was…"
The words only half-registered in his ears, mostly passing over; his hand closed over a buzzer, turning it over briefly as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen or felt before. He pushed the indented button, listening to the extended drone as it resonated in his ears; then he pressed it again, simply testing it out. Satisfied that it worked well enough, he leaned back against the righted pillows of his hospital bed, shifting to get comfortable. Easier said than done when he felt like he was lying on a rock. A nurse clicked into the room, seemingly in a rush, sliding past the masses of red haired onlookers to stand, wringing her hands, by his bed.
"Mr Potter?"
"Where's Draco Malfoy?"
Ron made a noise in the back of his throat, and Hermione elbowed him, shooting him a dark look; behind her, Ginny made a wry sound almost like a laugh. Fred and George, exchanging a look, took their opportunity to define the phrase 'laughter is the best medicine', and promptly burst into a chorus of laughter, clapping each other for a private joke no one else got. Perhaps they were only trying to lighten the dank mood in the stark white room, tiny window streaming with sunlight, but Harry was focused.
"Well, sir...that is...I mean…"
"Out with it, if you could," he replied dryly, staring intently at her, eyes boring into her very soul; she only grew more awkward, nodding as she began stepping back mumbling some stutter about how she'd find out and send someone to let him know.
Silence had once again fallen in the room, broken only when Bill's watch chirruped some alarm, causing his arm to slip away from Fleur, the blonde giving him a perturbed look as if she didn't want to be left alone in such a place; he stepped up to Harry, clapping him on the shoulder momentarily.
"Sorry, mate, we've got to be going. Glad to see you're up again; take care of yourself," he told Harry, brows furrowed slightly around his facial scars, the only sign he had ever had a nasty spill of his own, years back. A hailstorm had done that to him, visibility too low for any sort of safe ride on a motorbike; Bill had still insisted upon it, coming out with half his face ruined beyond reconstruction surgery, and numerous bones broken. The wedding photos were horrendous.
Not moments after the eldest pair had left, Ginny took her place beside the bed, giving his hand a tender squeeze accompanied by a weak, sympathetic smile - she was still awkward about the romance they had back in school it seemed, something Harry hadn't cared about in ages. He returned the smile momentarily, if for no other reason than Ron sitting right there. She left, long hair falling in a sheet as she turned the corner, not bothering to give a final glance back; the twins peered after her before stepping up, beginning a spiel about their latest undertaking of joke shoppes, a franchise spreading wide across the country and beyond. Something about a Weasley product in every home from here to Egypt.
Harry simply nodded, eyes now falling to Hermione and Ron. It was only a matter of time before they left him too, leaving him alone in that room that reeked so of cleaning products and death. And still alone without his lover's lithe hand in his.
Rose and Hugo returned then, Hugo trapped in his sister's arms most awkwardly; he gave a shriek of glee at the sight of his parents, squirming until Rose set him down beside their father with a grunt of effort. The brunet felt old suddenly, a pang of what couldn't be striking him; Draco always refused to have children, saying simply that it was too much work to find a surrogate, and adoption paperwork was utterly tiresome. Even if it weren't, even if Harry went to that trouble, the blond vetoed the idea still, saying he wasn't home enough. Where was he now, then?
He stared for a moment, unaware he was gazing off into space, as he tried to recall how he had found himself in that position, that place that felt like a sterilised rock with its pristine white sheets and absolute silence. He couldn't recall it, he realised after a moment, frowning to himself; it was only when Hermione reached over and touched his arm, obviously concerned, that he snapped from his thoughts, looking at her over the frames of his glasses.
"You were in a car crash, Harry. You and Draco...you were both injured, though his injuries were more obvious than yours. Someone...found you outside the car, the police said. Draco was still trapped," Hermione explained, hand still on his bare arm. He could feel the hairs rising up nervously at her words, gooseflesh rippling over his arms and legs; Harry stifled a shiver as he realised she was alone - Ron and the children had left sometime when he was staring into the distance.
"...but you're okay now, Harry," she continued, trying to reassure him as she pulled her hand away slowly, forcing a smile; her hand moved now to play nervously with her hair, twisting the loose curls into tighter ones, a habit she had recently obtained. It suited her, he thought to himself, head falling to one side curiously. Finally, she nodded, as if deciding that that was enough of a speech for the time being, and turned slightly, heading off. "Like Bill said, Harry - take care of yourself. I'll come visit you again in a few days, alright?"
He must have given her a nod or some acknowledgement, because she gave him a genuine smile, the curve of her mouth as sweet as the crinkles at her eyes, before leaving; unlike Ginny, she glanced back to him before disappearing from sight, sending him a brief wave. Then he was alone again.
Harry lay back against his bed, closing his eyes momentarily as he tried to force himself to remember the circumstances under which Hermione's story had come about - a car crash, she had said, in which they were both injured. No surprise, Draco and Harry rarely travelled without one another. Carpooling was simply more convenient, and gave them some time to actually spend alone, without interruptions of phone calls and televisions and interviewers. To no avail, however; his mind seemed blocked off, sectioned off against the memories of what they had been doing, where they had been going, how they got hit. Who they had hit. How they were. Details, both minor and major, evaded him much as details of where Draco was, dancing in teasing circles around him, unseen by others.
He opened his eyes again, staring up at the ceiling until he finally drifted away, falling away into a deep sleep not unlike the coma from which he had just awoken.
