Disclaimer: I never thought I'd have to think of so many ways to tell people I'm not a middle-aged British woman.

(a/n: Right, so my author's note may be cut short today, my darling readers, for I am writing it while embroiled in the dangerous flames of an epic battle with a manic-depressive mass of malfunctioning metal, also known as Marvin the Paranoid Android, or as my mother would have it "Just call it a goddamn computer for Christ's sake". You may have heard that no one takes the Lord's name in vain more than Irish Catholics, and it is very, very true. For example, the phrases "Goddammit", "Jesus Christ" and "Holy Fuck" sprung immediately to mind while unplugging my beloved Marvin (again) as it froze itself into a second ice age for the fourth time this morning. But then I've been a godless heathen since the age of nine so this is hardly surprising.

And this now officially has absolutely nothing to do with the story.

Oh well. I'm going to go watch anime and figure out whether or not the fact that my nose is bleeding for no readily apparent reason means I have brain cancer.)

Chapter 10: Split Screen Sadness

And I know it was me who called it over

But I still wish you'd fought me 'til your dying day

Don't let me get away…

—John Mayer

Harry's first instinct was to slam the door in his face.

"What do you think you're doing here, Malfoy?"

"Oh, Weasley and I have suddenly become best mates and I've come to spend Christmas in the welcoming bosom of my new adoptive family."

"Malfoy…" Harry said warningly.

"I'm here to see you, you git. Why else?"

"What makes you think I want to…" The words seemed to wander away from his mouth as he noticed several things at once.

The fact that Draco was using one arm to support another that no longer seemed capable of supporting itself.

That his hair was matted with something more than rainwater.

And how clearly blood stood out against such pale skin…

"Dra…Malfoy, your arm…"

"Oh this? It's fine. It sort of went crack when he broke it but otherwise…"

"What happened?"

Draco paused and looked at him with a smile that contained nothing but sadness. "Would you be willing to believe that I fell off my broom?"

"That's not funny. Come in before you freeze to death and tell me what…well, just get in here."

Draco's face twisted with thinly veiled pain as he staggered through the door in what was better described as a fall than a walk.

He made it about six inches into the room without collapsing.

"Malfoy!"

It was pure instinct; he dove for the floor nearly as fast as Draco could fall to it, gathering the alarmingly weak form into his arms before he had time to think about it. And when he did think about it, he didn't care. Even if he hates me, I won't leave him like this. I couldn't if I wanted to.

"I wonder," said Draco between very shallow breaths, "if now would be a bad time to tell you how much I missed you."

"You're such an idiot," Harry snapped back. "How can you be hurt like that and not say anything?"

"Because I didn't come here to bleed on Weasley's carpet. I came here to tell you I love you and I—"

"Remus! Mrs. Weasley! Somebody! I need help!"

"—didn't want to be interrupted."

"Shut up." He'd given up trying to stop the tears working their way out of his eyes. "Shut up, you stupid bastard, shut up. Did you think coming in here and passing out on my lap would stop me being mad at you? You—you—don't you dare faint while I am talking to you, Draco Malfoy!—you don't know what this is like for me. My life is never going to be normal again!" He was too caught up with ranting to notice the complete absurdity of this sentence. "You snog me in hallways, you molest me in locked rooms, you—you rob me of my innocence and then break my heart and—and—and what the hell am I supposed to do now? You've already left me once and—"

What might've come after "and—" was a mystery for the ages, because Draco had summoned some unexplained strength which was at least enough to pull Harry's face down to the level of his own and kiss him until he forgot what he'd been about to say.

"Stop talking, Harry." He winced but kept himself upright with fists knotted into the fabric of Harry's sweater. "I love you. Talk over me all you like, but I'm going to keep saying it until you listen. I love you. I love you. I love…"

"Stop it." At any other time or place, he might have been embarrassed at these girlish hysterics, but at this moment, on this floor, with this boy, he knew it didn't matter. "Stop talking like you're going to die, because you're not."

"Try telling that to my body, then. It doesn't seem to agree."

"Can you please stop being a sarcastic arse for once in your life and listen to me?" Draco blinked at him, coughed loudly for four and a half minutes, then stared silently into his eyes with uncomfortable intensity. "If you ever leave me like that again, you can die a hundred times and I'm still going to find a way to beat the shit out of you, understand?"

Draco looked up at him, smiled faintly, and passed out.

OoOoOo

"Ugh."

"Dra…er…Malfoy…are you all right?"

"Take a wild guess."

"Shut up. Remus, he's awake."

Draco opened one eye very slowly as if he didn't want to see anything but the inside of his eyelids.

"So I'm not dead."

"No, but in about four seconds you're going to wish you were."

"What d'you mea—argh!"

"Don't breathe like that."

"Why the hell does that hurt so much?"

"Probably because you broke half a dozen ribs, came within a centimeter of puncturing your left lung, have a black eye, a broken arm, a fractured skull and were about four drops away from bleeding to death."

"Ah."

"Remus did what he could, but we're taking you to hospital in a minute."

Draco closed his eyes again, sighing and then cringing at the sharp pain it caused. "I don't want to go. They'll ask questions."

"I've got my own questions. Malfoy—"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, all right…Draco, then…just tell me what—"

"Don't pretend you don't know, Harry. Father didn't like the idea of me disappearing for the sake of a whirlwind romance with The Boy Who Lived and seemed to think beating me to death was the right way of bringing me round."

"I'd guessed that. But how did you know where to—"

"You were supposed to get here in one piece, you miserable git," Ron snapped from the doorway.

"Is that anyway to talk to the injured, Weasley?"

"I invited you here to cheer Harry up, not scare him to death."

"Oh, well done. Now bugger off."

"This is my house!"

"Yes, I can tell."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Shut up," Harry said tiredly. "Shut up, both of you."

He had suddenly got the terrible feeling the rest of his life was going to be a lot like this.

(a further a/n: Hurrah! I am finished. Well, nearly. All that's coming after this is a teeny little epilogue with all the substance of a fluffernutter sandwich because after like eighty friggin' chapters of emo I want a little marshmallow-y goodness. Nom nom nom…

I probably could have ended it here, only I'm not going to. If you don't approve of this…well, don't read the fucking epilogue, then.)