If only Potter had let him take a shower, Draco thought restlessly. No, that was petty. But what had happened to the werewolf?
When Snape entered the bedroom he didn't shout, which Draco had half expected. He didn't curse his luck or say something snide about Harry, which Draco had hoped for; if only to preserve the paradigm—but it looked like that was all shot to hell. It seemed that nothing would remain the same after you'd seen a former professor torn to shreds.
The majority of Draco's interactions with his de facto godfather had involved screaming or scolding or general disapproval. There had never been this heavy solemnity that Draco couldn't label. None of them had involved the look Snape wore now. Never had he heard the tone of voice that Snape employed, when he told Draco to lift Potter's head so that he could give him a potion. It wasn't concern, no. It was like that though, only more.
And Potter, he had never seen Potter like this. He thought before today that he'd seen him at his worst. Devastated by death, forth year. Tormented, fifth year. Post battle, dripping in magic and blood and pain. Nothing compared to the lifeless Potter beside him now.
Snape forced the potion into Potter's mouth, using a spell to make him swallow. Then he sat on the end of the bed and watched him. Draco tried not to stare, but he too watched Potter. What they were watching for, he wasn't sure.
I'm hungry, Draco mused, and I have to pee. What could have happened to the werewolf?
"What happened to him?" Draco whispered. Severus cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Mr. Potter is in shock," he said coolly. "He'll come around in a bit."
"No, I mean the—Professor Lupin. What happened to him?"
"It's not my place Draco," Snape said sadly. "Suffice it to say, it was a foolish errand."
"Death Eaters?" Draco asked.
Snape shook his head, got up and left the room. Draco frowned. What the fuck happened to the werewolf?
Twenty minutes later Harry groaned.
In half an hour he was sitting up in bed, and Draco was pretending that he didn't know Harry was crying. Two minutes after that, when Draco thought he couldn't stand it any longer, Snape came back.
"Mr. Potter?" Snape said. "Listen to me. Professor Dumbledore is on his way down. He's going to explain everything. You must endeavor to remain calm. Is that clear?"
Harry continued to sob.
"Mr. Potter?"
Harry looked at Snape. When he spoke, his voice was soft and child-like. "Why hadn't they healed him?"
"I'm sorry?" Snape asked.
"Remus," Harry said. "Why hadn't they healed any of the—wounds? They were just standing around watching him."
"You can't heal the dead, Mr. Potter. The potion I—"
Harry's submissive demeanor dropped away in an instant. His cheeks went red and cold sweat formed on his brow. "He was not dead!" he shrieked hysterically. "I saw him moving!"
"Harry," Snape began, but Harry was shaking his head from side to side, screaming.
"He was not dead! He was not dead! He was not dead! He was not dead!
"Severus!" Dumbledore bellowed from the doorway. "What have you done?"
An hour, and a few calming potions later, Draco found himself inside a privacy bubble. He and Harry sat on Snape's couch, facing the headmaster. Whatever Dumbledore was saying to Harry, Draco was being denied. All that he'd heard before Harry had gestured at him and asked Dumbledore not to speak in front of him—which was bloody rude Draco thought—was that Lupin had come 'round and Madame Pomfrey was healing him up. He apparently was going to be fine. Which Draco thought should have perked Potter right up, but whatever Dumbledore was saying was making Potter pale. Draco had the insane urge to yell at him for upsetting Potter again, just when things had started to look ok.
Finally, after what felt like an hour to Draco, Harry hung his head and Dumbledore got up to leave. Dumbledore freed Draco from his silence, and gave him a look that asked so many things of him. Things that Draco was positive Dumbledore should be entrusting to someone else. Or at least to someone who knew what the bloody fuck was going on.
After Dumbledore left Snape came in to tell him to get Potter to bed. Draco nodded, and pulled Harry up by the arm. He guided him out of Snape's rooms and closed the door behind them. There was peace in this hallway. It was a part of the dungeons that was not wholly underground, and there were windows in the cliff side that allowed a view of the lake. It was raining. Of course it was raining, Draco thought, it always rains when there's bad news. Harry led them over to a window and Draco followed, unwilling to prevent Harry from walking of his own free will. He was getting tired of dragging the sod around. Harry stared for a moment; he seemed to be remembering something. And with seemingly no provocation, he began trying to run down the hall. Draco did his best to keep up but it was awkward. Still, they were out of the castle and headed for the quidditch pitch before he could even process what Potter might be doing.
Not being known to be the fittest Malfoy in history, Draco was exhausted. Just shy of the entrance to the pitch he dug in his heels and refused to go another step. They landed on their asses in a giant puddle. Clumps of grassy mud shot into the air and plopped down onto their hair and clothes. Harry screamed in frustration.
"Malfoy, you fucking bastard. What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"Stopping," Draco answered primly.
Harry glanced down at the mud that covered the both of them, at the two inches of water that they sat in. "I see that," he said.
Draco nodded.
Harry sighed. "Why did we stop?" he asked.
Draco marveled at his patience. "Because I didn't want to run any further," he said.
A tiny smirk began to form on Potter's face. "You mean you couldn't," he said.
"Don't be ridiculous Potter. I'm not a fat arse or anything. I could have fun for hours longer."
"Right," Harry said.
"Shut-up you prat. Why were we running anyway? Where the hell were you going? Planning to ride your broom into the wild blue yonder? Drop yourself from 100 feet into the lake?"
Harry's expression darkened. "I just wanted to have a fly over the lake," he said.
"What in God's name for?" Draco asked. He was exasperated. "And in case you haven't noticed," he said, pointedly pulling away from Harry as far as he could, "We're in no shape to have a fly."
"It's what I did on Buckbeak. Sirius escaped on Buckbeak. It reminded me of him."
What the hell, Draco thought, had any of that made sense? He was wary of prodding someone as insane as Potter into even further dementia, but he risked a small stab. "Buckbeak?" he asked.
"The hippogriff you tried to have murdered."
"Oh…"
"And I just forgot you were there," Harry said.
"Thanks a lot," Draco said. "I wish I could forget about you so easily."
"Sorry," Harry said again. Noting to himself that it was the second time in the same day he'd apologized to Malfoy. Something was definitely off.
"So what has you all riled up Potter? I heard Dumbledore say that the werewolf was going to be fine. What did Snape mean he was dead?"
Harry took a deep breath. He looked over at Malfoy. He didn't look like he was gathering information to torture Harry with but Harry thought, rightly, you could never tell with a Malfoy. "Can we get out of our puddle?" Harry asked.
Draco grimaced, he nodded. They only slipped and fell back into the puddle once before they succeeded. Making their way onto the pitch, they took shelter under the stands.
"Well?" Malfoy said. "I think I have the right to know why I was nearly murdered. It was really rude of you to have me put in a bubble. I'd seen the carnage too. Who am I going to tell? It's not as if I could get away from you to spread gossip. Honestly Potter for a Gryffindor you're so mistrusting."
"I learn my lessons well," Harry said. "But maybe not well enough. Remus was dead, because he had been behind the veil. He was trying to fetch my godfather out." Seeing Draco's confused look, Harry explained, "Bellatrix knocked Sirius into it in the ministry during my fifth year."
There were words for this occasion; as a well-bred person, Draco was sure that there were, but he couldn't think of them. "Oh," he said.
"It was his last chance," Harry continued. "There are limitations on these things. If he tries again then he can't come back. Even Snape wouldn't be able to bring him back."
This, Draco was sure, was an occasion that there weren't words for, and never would be. He sighed.
"So all this is over your godfather?" he asked. He continued, as gently as he'd ever said anything to Potter before in his life. "It's been over a year Potter, you must have known that your godfather was gone for good. No one has ever been successfully brought back from behind the veil. There are all sorts of consequences, which I can't believe Professor Lupin was willing to face. There's—"
"Don't be daft Malfoy," Harry cut him off. "I know Sirius is gone. I'm worried I'm going to lose Remus; he's all I have left."
"But Dumbledore said he was fine, and you said he can't try again."
"I said, that if he tries again he's gone forever. He might…" Harry trailed off.
Draco sighed. "Get up off your ass Potter. I'm cold, hungry, and—"
"And you have to pee, I know. So do I." Harry smiled.
"Smile away Potter, but look at me. Can you guess what else I'm going to make you do?"
"No Malfoy! Absolutely not. I will not do it."
"You will."
"Says who?"
"Says me."