There was a kind of fury in our lovemaking.
His burn was still unhealed and weeping, and I was afraid to touch him until one day when Madam Pomfrey was off on an errand. I was sitting on the end of his bed, and he sat up abruptly and literally leapt out of bed. My mouth was open to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing when he slipped his tongue into it.
I was fearful for his wound, his pain, but he pressed himself fiercely against me and moved his hands and mouth with such fervour that I quite honestly could not refuse him. It was nearly painful, the sensation of his mouth sucking down my neck, his arousal burning against me through his pyjamas, his pain scraping against my mind.
He hurt and I hurt with him but desire burned fiercer than anything in his mind or mine....I was hesitant, afraid to hurt him more, but he pinned me down and flicked his tongue against me while his hand crept under my shirt and toyed with the fastening of my pants...
And after a few moments his jaw-clenching passion overcame me and his pain became a titillating flare on the edge of both our awarenesses and all that really mattered was our mouths on each other.
...It was nearly far too soon when Madam Pomfrey returned. She entered and found us both dishevelled and flushed, I tugging at my untucked shirt and Draco pulling the sheets up to his shoulders.
"I shan't ask what you were up to," she said icily. "I gather it was entirely inappropriate for an infirmary, let alone a patient who is in no condition for any kind of strenuous activity, and I expect that you shan't do it again." And she swept off, nose in the air. Draco and I smirked sideways at each other.
* * *
"Wake up! Wake up, Harry! We've got to go to the library."
I blinked, lifted my head up from my folded arms. I'd fallen asleep on the stairway outside the Infirmary―again. "What?"
Through my sleep-blurred eyes Hermione scowled at me. "The library. We have to go there. To look for a way to heal him. Unless you know what to do already."
There was no need to ask who 'he' was. I leaped up to my feet―still dizzy and dazed―and tipped sideways; I seized hold of Ron's arm, held out and ready for me. Swaying, I frowned at Hermione. "If I knew what could heal him, I'd have done it already."
"That's my point." And she stomped swiftly away. Ron helped me stagger down the hallway after her.
* * *
We read for days.
We started with books on healing, with no results; finally I pointed out that as the school nurse Madam Pomfrey'd probably already read all of them, and if the answer was in them, she'd have found it by now. So we switched to books on curses and hexes.
Naturally, Hermione was the one to point out that nothing that could do what had been done to Draco would be in a book available to the general student body.
"Wait. Stop!" she said abruptly, interrupting Ron and I (who were skimming through the stacks of books she'd assigned us obediently).
"What?" Ron and I said in unison. I shoved a bookmark into the huge tome I was skimming through and looked at Hermione expectantly.
"It won't be here."
"What won't be here?""It―the cure―we won't find it here―we won't find anything out here in the general library! If Voldemort cast the original spell, there's no way it would be something we could find in the library...anything he would cast would have to be Dark magic, something out of the Restricted section. And if we can find the spell that caused it...we're a lot closer to finding the cure! And that means we're looking in the wrong place!"
I stared at Hermione. "You're brilliant, you know."
She blushed. "It's just *logic*, Harry."
Ron looked at her appreciatively. "I'll take your logic over anyone's guess ANY day of the week, Hermione. And I hate you for making me read all this for no reason. And I hate that we're doing this for Malfoy."
Hermione and I both scowled at him.
"Reading, and hopefully learning, is never wasted, Ron―"
"Stop calling him Malfoy like that―"
Ron slammed his book shut with an incredibly loud *WHUMP*. "Do you two want to find the cure, or not?"
Hermione and I shut up.
* * *
Getting into the Restricted Section was far easier than I'd expected.
The three of us discussed various plans, but couldn't come up with something that would allow more than one of us in. Hermione could certainly convince a teacher to write her a note, but Ron and I hadn't the scholarly reputation. I might be able to wheedle Lupin or McGonagall into giving me a note, but I'd have to give good reasons for the request, and I knew that if I simply explained that we were looking for a cure for Draco's lingering―wound―it wouldn't be an acceptable reason; whomever I approached would simply tell me that Madam Pomfrey was sure to fix it very soon, and we shouldn't concern ourselves with it.
So we just walked in.
Madam Pince glared at us, and Ron later said he heard her muttering something, but I heard not a damned thing as we strode straight into the Restricted Section and started yanking books off of the shelves. Not that I would have cared particularly if I HAD heard something.
Yet more reading, reading, reading...I'm not ashamed to admit I found some things that made me slightly queasy, and Ron blanched pale enough that even his freckles faded out at one point. Dark magic's an ugly, ugly thing. Hermione, though, never flinched at anything she read―and naturally she read faster than either Ron or I, launching herself into book after book after book. She's a wonder, honestly.
But in the end, it was Ron that found it. We'd given up on it for the evening, and Ron was idly flicking through a book on crafts someone had left in the common room while Hermione studied and I stared glumly into the fire.
"Hermione! This, look at this! The 'Spell of Incendiary Art'! Says it does exactly what happened...the tip of the wand burns white-hot, then it's supposed to be used as a wood-burning tool..."
Hermione snatched the book out of Ron's hands, then I snatched it out of hers, and for a moment it looked like there might be a quarrel until Ron took it back from both of us and laid it out on the table so everyone could see.
'Use the Wande as a Toole and Trace It along the Patterne ye wish to Burne. The Tip of the Wande shalle turn White with Fire and ye shalle Draw it along the Lines of the Design. It shalle Burne the Way Through the Woode ye Choose for Your Arte.'
I looked at Hermione; she looked at Ron. "That sounds perfectly accurate...except how are we supposed to counteract it?"
Ron hung his head. "I don't know, this is all I found, honestly..."
"Oh bugger me."
"It seems you've gotten a bit of that lately―"
"Ron!!"
"Will you shut up?"
"I was just joking―"
"Ron that is not funny―"
"OKAY!" I shouted. "SHUT UP."
They both closed their mouths and looked shamefaced. I turned the page.
'In Case of Accidental Burns, Apply a Poultice of the following Ingredients: 2 handfuls dried Yarrow, 3 handfuls dried Tansy, 1 cup Spring Water, and 3 Powdered Ice Drake Scales. This same Poultice can be Applied to Mistakes in Your Worke to Remove the Error. Leave the Poultice on the Burn or Erring Parte for 3 Hours or Until it Begins to Flake Off of Its own.'
I looked up. "Well, that sounds easy enough. Where can we get the scales?"
"They should have them in Hogsmeade...Do you really think this will work, Harry?"
"I don't see why not..." I tried to sound self-assured. "After all, it does sound exactly like what happened, it's worth a shot, I say. I'm going to Hogsmeade. Are you two coming?"
"Er, Harry, Hogsmeade shops are closed now."
Oops.
"Then I'm going tomorrow morning, first thing. Are you coming or not?" I ground my teeth.
"...Of course, you idiot." Ron slapped my back in a manly fashion just as Hermione flung her arms around my neck and hugged me until I couldn't breathe.
Honestly, those two drive me crazy sometimes.