Author's Note: I apologize for it taking the better part of two months for me to get this chapter up. I've been so busy recently, and this chapter represents a huge turning point in the story, so I wanted it to be as close to perfection as I could get it. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to both read and review my story, you're all fantastical.
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Chapter Eleven: Translucent.
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Draco woke to the feeling of extreme discomfort; his arm was numb from being laid upon for an entire night, his neck was stiff from the position to the side it'd been held in, and his back felt horrible from whatever hard surface he was on. Groaning, the groggy Slytherin opened his eyes, trying to blink away the fuzz in his vision. A pale, arm covered in dry blood was staring back at him. He voiced a weak grunt at the pain his shoulder protested with as he pushed his body to drop flat onto his back. Draco winced almost absently at the painful feeling of blood rushing into his cold, damaged arm. Draco's vision stayed fixated onto the bathroom ceiling as he tried to remember how he'd ended up in an undignified bloody lump, lying at the base of his bathroom vanity.
His foggy mind slowly recalled the night, including Potter.
Potter.
"Shit," Draco whispered to himself, suddenly wishing that the floor would swallow him whole, at the moment. Several long, blank minutes passed before Draco's body refused to let him stay still for any longer. Violent hissing noises came from the blonde as he took sharp breaths through his teeth as sat himself up; he felt abnormally weak, and the gashes on his stomach screamed at the stress of his movement. His face contorted into disgust at the ripping sensation he felt against his skin when he pulled his arm up out of the dried blood that pooled at the base of his elbow on the floor.
The blonde turned his body slowly, moving so his back lay against the wooden vanity base. He shut his eyes and took in a shaky breath, simply shifting up into a sitting position made him feel lightheaded and tired. Trying to collect what little strength he had, Draco carefully stood, using the vanity for support, his bleary eyes searched for two bottles of potion. His fingers curled lightly around a clear bottle with an opaque purple liquid simply labeled 'wound-cleaning' as his eyes rested on a bottle of turquoise strengthening solution. Draco let out a deep sigh. Today was going to be a long day.
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For the first time he could remember in his life, Draco allowed himself to slump down into his chair, his head downcast, looking at some blank point on his lap. He looked and felt like every single negative emotion he had ever been exposed to for the past seventeen years, and he was sure it showed, as well. The strengthening potion had helped him in the beginning of his day, but now, towards the end, he felt the same overwhelming weariness that he had woken up to. The day had been rough on him, rougher than he had expected. That, of course, probably had something to do with the trying to write and work with an arm that clearly did not want to function. Draco's eyes stared down at his left arm that rest snug up against his abdomen, a habit that he had developed from being over protective of his wounded arm. He promised himself to look up a proper healing spell to get rid of his self-inflicted laceration.
In spite of his cloudy mind, he couldn't help but wonder where Harry had been all day; he hadn't shown up for any of the classes he had with certain blonde Slytherins. Draco's blank face fell into a frown at his own thoughts. It truly irked the blonde how often his thoughts returned to the annoying Gryffindor. He was in the middle of contemplating how comfortable his desktop looked for a nap when Professor Devroy walked into the room. Draco glared at him; harboring bitter feelings toward the way that his teacher made stalking around look so effortless.
Professor Devroy scanned the room, eyes briefly stopping at Potter's empty desk, before he came to stand before his class. He would have sighed if he hadn't been expecting it to happen; he had taken note of the reasons for the boy's distraction in previous classes, and knew it was only a matter of time before he was absent. "As I doubt any of you remember," Devroy began slowly, "I'll say it again: you will be taking a quiz today." Devroy didn't bother to hide his annoyance at the collective groans that immediately followed his announcement. "You will be tested on the theory you've learned in previous classes, and following the quiz we will continue theory on Thought Change."
The professor picked up the stack of papers from his desk and started down the center aisle, passing the quiz out to his students. "Towards the end of class I will be handing back your essays on Glance and Word Change; if there is any time left this class, you will be able to start revising them for your portfolio."
Professor Devroy finished doling out the quiz to his under-enthused pupils, and came to stand in front of his desk again. The students watched him with blank eyes, apparently waiting for something. "Well, get started; I haven't got all day," he said impatiently, giving a small wave in their direction. Startled, the class turned their noses to their papers and began to skim and read the questions, scratching down answers where they knew them. Chester crossed his arms over his chest, looking around to make sure no one was attempting to cheat. If they did, all they'd see is a garbled mess on their neighbor's paper, thanks to an anti-cheat spell enforced between the desks beforehand, so it made the attempt moot, but it amused him, none the less.
His eyes scanned the room once more, noting again the empty seat at the front of his classroom. At least he didn't have to watch Potter sit in a daze, staring at random objects periodically throughout the class. Though he had been strangely attentive last class, his focus wasn't strictly on the material being taught; that thought led his eyes to Malfoy, sitting alone at the table. He looked tired, even with his head down, Chester knew the boy was feeling ill, and wasn't even bothering to hide it. Draco still cradled his arm, and felt the scrutinizing eyes of the professor on him as he slowly raised it from its place around his stomach to begin his quiz.
It almost took all of the meager effort he had left to pick up his quill and dip it in the ink pot, but he managed; he was a Malfoy, after all, and couldn't afford to not even make an attempt. He let his eyes scrape over the words on the page, the questions that he knew the answers to, but didn't want to bother writing them down. Draco tried to hold the quill firmly, but it hurt to pull the muscles tight enough. He sufficiently managed to keep a good enough grip on the thin base, but then he needed to move his arm more towards the paper. It was disgusting how he lacked the effort to do even the simplest thing at the moment, and he forced through the pain, steeling his jaw as he lifted his arm and began to jot answers down, his writing definitely taking a dive as the ache in his arm only increased.
Draco sneered at the piece of parchment once he finished his quiz, feeling bitter accomplishment for completing it. His answers where unusually short, and his handwriting was large and sloppy, but it was finished. After setting his quill down, Draco's arm slid back to its resting spot, against his stomach, and his focus dropped from in front of him, to Harry's empty seat. He was both relieved and disappointed that the Gryffindor was absent, and he didn't even bother chiding himself for thinking about his classmate this time. The disappointment vaguely confused him, for he had no real reason for needing to see him. Draco frowned, unable to define the line he crossed, and when, from hating Harry, to caring about him, more so than his housemates, anyway.
Blaise came to mind at the thought of his housemates, but, before he could let his mind wander too far, it was brought back suddenly as he flinched when a hand suddenly jumped into his view. Draco looked up to see his professor's eyes staring down at him, questioningly, yet dark and almost blank. Devroy's hand slowly pulled away the quiz on Draco's desk, clearly not wanting to alarm him further, still looking at the young wizard. He cocked an eyebrow, and turned away, collecting the rest of the quizzes. Draco's eyes fell shut for a short moment, frustrated with himself. He almost couldn't bring himself to open his eyes again, but he managed to blink away the heavy weights trying to hold them down.
It was time for the class to end, he knew, and Draco listened as he stared at the scratches on the desk in front of him to Professor Devroy's footsteps and the faint murmurs of his classmates. Draco lifted his head a little, then his eyes to focus somewhere on Devroy's upper body. He was feeling tired and wasn't sure why; his mind was trying to go in too many directions, and that didn't help at all. Priorities, he thought; he needed to put things in order of importance to deal with, and no matter what popped into his head first, Harry was not, or should not rightly be, at the top of the list.
There was a growing sense of apprehension that was crawling into the dark spaces of his mind, and he tried not to let his father's words slip in as well. Maybe he should speak to Blaise, Draco thought, but what would he say? Usually the blonde was never at a loss for words, and he was beginning to think that perhaps he'd gone a bit too far with his more intimate self-inflictions. He barely heard the professor's words, but he caught shuffling out of the corner of his eye, and began shifting as slowly as he dared so as not to draw too much attention to his injuries, as he lifted his bag to the table and started placing his books inside.
A third of the class had already left by the time Draco came to the last book and his inkwell left to put in his bag, and he was a slight bit dizzy as he tried to hurry his pace, standing from his seat as he grabbed the small pot of black liquid. "Mister Malfoy," he heard, and he tightened his jaw and closed his eyes, breathing in before looking up to his teacher, who had almost startled him coming up to his desk, though he knew he should have been expecting it.
"Yes professor?" Draco asked, opening his eyes as he looked at Devroy, having paused in his packing, setting the ink back down, the grip of his fingers around it causing tendrils of pain to course up his arm. He held his left arm close to his body again, and tried to straighten it a little under the material of his robe's sleeves, hoping it would hide the movement.
"Might I have a word with you?" Devroy looked at the young Slytherin with a demanding gaze, making it quite clear that leaving wasn't an option for Draco at the moment.
He nodded lightly, and looked away from his professor's intense stare, down to his bag again. Too-pale arms pushed on the top of his desk, trying for casual, yet shaking as Draco tried to keep himself upright, his legs deciding they weren't quite amused with the stall in his already forced movement. Draco could feel eyes watching him, making his struggle over himself even more difficult. It was obvious to both of them that something was seriously wrong with the blonde wizard, yet professor Devroy said nothing, and Draco remained conveniently silent about it. Draco stood over his desk, letting his eyes close briefly as he took in a long, uneasy breath, trying to steady himself before he slowly walked his way over to his professor. Devroy cocked an eyebrow at his student's actions, but Draco didn't notice.
Sometime during the middle of the class, Draco's strengthening potion had completely worn off, and the after effects made him feel more drained than when he had originally awoken in his bathroom. Draco stood at the front of his Glamour Magic professor's large desk as the two wizards silently stared at one another for a moment. Devroy gave a soft sigh, breaking the silence. "I don't suppose you'd happen to know the current whereabouts of Mister Potter?"
"No, I don't, sir," Draco replied, his brows furrowed. He certainly hadn't expected that question. With the words spoken between he and his professor, he was worrying it would be something about his father, or other such related involvements. The mere fact that Devroy would ask Draco about Harry made the blonde aware of how much he even outwardly had become slightly obsessed with the other boy.
"Hmm," was all the seated professor said, before he paused, nodding his head lightly and continuing. "I would have assumed otherwise, considering that boy seems to be permanently attached to you by way of some invisible leash." When he'd first met the boy, Chester had quickly made the decision not to sugar coat things when speaking to the younger Malfoy. He was old enough and had surely seen enough not to appreciate beating around the bush when both parties knew better, and had no use for games to be played in the interim. The only thing he was unsure of was the bluntness of which he was addressing this issue; it almost bordered on involving himself in a students' private relations, but he needed to get his point across, at least.
He was further assured by the sound of a snort, quite undignified, from the young Malfoy. "He's more like a blatant stalker, than anything," Draco said, not quite sure why he'd said it, though. It wasn't as if Harry tagged along with him constantly, as thus witnessed by his absence in all classes with the blonde, but Draco didn't want to admit he'd went looking for the Gryffindor on a few occasions, meeting up with him, and setting the time and place for them, as well. The small, amused grin on Devroy's face did not go unnoticed by Draco, either, but he didn't have the strength at the moment to further his thoughts on any implications it might hold.
"In any event," Devroy said swiftly after a beat, changing the topic, and grabbing a couple rolls of parchment from the corner of his desk. Instead of finishing his sentence, Devroy held the bundles across his desk, waiting for the student to take them.
Wordlessly, the blonde took both rolls, only opening each enough to see that they were two of Harry's essays, Glamour Object and Their Uses, and Dangers of Dream Change. "Professor?" Draco questioned, frowning in thought over the essays, and feeling his body become heavier by each minute spent standing before his teacher's desk. Relative
"There's nothing wrong with them, I just think that you might find what Mr. Potter wrote to be very interesting." Before Draco could tell him he had already seen the essays, Devroy stopped him with an upheld hand. "Just take them," he spoke firmly. "Take them and read the essays again." Draco was puzzled. Why was there such determination behind Devroy's words? They were just essays, they couldn't be that important, could they?
Sighing to himself, Draco turned to walk away from his teacher's desk, when Devroy started to speak again. "Oh, and one more thing," Devroy opened up one of the drawers and took out a small, snitch sized object. It was a simple, clear glass ball.
Draco cocked his head to the side, staring at the round object, unsure. His eyes were a bit blurred, and from the short distance, it looked like nothing of special importance. "It's a collective sphere," Devroy explained, holding it out, waiting for Draco to step back and take it. Draco did so, and was surprised at its weight, and hoped he managed to conceal the wince of pain from his features when it pulled the wounds on his arm. It felt heavy in his hand, something he hadn't expected. "Your study level for this class is much higher than everyone else's, and I'd hate to make this class any easier for you," Devroy said, leaning back in his chair as Draco stared at the ball that sat in the palm of his hand. What was he supposed to do with this thing?
"Dream Changes go in there;" Devroy began, almost as though he'd heard the question in Draco's mind, "read one of Potter's essays, it will explain to you exactly how to go about using it. I'd like to see you get a head start on Dream Change."
"I have a lot of other school work already, professor," Draco said evenly, trying more to get answers out of his professor, than actually protest the advancement on the assignment. He had to admit, he was now more interested in the project, and was rummaging through a section of useless information in his mind, trying to remember what the essay the Gryffindor had given him had said.
"I am well away of that, Mister Malfoy, it was merely a suggestion. Even if you only view it as optional, mandatory school work, it's quite an interesting topic." The dark haired wizard stared at Draco, the gaze making him uncomfortable; Devroy was assessing him, and the knowing look in his eyes made the blonde shift awkwardly.
"Mister Malfoy," Devroy began slowly, and Draco frowned, knowing what was coming next, "either go back to your room and get some more sleep, or go to the infirmary. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that you look positively sickly." Draco opened his mouth to defend himself, not even realizing he had nothing to say, and was almost thankful that the professor continued again. "And if you dare try to tell me otherwise, I'll give you detention." Draco stared, confused. A second passed, and Devroy broke Draco's gaze, looking at a large pile of papers. "You may leave," Devroy spoke evenly, doing well to ignore Draco's presence, giving the boy no further explanation. It could be left for a later date, when he didn't feel the blonde was about to collapse on his classroom floor.
Eager to leave, Draco collected his things and walked out of the classroom, heading for the dungeons. He all but dragged himself into his room, having to stop half a dozen times to catch his breath, or to steady himself. His head was swimming, making everything seem rather surreal. It made him dizzy, and made his already unstable legs all the more unreliable. As soon as he walked into his room, Draco dropped his much too heavy bag on the floor, and started to remove his robes. The usually soft fabric had been scratching painfully at his stomach, and his arm, all day long, making them burn. His eyes traveled over his wounds that stared up at him sickly. The skin around the sickening, yellowish scabs was an angry red color that was hot to the touch. He knew he should probably clean the wounds again, knowing he was much too weak to even attempt a simple healing spell on himself yet, but the sound of sleep was much more appealing to his exhausted body, the deeper recesses of his mind whispering in his ears. He took the few steps to his bed, and let his body crash down into it. A violent hiss came from his mouth when his stomach came in contact with the mattress, scratching it further along the covers. Groaning in frustration, he rolled over onto his back, letting sleep take over his weary mind.
It was late when Draco woke up, the muffled noise from the common room told Draco that classes had been let out. He groaned at the noise, wondering exactly what time it was, but not curious enough to open his eyes to find a clock of some kind. From the growl in his stomach, he assumed it was after dinner. The cold, hollow sensation of hunger was something Draco welcomed; the ache was a strong contrast to the searing pain of his cuts, and he breathed deeply, letting the acids move in his stomach. The blonde stayed in his bed, ignoring both his hunger and his cold chest. He really was tired enough to fall back asleep, an idea he contemplated for several long minutes before he rolled onto his side, slowly working his way off his bed.
He stood a little too fast, and immediately sat back down, hands gripping so frantically he was ashamed, regardless of why he had scrambled for purchase on the edge of this bed, for fear of loosing balance and falling over. Darkness fell over his eyes for a frightening long few seconds, followed by the painful ache of a too light bright burning against his eyes. Long moments passed, and Draco sat still, with his eyes closed. He felt marginally better after taking the time to get some actual sleep, instead of passing out on the cold, tiled, bathroom floor. It wasn't much, but at least there was a slight difference.
The cuts on his stomach throbbed from being hunched over for too long, forcing him to slowly stand up, and consequently pulling at their precariously sealed edges. He groaned, knowing at least that how he felt at the moment was by far an improvement from earlier. It was lost on the blonde, how he managed to go to any of his classes, even with the aid of the strengthening solution.
Still groggy, Draco slowly walked towards his wardrobe. He knew he would feel slightly better once he changed, falling asleep in his normal robes made him feel disgusting whenever he woke, feeling cramped in them, the material leaving creases against his skin. Carefully, Draco changed into some clean robes, and then walked to the bathroom. His foot caught on the rug, and he stumbled a bit, cursing as he fell into the wall for support.
Draco made an undignified grunt as he pushed himself up, and walked through his bathroom doorway. A sigh of relief came from him as his eyes settled on a not-quite-empty bottle of turquoise strengthening solution. There wasn't enough for him to make himself feel dramatically better, but there was enough to make him feel somewhat normal… almost. He drank the thin, sugary liquid, shivering slightly at how cold it felt sliding down his throat, and touching his empty stomach. He let himself stand there, braced against the sink as his strength was renewed, before he lifted a hand to open the cupboard, not opening his eyes until the mirror was facing the wall. He scanned the contents, noting the low contents of all the bottles, except one.
He reached out to it, gently turning the bottle in its place to read the label as it was revealed. He almost grinned, and he might have, he wasn't quite sure as the tiredness had yet to fade. The bottle was filled with another potion for strengthening, and it was a stronger solution, at that. He uncapped it with one hand, the other still holding himself up; he wouldn't bother trying to fool himself that he could do it without his arm there. He downed a third of the contents, and held the sharp, bitter liquid in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. He felt it burn down, more quickly, and he chanced moving his arm, and put the lid back on the bottle, setting it in its place in the cupboard before closing the door, making a mental note to replace his stocks as soon as possible.
He stared back at himself in the mirror, noting the darkness under his dull, gray eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, mussed from sleep, despite his rather stationary position on the bed. Draco felt slight dampness along his hairline in places, knowing he must have broken into a faint sweat during his sleep. The blonde sighed and closed his eyes, reaching blindly for the tap to turn on the water. After washing his face, the Slytherin felt a little better, and could feel a concentration of the potion pooling around the worse wounds on his body, working to heal them.
He walked from the bathroom and pulled his cloak from its place on the chair in front of his desk, absently putting it on as he moved from his room, shutting the door behind himself. Without even noticing his foray through the hall, or even the common room, despite the attempts to draw his attention from his classmates, Draco found himself walking even further into the dungeons. His step faltered, and he slowed as he realized that was probably where Harry was hiding. Had he set out to find the Gryffindor? He gave a half-hearted dramatic sigh at himself, though he kept walking, trying to push the thought out of his head, but that proved rather unsuccessful.
Draco's pace slowed a bit more, the sudden burst of energy wearing off; the potion didn't give him Herculean strength until the time it was finished going through his system, but rather gave aid to tired muscles and forced his body to push harder. His head began to throb faintly, and the blonde became frustrated with himself for becoming so weak; he was only walking, for Merlin's sake. He longed to be back in bed, comfortably resting his wounds, but he couldn't resist giving in to the impulse, the urge to seek out the missing Gryffindor. He knew he felt something for Harry, he was much too tired to even try to argue that with himself right now, but that didn't mean he needed to go looking for him whenever he disappeared; for all he knew, Voldemort could have captured him, and his father would be torturing him right now.
He turned down the last corridor and stopped, leaning heavily against the wall. The stone was hard against his back, and he could feel the coldness through his robes, making him shiver. The thought of sitting down and falling asleep was rather appealing to him at the moment, and he groaned, really hoping he didn't end up searching half the dungeons for someone who didn't want to be found. He could see the dark outline of the doorway,his destination, and he promised himself that if Harry wasn't in there, when he found him, he was going to rip out the Gryffindor's intestines and strangle him with them.
Grunting, he pushed himself off the wall, and walked towards the doorway. The violent smell of vomit was the first thing Draco was greeted with when he walked into the room. His hand immediately covered his face, in a poor attempt to block out the scent. It smelled old, like it had been sitting around all day, which, it probably had, Draco realized, almost stepping in a grotesque pile of the offending substance. He looked at his shoe, thankful that it wasn't currently stepping in the vile smelling mess as he walked into the darkened room. Something else caught his eye when he moved to walk away; a bag. He took out his wand and muttered a light charm, blaming his sluggishness for not having lit it sooner, and lightly pushed the bag with his foot. Spilled out on the floor were some pills, a few were crushed, something Harry probably had stepped on, a brown vial of something, and a syringe with a bent needle. Draco cringed when he saw the syringe and was about to pick it up to see if it had been used when a soft groan pulled his attention away from the small object.
Quickly, his eyes darted from corner to corner, along each wall until his eyes fell on the shadowed form of Harry, who was slumped over in one of the far corners of the empty room. Draco walked the short distance, forgetting his lethargy for the moment, and bent down, touching Harry's shoulder lightly. He was about to tilt the dark haired boy's chin towards himself, to speak to him, and determine whether he was conscious when the Gryffindor spoke.
"I don't want you to hate me anymore," Harry whispered softly, his voice cracking. He lolled his head to the side, giving Draco a sad half smile, his eyes barely held open. Draco sighed, and rested on his haunches in front of the Gryffindor, eyes skimming over his bare chest. He wasn't quite sure what to say to that; he didn't hate Harry, and when it came down to it, he doubted he ever really had. It was more used as an overplayed excuse for the two of them to have something to compete over, he supposed.
"I don't hate you, you dolt," Draco quietly said back, and he didn't take it personally when the small smile faded from Harry's face; he knew the Gryffindor simply couldn't hold it there any longer, his muscle control being weakened by whatever he'd intoxicated himself with. The blonde carefully and slowly grasped one of Harry's arms, letting his eyes wander over the half naked boy to check for any obvious marks. He sighed in relief when he didn't see any needle entry points on the inside of Harry's arms. With the way Harry was propped up against the wall, Draco was unsure if the stone was too cold against Harry's bare back. His skin was unnaturally cold, and Draco wondered why Harry had removed his shirt in the first place.
Draco moved his hand to cradle the side of Harry's face, gently pulling it so his head was upright instead of leaning towards his shoulder. The only response Draco received was for Harry to close his eyes the little way he'd held them open, and he pressed his cheek into the blonde's palm, leaning into the touch. "Harry," Draco called to him, noting the worried tone underlying his words, "come on." He waited a moment for the other boy to respond, but there was nothing, making Draco frown. "Open your eyes, Harry," he said, and watched as green eyes slowly opened, looking up at Draco. Harry's eyes were tired, his pupils dilated. "What did you take?" Draco's frown deepened when Harry halfheartedly shrugged, and let his eyes fall shut. Draco's other hand moved to Harry's chilled shoulder, and shook him lightly. "Harry," he said forcefully "what did you take?"
Harry opened his mouth like he was about to answer, but it hung there for a moment before, "…stuff." His eyes were still closed, and Draco moved to speak again, hands still in place on the other boy's body when Harry continued. "I don't know," he said, trying to turn his head from side to side, "…Draco…" The blonde in question watched him, still frowning, but when the movement stopped, Draco sighed; he was too tired for this.
He could still feel the strength in his muscles, and he really hoped for Harry's sake he wasn't too weak to do what he was planning. Draco shifted one knee down to the floor to steady himself, and slowly pulled his hand away from Harry's cheek, and his shoulder. The bag was close enough, and Draco grabbed it and Harry's discarded shirt, shoving it inside as well as the drugs that had spilled out. He lifted the bag to his shoulder and took his wand, which he'd set on the ground, still glowing to provide light in the dark room; he flicked it at the crushed pills, cleaning them up quickly.
Draco moved back to Harry's prone body, and pressed the back of his hand to Harry's cheek; it was still cold, and his skin was starting to become damp. The blonde didn't feel very reassured even when Harry shifted of his own volition when Draco lifted his arm, wrapping it around his own neck, feeling the cold, clammy skin brushing the nape of his neck. It was dead weight, but Draco was relieved when the barely conscious Gryffindor grasped absently against his shoulder, showing strength enough to find purchase in the thick material of his cloak.
Taking a deep breath, Draco slid an arm around Harry's lower back, closing around the boy's hip, while his other arm slid under Harry's bent knees, holding onto his thigh. He shifted the weight back in his arms, pulling the smaller boy from the ground as he slowly stood, raising from his kneeled position on the floor. He stood for a moment, becoming accustomed to the weight; albeit it wasn't much, it would still tire him unnecessarily before he got back to his rooms. Harry leaned his head to the side, on his own shoulder, his hair brushing Draco's cheek as he side-stepped through the doorway.
Draco walked silently and listened to Harry's breathing, more labored than his own, and he was carrying another body. Perhaps the potions did help more than he expected, thinking himself almost too far gone. A visit to the infirmary would not be pleasant, and he dreaded even asking Professor Snape for extra potions supplies to brew his own solutions. He barely realized when he'd reached the Slytherin common room, and had already spoken the password before it dawned on him that carrying a semi-conscious Harry Potter into the dorms wasn't the most brilliant idea.
At his words to the portrait, Harry began to stir, rolling his head back slightly, and Draco worried for a moment that he wouldn't be able to hold it up, but he managed. The common room was mercifully empty, and Draco realized how late it really was as he made quick work of the space, not wanting to leave anything to chance, and passed through the area and into his bedroom.
Draco closed the door with his foot, almost unsteadying himself with his burden, and walked to the bed. He set Harry's body down gently, and shucked his cloak off his arms, flinging it towards the chair before he settled on the bed himself. "I'm tired," Harry whispered to him, his body slowly starting to lean into Draco's.
"I am, too," Draco whispered back, his arm moving to slide around Harry's waist. He looked down into Harry's eyes, barely open, and they blinked at him once, sadly, before they didn't open again, but Harry was still awake. Draco could feel Harry's skin on his hand, still cold, and he settled down beside the dark haired boy on his bed. Harry attempted movement, but his body protested, though it seemed to leave him where he wanted to be, witnessed by the hum of approval at the positioning, curled against the Slytherin's body. Draco was unsure of the close contact, but he closed his eyes, sighing softly, and Harry's hand moved to his arm, tightening for a second like he was trying to say something he didn't have the strength, let alone words for. The blonde brushed his thumb across the small expanse of skin it could reach, letting a silent apology settle between them as their breathing evened out, letting them both slip into a quiet sleep.
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End Chapter
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