'I don't want you to do this,' Draco said – for the hundredth time. Harry placed his wand in a special holster that was strapped onto his arm.
'I'm not changing my mind.'
'For the sake of all that is holy!' Draco cried in exasperation, 'you'll kill yourself. You'll lead all the others to death! Can't you see that?'
Harry straightened up. Then he flew at Draco, pushing him against the wall. Draco was suddenly helpless, completely overwhelmed by the warm, soft lips that were pressed against his. Harry kissed fiercely, as if Draco's lips were his only life source, the drop of water to a desert-traveller, the heroin to the drug addict.
When the surfaced for air, Harry crossed his arms and said -
'I do see it, Draco,' he said, gently, 'I see that this is what I have to do to save your bloody arse. And I will. Because I fricking cannot see my life without you now.
And it's your fault – you came waltzing into my life, and immediately everything became so complicated. I fell in love – head over heels, so stupidly and totally that I felt like a fifteen-year-old. You wiped away my peace, my routine, my heterosexuality.'
He managed a small smile, and Disapparated, leaving a very confused Draco to stand alone in Harry's bedroom.
'Where is he?' Draco shrieked, storming into the St. Mungo's Emergency Room. Hermione (who was sporting a cut across her brow) and Viktor (who was swearing under his breath) tried to stop him from doing so, and were flung aside.
He stopped still. The healers, who were crowded around the bed, did not even turn around. All dozen of them had their wands, and were muttering spells every few seconds. A frighteningly large amount of bottles with multicoloured potions stood on a nearby table.
'We're losing him,' one said in a level, professional voice. A healer, whose face was hidden behind a blue mask, swore, and a silvery-white spell erupted from her wand.
'Temperature at 39 and rising.'
'Heartbeat unsteady.'
'We're going to need blood.'
'Hand me a tissue.'
'Blood pressure falling.'
Draco slid along the wall, finding that his knees could not longer hold him.
Harry looked deathly pale. His face was a greenish-blue hue, lips completely bloodless. His lands hung limp, spattered with mud and dark red. His hair was muddy and damp, and that pile in the corner had probably been his clothes.
'What are you doing here?' an annoyed and angry voice inquired. He looked up to see a masked Healer glaring down on him.
'I – I,' was all that he could manage.
'Mr. Potter? You're about him, I presume?'
'Y – yes.'
'You're going to have to wait outside.'
'I – have to stay,' Draco said, burying his head in his hands. 'I have to stay...'
The Healer said nothing else. She hurried away, and soon came back with a large plastic bag of blood. Draco watched as they set-up the drip. Soon, the crowd around the bed began to disperse, until only an unconscious Harry, Draco and a young nurse were left in the room.
Draco did not know what time it was when he finally stood up and walked up to the bed. Harry looked fragile, as thought he was a crystal statue, and his eyelids were fluttering ever so lightly. Draco watched – and it was almost more than he could bear – as Harry drew a deep and clearly painful, wheezing, breath. He knew Harry was not sleeping – he had heard the Healers say that he was slipping into a comatose sort of state.
Draco drew up a chair and sat down, without really registering he had done so. He sat back and began speaking -
'Look, I know you can hear me, Harry. I'm worried out of my wits. I thought you were going to die. Hell, you look like you're half dead.
But you promised me, Harry. You promised me you'll survive, even though I told you that attack was stupid and reckless. Please come back. I know that it's good, wherever you are now, I know its wonderful there. No pain, no worry, no hardships. But I'm alone here, goddamit, and if you die on me I'll have nothing to live for. You – promised – me!' Draco was screaming now. The nurse looked up, her face concerned.
And then Draco was overcome with a realization that knocked the wind out of him, something that he understood now – only now - so clearly that it shocked him and rendered him dumb. He was in love with Harry Potter.
