Harry had been gone for well over an hour, and Draco was bored. He glanced around at the walls vaguely, looking for some form of entertainment. Standing up from his position on the bed, the blonde stretched casually, walking over near the door. The wall was covered in a ratty cloth, supposedly hiding something.
Draco pushed aside the cloth, revealing a built in shelf overflowing with books. He eyed the top distastefully. Medical books and diagrams. One by one he went through them. Some books on anatomy and the nervous system. A well-worn book on different curing herbs. He kept going until one in particular caught his eye. A fat brown book, labeled in swirling faded gold. 'Matilda Mornes collection of Rhymes'. Yes, Draco remembered this book from when he had been just big enough to read, which had been quite some time ago, seeing how slowly elves age.
He picked up the tattered book slowly, carefully. It was heavy in his hand. He opened it, revealing a cloud of dust, and fingered through the first few pages until he came upon an old favorite poem.
There is a place down south
Where valleys grow green.
Where the water is cool
But the currents are mean.
It's a pretty place
When the moon comes out
Casting silvery shadows
On the trees standing stout.
The sweet water creek
Is the stomping ground
For swimming and splashing
For running round and round
And there's the Spanish mosses
With limbs hanging tired
Weighed down with the green sleeves
Spanish inspired
There's the schoolhouse on main
Children run and scream
Sit inside doing studies
Or mostly daydream
This place down south
Was a wonderful place
Filled with rolling meadows
And rich, luscious space
Pausing at the end, Draco noticed two extra stanzas written in what he assumed to be Harry's handwriting:
But this place is no longer
Corrupted by the pollution of the today world
The meadows turned to dust
The animals dead and furled
The chemicals and toxins in the air
Cast glows of purple and brown
Buildings and factories stand
Over this once happy southern town.
The blonde closed the book, growling low in his throat. The boy was right, most of the once beautiful cities were now disgustingly ugly. His musings were cut short by angry rapping on the door. He put the book back on the shelf and went over to the door, opening it cautiously.
A short, fat boy with a purple face stood there, wheezing with every breath. Draco raised a thin eyebrow, waiting for the guest to say something. He didn't have to wait long.
"Where's the freak?"
"What freak?"
"The one who lives here, dolt."
Draco raised his head, looking down upon the fat boy.
"I am no dolt." He slammed the door in the fat boy's face, earning a screamed 'He'll pay for that!'
The blonde shrugged, going back over to the book. He read a few more poems before he started to get a bit chilled. The sun had set by now, and the house was made of stone. He walked over to the bed, book with him, and burrowed under a blanket, resuming his reading.
Not twenty minutes later there was the sound of coughing from outside the door, and someone scrabbling to get in. Draco sighed, standing up and putting the book away again.
He pulled the door open once more to reveal Harry, bent over and coughing his lungs out.
The emerald eyed boy looked up, smiling slightly as he struggled to get a rather large basket filled to the brim with smelly herbs. Draco propped open the door, grabbing the basket in one hand and ushering the boy inside.
'How cute, he can't even carry a thirty pound basket...'
Damn. He did not just think Harry was cute.
Draco dismissed his thoughts when Harry started hacking again. He set the basket down, closing the door and pushing Harry over towards the bed. The boy stumbled uneasily, falling heavily onto the bed.
"What's got you regurgitating your organs?" The blonde asked once the coughing had subsided. Harry shrugged, pulling a blanket over himself as he shivered.
"Been in the cold too long, Suppose. Not too bad, happens all the time." The boy shivered.
"What are you, suicidal? You sound like you're coughing up Europe!" Harry shrugged again, sniffling. He tried to stand up, but Draco stopped him, pushing him back down on the bed.
"A healer, of all people, should know better than to be out in the cold. Where do you keep pots and pans? I'll make you a warm drink." Harry shook his head, pointing at the basket he had brought back.
"The plant with the little white flowers on it, can you hand it to me?" Draco nodded, reaching into the basket and pulling out a delicate little vine with tiny white bell flowers growing from it. He handed it to Harry, watching in fascination as the boy crumbled it up expertly, until it resembled green lumpy mashed potatoes. The raven shoved the mess into his mouth, swallowing quickly while pulling a sour face.
"Snow Belle. It's good for healing coughs and sore throats." Draco nodded, eyeing the rest of the herbs unpleasantly. Harry shivered once more before standing up.
"I'm fine now, sorry for bothering you. Go ahead and get some sleep."
"Where will you be sleeping?" The blonde looked around the room once more. There was only one bed. Harry blushed, glancing around as well.
"I'll just sleep on the floor..."
"You will do no such thing. You'll catch your death. If anything, I should be sleeping on the floor." Harry opened his mouth to protest.
"Your bed is big enough for two, I think." Harry blushed again, nodding meekly.
Draco climbed into the bed, watching as Harry went about the room, extinguishing all but two of the candles. The green eyed boy came back, climbing into the bed slowly and turning so that his back was facing Draco.
'As far as awkward nights go...' He thought as he drifted off.
Harry awoke with a start, noting the light streaming through his window with alarm. Last night he had slept better than he had in years. He pondered this as he attempted to get out of bed. The thin arm around his waist tightened, and Harry blushed.
Oh, that's why.
He pulled the arm off carefully, not wanting to wake its owner, and struggled out of the warm bed. He pulled on a lean pair of clothes and grabbed his basket, struggling with the weight as he pulled open the door, shutting it carefully behind him.
The boy ran to the hospital, hoping he wasn't too late. The sight that met him was exactly what he didn't want to see.
Petunia Dursley, wife of the town's banker, was standing at the door, arms crossed across her bony chest. She sniffed impatiently, throwing her horsy nose into the air.
"You, boy. Where have you been?!" She growled, knocking the basket out of Harry's hands. Harry scrambled to pick up the spilled plants, not daring to answer the woman questions.
"You didn't show up last night. We evens sent poor Dudders over."
"Sorry." Harry answered meekly. "Had to get these for the hospital."
"You think gathering weeds is more important than your debt to us? We gave you a home when my sister died! You have work to do at our house, and it comes before any other work you may have!" Harry shook his head, eyes closing momentarily behind his round glasses.
"I'm sorry." Harry got to his feet, running into the hospital before the woman could order him to do otherwise. Harry knew there would be hell to pay, but right now his patients were more important than himself.
Well, tell me what you thought!
