Salamander Scales

Chapter 10: Broken Wrists and Regrets

Author: Yama Strife

Rating/Pairing: PG (for swearing) Draco/Harry

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, the books, the movies, and I make no claim to do so. They belong to J.K. Rowling and all affiliates. I do own the idea to this particular scenario however; I've just borrowed the characters.

A/N: I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. Half a year in fact, and I hope that someone still retains interest in this fic. I had extreme writer's block, but hopefully I'll be able to finish this soon. Thank you as always for reading. I appreciate it so much.

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Harry was still convinced Malfoy was clinically insane for eating ice cream in the freezing cold weather, but he also had to admit his enthusiasm was catching. (Odd as it was to think of 'enthusiasm' and Malfoy in the same sentence). Though it wasn't so catching that he could eat as much as the blonde. Honestly, where did he put all that food? Quidditch was fun, but it wasn't strenuous exercise, and he couldn't burn that many calories from playing.

Harry's thoughts wandered like this most of the way home until a disturbing image of his Uncle Vernon running on a treadmill popped into his head. This was such a far-fetched and hideous idea that Harry decided to get his mind off it and turned his attention to Malfoy.

They were currently sitting in a place reminiscent of a train station waiting for a free fireplace. Malfoy looked terribly inanimate and had sat the only bag he was carrying (Harry had to lug the other six himself, Malfoy refusing all but the lightest) on the ground beside him.

"I'm so bored," Malfoy drawled, his chin propped up on his hand. "Why is it so busy anyway?" he asked, looking around at the many people running in and out of the grates.

"It's about the time everyone gets off work, Malfoy. Of course it's gonna be busy" Harry said, trying to mollify the grumpy Slytherin. Harry could tell patience did not run deep in Draco's family.

Draco sighed and moved his chin to the other hand. Harry could see a red mark on his chin from the pressure. A stark contrast to the pale visage "I'm still bored, though."

For a few minutes Draco sat silently, a bemused expression on his face. He was, apparently, deep in thought. Harry wondered what Malfoy was thinking so intently about, but he wasn't kept waiting long for an answer. Malfoy stood suddenly, immediately regaining his composure and regal posture. He picked up the featherweight bag and turned to Harry. "That's it, I'm sick of all this waiting. We're going now, come on."

Malfoy marched toward a currently full fireplace, Harry trailing closely behind (walking as quickly as the six bags would allow) and tapped a tall man in fancy robes on the shoulder. Harry got the impression that this man held an important job. Harry wouldn't have tapped him.

"Excuse me," Malfoy said. "But Harry Potter here is in a hurry and he really must use this grate as soon as possible." Then in a whisper Harry could barely hear, as though divulging an important secret, "Death eater business and that sort of thing." He nodded in Harry's direction and then in a normal voice, "so if you wouldn't mind could we please jump ahead of you?"

The man in the expensive robes turned to look at Harry to see if it really was him. Not seeing any evidence of a scar and not wanting to be hoodwinked by some hoodlums he said skeptically, "That isn't Harry Potter."

Malfoy tutted at the man's disbelief and lifted the fringe off Harry's forehead. Harry stood there speechless and incapable of doing anything, hands being full and all. He couldn't believe the conversation Draco was holding with this man.

With Harry's messy hair out of the way the man could plainly see the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. "By George," he said in a smooth accented voice, "it is him!" Then, obviously dumbstruck, "Go ahead, by all means."

"Thank you very much, sir," Malfoy said, looking up at the man with his most winning smile. Harry stood there not able to say anything. The way that Malfoy used Harry like that to get ahead in line, unbelievable!

Draco steered Harry toward the grate and threw in some floo powder for Harry. "Hogwarts School," Draco said as he pushed Harry into the green flames.

Harry found it hard to navigate his way to the right exit since he was still holding all those packages Malfoy was too lazy to carry, but he managed. As he stumbled out of the fireplace and into his room he dropped one of the bags, but that went unnoticed momentarily as that familiar twinge pricked at his chest. As he caught his breath he bent down to pick up the last parcel finding it somewhat difficult while he held five other bags.

It was at this moment Draco walked (Malfoys never stumbled) into the room, head held high as usual, oddly free of soot and ash. He didn't see Harry crouched low on the ground as he walked right into the room and into Harry. It may have been that Malfoys did not stumble, but they could apparently, go flying head over heels. And Draco did just this.

He did a funny sort of somersault before coming to rest on his back in front of the bedside table. As Malfoy lay there he groaned in pain, eyes tightly shut.

Harry immediately dropped the rest of the bags and rushed to Malfoy's side. As he knelt down he said in a panic, "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No Potter, I'm lying here, cringing in pain for the good of my health," he snapped viciously. Malfoy had noticed during his schooling with Potter that he frequently pointed out the obvious and asked rather stupid questions.

Harry sighed, he didn't want to get angry with Draco since he was hurting, but boy, Malfoy knew how to try his patience. "Alright, let's try this again. It hurts, but where exactly does it hurt?" He said, taking a deep calming breath.

Malfoy nodded toward the hand Harry was kneeling beside. "It's the same damn hand Crabbe broke before. Some bloody bone repairing charm that was," he spat.

"Alright, let's get you up and take a look at it, okay?" Harry moved to Draco's other side, not wanting to hurt the offending wrist any more than it was. He slipped a hand behind Malfoy's neck and the other on his chest and helped him to sit up. Harry was surprised to notice how light Draco was. He commanded so much presence wherever he was, he expected him to have a little more weight to him. But being a seeker as Harry was, required more agility and a lighter frame, so maybe he shouldn't have been so surprised.

"Well, all in all, Potter, that was a rather stupid place to crouch down. Were you trying to kill me?" He asked, breaking into Harry musings. Harry looked at Draco and noticed how uncomfortable he looked. He proved this as a small moan escaped his lips. "Why do bad things always happen to me?" he sighed.

Harry wanted to respond that this was hardly bad, even if the bones were broken they could easily be repaired. Harry was the one with some unknown disease-thing with no cure floating around in his body. He didn't say this, but he wanted to.

He placed Draco's good arm around his shoulder, grabbed him around the chest and hoisted him into a standing position. Draco didn't fight against the help but said, standing once again, "I'm quite capable of getting up on my own, Potter. Though he was scowling Harry could tell he was grateful for the help. Though he never would hear him say "Thank you."

Harry gently lifted Draco's hand in his own (receiving a grimace) and ran his fingers lightly over the wrist. He turned Draco's hand over and examined his palm.

"I don't want to push down to check if it's broken, it'll hurt if I do..." he looked up as he said this, and was bewildered to see Malfoy's face only inches from his own, breathing heavily, face flushed. Malfoy looked up into Harry's eyes; they looked clouded. Mostly from pain, Harry assumed, but he couldn't interpret what else he saw. He found his mind in a fog and felt himself being drawn into the stormy grey eyes, in his chest he couldn't quite decipher what it was he felt...elated, maybe? The potion was obviously revealing a new side effect to Harry.

Harry found himself being drawn in...closer...closer...closer until he was a mere inch from Draco. He could feel Draco's warm breath falling lightly on his face, feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell a sweet earthy fragrance and Harry knew he had to be closer. He saw the pink tinge on Draco's cheeks and saw Draco's long eyelashes flutter shut (closer...closer...) and Draco turned away, pulling his hurt hand out of Harry's, eyes still shut, still breathing heavily.

Harry had forgotten he had been holding his hand all that time, but once it had been removed from his own it felt oddly cold. He shook his head and ran a hand through his messy black hair. "What in the world is going on?" He felt so confused. There was some sort of turmoil inside Harry and he didn't even want to begin to understand the feelings or reasons. What he did understand, and wish he didn't, was what he wanted to do to Malfoy right then. That thought in itself was enough to make Harry want to run out of the room and never return.

Draco broke into his thoughts (as he so often did) and said, unusually subdued, "Maybe I should go to the hospital wing now..."

He started to walk out the door and remembering Harry's condition (peculiarly sensitive to another's feelings) said, "coming?" in that same soft voice.

"I-I'm sorry Draco, I don't know what happened there..." He ran a hand through his hair again, a nervous habit, Draco supposed. "This potion, it..."

"Don't worry about it, let's just go." And without another word he opened the door and walked down the hall.

As Harry saw that familiar cloak brush out the door he began to feel as though he'd suffered a great loss. All he could think about was the surprising warmth of that hand, the cloudy grey eyes, the flushed skin and that earthy smell. All he could think about was Draco. But Harry had never had thoughts of this sort before, especially about his former arch-rival.

"Damn this potion, damn it all the way to hell." He wanted to scream so badly, he wanted to punch the wall, kick the door and curse that stupid room to oblivion. He couldn't even think about how it was effecting Draco, couldn't think about that slow, quiet tone of voice. The regretful posture. None of it.

As he felt that damn twinge in his chest he knew Draco had gotten far ahead of him. So, lost in confusing thoughts he left the room, shut the door and began that oh-so-familiar trek to the hospital wing.

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Sorry it's so short, but I've run out of computer time and this seemed a good place to leave it. I already have most of the next part written and it should be posted by tomorrow. Though I won't make promises, they never seem to work out for me. More angst and (hopefully) slash next chapter.

Thank you as always for reading, you have my complete and utter devotion.