Chapter Four
Harry couldn't recall the last time the night had been quite so long. Sitting there in the darkness, he could see little more than then what was illuminated by the moonlight creeping in between the slats of the blinds. Every so often, he would notice Malfoy stir or hear his breathing become more irregular. Harry found himself leaning forward regularly to put the back of his hand to Draco's forehead and to the side of his face. Harry wished he had a thermometer, though he was confident Malfoy's fever was rising steadily. He really wasn't sure how he was supposed to lower it, or if he should even wake Draco up to try. It was probably best just to let him sleep for now. His temperature wasn't particularly serious yet; they would have time to deal with this later if the problem escalated.
It would never have occurred to Harry that at some point in his life he would be sitting wide-awake and worried at the bedside of his rival. It had yet to actually strike him that Malfoy could indeed die in the wake of the injuries he had inflicted. This thought had only occurred to Harry in passing, but not as a possible outcome of his stay at the Burrow. Even then, it had only been to convince Draco to tolerate Hermione's imminent arrival.
An hour or two before daybreak, Mrs. Weasley came into the room. She offered to relieve Harry but he refused, insisting that he wasn't truly tried. In actuality, he was exhausted. On the other hand, he wasn't sleepy in the least and doubted that he would be able to get any sleep for another few hours. He must have appeared alert enough in the light of Mrs. Weasley's wand to convince her. She fussed over Draco's bandages for a minute or two before finally leaving the room.
Mrs. Weasley returned an hour or so later, this time carrying a decent sized tray. "I thought I would bring you this before the rest of the house wakes up. I'm sure that will be soon, so keep the door closed. They're a noisy lot."
"Thanks." Harry watched as Mrs. Weasley set the tray down on the bedside table and lowered her wand to seek out one of the broken lamps "Do you think it would be all right if Hermione came? I think she would be would know more than any of us about…something like this."
One of the lamps began to piece itself back together, clinking dully in the darkness. "That sounds like a marvelous idea, Harry." Mrs. Weasley seemed to be considering the likelihood of her son arriving home with Hermione. "I'll probably have to run it by the Ministry, but this is my house. I can't think of any reason why they would refuse."
Harry managed a smile of thanks just as the now lit lamp was placed near the breakfast tray. "Do you think his parents will come for him soon?"
Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Of course. Arthur and I would if he were one of our boys. Any decent parent would and I might not have many good things to say about the Malfoys, but they don't seem like bad parents."
In Harry's opinion, any parent who would associate with the Death Eaters was a "bad parent", but he didn't argue that point, instead moving on to another, "And what if they don't come, or if they can't? Even if they do cooperate and tell the Ministry everything they know, won't Voldemort kill all three of them?"
Harry saw Mrs. Weasley cringe. He was sure this was geared more towards the notion of someone under her care being murdered than to the name of the murderer itself. "I'm sure they'll be put under the protection of the Ministry," Mrs. Weasley insisted. She seemed terribly sure of herself; Harry was confident she would have her say in this. "I have to go back downstairs before there's complete chaos, but I'll see what I can do about getting Hermione here." She frowned, looking Draco over one last time before drawing back and going to the door. "Try to get him to eat something if you can and if you get tired, come and get me. All right?" Harry nodded.
After the door had closed, Harry moved closer to the tray she had placed on the nightstand. He took a piece of toast for himself though he didn't have much of an appetite. He was still picking around the center of the bread when Malfoy stirred. Harry watched him thoughtfully, unsure if he was actually waking or merely tossing in his sleep again. It was difficult to tell with Malfoy's eyes bandaged as they were, but a groping hand was proof enough that Draco was awake and disoriented. One hand met the wall, the other felt the unfamiliar bed linens beneath his fingers.
Harry assumed it would be wisest not to point out Malfoy's forgetfulness; everything would come back to him in a few short moments. "How are you feeling?"
Malfoy gave a slight start but seemed to relax, realizing where he was. He shrank back to the bed, appearing disappointed. "I'm fine," he said in the most annoyed tone he could manage. This was a bit difficult as his voice was scratchy and hoarse upon waking. "Why are you still here?"
"Everyone else is busy," Harry had resolved not to let Malfoy get to him this time. "Are you hungry? Mrs. Weasley brought up breakfast."
"I don't want any." Malfoy only sounded petulant now.
Harry hadn't forgotten how stubborn he could be. "You need to eat something. At least have a piece of toast."
"Not here. For all I know it's poisoned." Malfoy's right hand had moved to the bandages over his eyes, as if to make sure they were in place.
"You're our hostage, remember?" Harry rolled his eyes "What good would you be dead? Here-" Harry took a couple of pillows from the side of the mattress and leaned them against the headboard. "Sit up." Harry did more of the work than Malfoy did, lifting the other up and against the pillows. Draco didn't seem particularly thankful, but as he was already sitting up now, decided to act as if it had been his idea. Taking the tray, Harry carefully climbed onto the bed and sat down next to Draco. He took a piece of toast, already spread with marmalade, and broke it in half. "If they poisoned you, then they're poisoning me too." He nudged Draco's hand, passing him his half.
Malfoy seemed to consider his options after hearing Harry take a small bite. "I want your half," he insisted, holding out his hand on his own accord this time.
Harry rolled his eyes. He considered saying something clever but decided against it. "Fine." Before he could trade, Draco pulled his hand away.
"You already took a bite. At least break off that portion, Potter. You handling my food is disgusting enough."
This time, Harry considered licking the back of the toast but again, his better judgment was there to dissuade him. "All right." He broke off the end of the toast rather carelessly, making it as loud as possible "There. Now will you take it?"
Unable to see what was happening, Malfoy really had no choice but to trust Harry. As they traded breakfasts, Harry knew that, normally, he would be drawing amusement from the situation and he could tell that Draco knew this as well. Malfoy was doing his best to act as if nothing was different now. He took the toast grudgingly and leaned back against the pillows, picking idly around the corners. "So how long am I supposed to be here?"
This was it. Harry had been dreading this imminent conversation. Surely the subject of how he came to be stranded here in the first place was close at hand. "I'm not sure. I don't think they're going to move you to the Ministry in your condition, if that's what you think."
"What is it that they want?" Draco managed to tear off another bit of toast without dropping any crumbs on the bed. "What am I being held hostage for?"
Harry had assumed that question had already been answered or simply needn't be. "Information, most likely. Anything that will help the Ministry find Vol-" He saw Draco flinch and caught himself. Now wasn't the time to upset Malfoy. "-You-Know-Who."
"And who is going to give them this 'information'?" Draco pressed, mocking excessive interest in the answer.
Harry should have guessed that Malfoy would make this difficult. "Your parents. I'm sure they've noticed that their only son is missing by now. Even they-" Harry fell silent as Malfoy began to laugh without warning. The sound was cruel and mirthless, and sent a painful sort of chill down Harry's spine. "What did I say?"
It took a moment for Malfoy to cease his laughing. When he managed to do so, he finished his toast before speaking again, though not to answer Harry's question, "What will they do with me if no one comes?"
The concept of no one coming for Malfoy left Harry feeling uneasy. "I don't know," he lied. "But your parents will come, so what does it even matter?" When he received no further response, Harry was only too eager to change the subject before it took an even more unpleasant turn. "Do you want something else? There are some fried eggs here too."
Malfoy shook his head. "I'm really not hungry."
Draco hadn't snapped at Harry this time. He merely seemed to be tired. Assuming he really was running a fever, Harry wasn't surprised that he had no appetite "At least drink something then. I think it's orange juice." If there was one thing Harry did remember, it was that Malfoy needed liquids. He seemed to remember that juice was best…or was it water? When Draco nodded in approval he decided he would worry about that later. "Hermione might not be here until tomorrow." Harry made sure that Malfoy had a good grip on the glass before he sat back again.
"I'm sure that Weasel boyfriend of hers will be tagging along." There was a moment of silence between the two of them as Draco took a drink from the glass that had been offered to him.
At least his anger wasn't aimed entirely upon his rival, though Harry wasn't sure if this was a particularly good thing. "Ron. Probably, yeah…You're trying to stay on her good side though, remember. Don't begin to patronize her the minute she walks through the door."
"What do you mean by that?" Draco brought the glass to his lips once more only to nearly choke on what he had just swallowed. "You mean Weaselbee isn't her boyfriend?"
Harry couldn't help but smile; Malfoy sounded genuinely shocked. "No, he isn't," Harry said shortly, reaching for his own juice. He was pleased to find that he hadn't been wrong about it being orange juice when he took a sip.
It looked as if it was going to take a bit of convincing to make Draco accept that he had been incorrect. "But they…"
Harry took Malfoy's glass once he was finished. "Yeah, but we just don't talk about it."
"The lot of you are idiots. You know that, right?" Malfoy leaned back casually against the headboard but Harry was sure he noticed something more there in his mannerisms.
After a short observation of the other, Harry sat his glass aside and leaned forward, putting his hand on Draco's cheek. Malfoy jerked away at first. It seemed he had a few choice words on the subject, but Harry moved a hand to Draco's brow regardless and spoke before he had a chance to reply. "You're burning up now. You can't tell me you don't have a fever."
"Get your hands off me, Potter!" Malfoy shoved him away rather weakly, but Harry caught his wrists.
Harry put one of Malfoy's hands to his cheek and positioned the other so Draco could feel how warm he was in comparison. Whether it was the shock of realizing that Harry was right or the embarrassment of the predicament, Malfoy shut up. Harry took the opportunity to remove several pillows so the still silent boy beside him was lying down once more. "Now do you believe me?
It didn't take long for Malfoy to recover from his initial surprise. Now he merely turned on his side and shrugged. "So? What does proving your point change? What can I do about it?"
Affronted and tired, Harry was almost finished trying to be kind. "Nothing I guess. I'm just trying to help. You don't have to be such a-"
"You're only doing this because you know something. They're going to kill me aren't they? If no one comes they're going to kill me." The sudden distress in Draco's voice troubled Harry.
This situation was reminding Harry of when he stumbled across Malfoy crying in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. He was caught completely off guard and not at all sure how to handle it. There was no use lying to him. Malfoy was a jerk, not an idiot. "They would give you a trial," Harry said at last. "They don't just kill people whenever it suits them."
"Of course they do!" Malfoy shouted into his pillow. "If they're not above taking hostages, they already have approval to kill them too."
Harry hadn't thought about the situation like that. He shook his head, growing more annoyed. "Stop it, Malfoy. Your mother wouldn't even let you shop by yourself. I'm sure she's in fits as we speak."
Malfoy forced himself back into a sitting position and grabbed Harry's arm forcefully. "Shut your mouth, Potter. You don't know anything any about my family."
Harry was surprised but not deterred. "You're telling me that I'm wrong? Your parents hate you now, is that it? They wouldn't come for you because their only child isn't worth the time?"
The grip on Harry's arm tightened almost painfully. "Of course they would come! They'd make sure you and your Muggle-loving friends regretted keeping me here in the first place!"
Harry pried Draco's hand away, shoving him back without thinking. "You're a spoiled brat, Malfoy. Don't even try to make me believe otherwise."
"I suppose this is a sensitive subject for you," Draco smirked, propping himself back up on the mattress. "Your parents did a rather sloppy job of protecting you, didn't they?"
Harry's better judgement took a courteous step aside, and he struck Malfoy without a second thought. It was only when the other cried out in pain and put both hands to his face that Harry came to his senses. "Damnit."
Harry moved forward and pulled Draco none too gently closer, situating the blonde so that he was partially resting across his lap. "You had better pray your parents come soon. I might just kill you myself otherwise," he grumbled, supporting Draco's head with one hand and unbandaging the wound over his eyes with the other. He could tell the wound was bleeding once more without even completely unwrapping it. Blood was mostly on the left side, where the back of Harry's hand had connected. This time, Harry couldn't find it in himself to be quite so sympathetic.
Luckily, his apathy came in useful; it was a bit easier to look at Draco's eyes now. Harry dabbed some of the blood at one temple away and noticed that this wound was only looking worse. It was likely his other injuries looked similar, if not worse. He really didn't want to do anything more until Hermione was there, though. For all he knew at this point, he was only making things worse. Draco certainly hadn't gotten any better since he had been here; a few moments ago had been an excellent example of that.
He wondered if Malfoy was even still conscious. "Hey, Malfoy?" A groan told him that Draco was still awake, if not just a little bitter. He rebandaged the wound a bit more lightly this time. "How's that?" There was still little more than a groan from Malfoy in the way of a response. Harry sighed and laid Malfoy back on the mattress. He climbed off the bed and took a seat back in the chair he had spent the previous night in.
It was difficult to approximate the passage of time. There was no clock in the room and it would be light out for quite a while. Harry didn't know how long it was before Malfoy spoke to him again, but he knew he had chosen the exact moment before he was about to fall asleep.
"Potter?"
"What?" Harry grunted in response, opening one eye lazily. Malfoy didn't answer, so Harry sat forward. "What?" He repeated before realizing that the blonde seemed to be shivering. Harry was on his feet and leaning over Malfoy before he even realized he had. Once there, he was at a loss regarding what to do next. For once he wished he had been able to spend more time with Dudley in front of the television. At least maybe then he would know what was happening. From the tail end of the programs he had caught, the protagonists always handled similar situations a lot faster than this seemed to be progressing.
Malfoy was still lying as Harry had left him, though he now seemed restless, "I'm blind, aren't I?"
Harry rolled his eyes, but took the blankets from the end of the bed and pulled them over Draco. He tried not to allow them to lie too heavily on his wounds, though he was uneasy about trying to keep the other warm when he was probably still running a very high fever, "Being blind is that last thing that you need to worry about, Malfoy."
"How am I supposed to…" Draco put a hand to the bandages over his eyes. "What am I going to…"
Harry felt useless and Malfoy was still shivering. He supposed he could lie to him or he could try to comfort him. That thought was ridiculous. What was he even doing here? He was trying to save the life of a Malfoy. What's more, this was Draco Malfoy. Anyone in this house was better suited for this task than he was.
Harry jumped as the blonde beneath him gave a strangled sort of cry. Now wasn't the time to hold a grudge. Swallowing back his pride, Harry climbed back onto the mattress. "That doesn't matter right now. Just relax or you're going to make yourself sick," Harry told Draco as he pulled the boy against him, able to wrap the blankets around him completely from that angle.
"Don't touch me, Potter," Draco gasped though Harry ignored the protest and it seemed the Slytherin in his arms forgot about it a moment later himself. "I'm going to die," he groaned, obviously in a lot of pain.
This was all chipping away at Harry's nerves. He was very annoyed with Draco and yet terrified at the same time. "Shut up, Malfoy," he snapped though he wasn't sure if the other heard him. "You're not dying so just shut up about it." Harry held Draco closer and wrapped his arms around him. He could still feel Draco shivering beneath the blankets, but he thought it seemed to be subsiding, albeit slowly. This might have been Harry's imagination of course but he decided to believe it.
"See? You're fine." When there was no response, Harry moved a hand to where Draco's head rested on his shoulder. "Malfoy?" He could feel the Slytherin's breath against the side of his neck, and although it was an awkward situation, Harry was relieved to feel the steady rhythm of the other's breathing. "Malfoy?"
When Draco still didn't stir, Harry gently lowered the other back to the bed. This was all getting out of hand. Harry put his hand to Malfoy's forehead; he had stopped shivering, but he now felt warmer than ever. How long would this sort of cycle continue? Unsure of what else to do, he removed the blankets only to feel his next breath stop short in his throat. The white cloth bandages he had tied the night before were already beginning to stain red. It didn't occur to Harry that no one else in this house would be of much good with muggle medical care either; he only knew he didn't want to deal with this situation alone.
Stumbling off the bed, he rushed across the room and to the door only to have it narrowly miss him as it opened. "Harry?" Hermione asked as she stood in the doorway, Mrs. Weasley just behind her with two or three other witches. Neither needed any response from Harry as another sharp cry from the vicinity of the bed seemed to tip them off well enough. Harry was buffeted out of the way by both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley only to be shoved directly out the door by the remaining witches making their way inside as well.
It all happened very quickly and rather roughly. Harry tripped out into the hallway, over the slight rise in the floor to the next room, and onto the floor. He managed to get himself into a sitting position against the adjacent banister just as the door slammed loudly and clicked, undoubtedly to keep anyone else out. All Harry could do for the next few minutes was stare at the door and attempt to hear anything that might be happening on the other side. After a little while longer, he realized that this was useless; Tonks had told him the room was sound proofed only the previous night.
"Poor thing looks exhausted," said a rather mocking voice.
Harry looked up as someone gripped his arm. One of the Weasley twins smiled down at him from where they knelt at his side.
"Come on Harry, we'll take you downstairs. Ron's there too." Another set of hands gripped Harry's free arm.
"Up we go then." Both twins half lifted Harry to his feet and led him jovially down the stairs.
Harry welcomed Fred and George's old manner and he was sure the rest of the Burrow was benefiting from it as well. Seeing Ron seated comfortably by the fireplace reminded him of his years spent in the Gryffindor common room. Even his hectic years at Hogwarts had been intoxicatingly pleasant compared to the harsh reality of the real world.
