Disclaimer: Not mine and I am making NO money from this.

Author's Notes:

Originally written for aoifene's cancelled Seven Deadly Sins Angst collection. The prompt I chose was Envy. Thanks to aoifene, weasleywench and nocturnali for their unwavering support and encouragement. The title is a line from Dante's The Divine Comedy: Purgatory, Canto XIII. Translated by The Rev. H. F. Cary, M.A.

Thanks for all your reviews on the first chapter. Hopefully you'll enjoy this one, too. This story WILL have a happy ending, I promise.

jamie

xxxx

When Draco woke, he wasn't in much pain and, based on the softness under his back, he was in a bed. It was quiet, the silence only broken by some far off rumbling noise that he determined were voices. And apart from a dull throbbing in his head and aches in places he never knew could ache, he seemed to be in one piece.

A male voice seemed to detach from the rest and become louder, apparently arguing over something, if the tone was any indication. It also sounded like the owner was approaching his room.

As it neared, it became more familiar. Potter. Merlin, Draco hoped he was in hospital and not prey to whatever second-rate healing the do-gooder Potter could manage.

Draco opened his eyes. He only had time to register that, thankfully, he was in a hospital room before Potter opened the door and let in an unearthly racket.

Potter paused in entering the room and his voice, obviously still talking to the rabble, sounded cross. 'Mr Malfoy is resting. Give him time to recover and I'm sure he'll give you a statement when he's feeling better.'

'Well?' Bloody hell, Potter had better have some answers for him or there'd be hell to pay.

'Oh, good, you're awake.'

'Very perceptive, Potter.' Draco shifted and pushed himself up on his elbows. It didn't hurt, too much. 'Now, if you'd skip past the pleasantries and tell me what happened before you leave, I'd appreciate it.' Potter didn't deserve Draco's manners, but it was too well ingrained.

'You don't remember?'

Draco glared at him. 'Of course I remember being hit with some vile curse, you imbecile. What I don't know is what the bloody thing was or why.'

Potter, he was annoyed to see, didn't flinch at the insult. Rather he appeared to be amused. And looking at Draco as if they'd been friends for a lifetime instead of mortal enemies. All right, mortal enemies might be an exaggeration, but enemies just the same.

'You jumped in front of a curse meant for me. A variation of the Cruciatus. It knocked you out for a while. We brought you here about an hour ago.'

Typical, Draco thought. Some cretin decided to hex the Golden boy, finally, and Draco had the unfortunate luck to have been shoved in its path. And some people, Potter in particular, had all the bloody good luck in the world. How was that fair? He dropped back and closed his eyes.

'That was a really brave thing to do, Draco, I always thought you hated me; why did you do it?'

Draco looked at Potter in disbelief. Did he honestly think that Draco had done it on purpose? Not for all the gold in Gringotts would Draco put himself in any sort of danger, and certainly not for Potter. He was stunned speechless at Potter's casual assumption… Draco amended his thoughts; Potter was used to people putting themselves in the line of fire for him.

'I do hate you, Potter,' he ground out.

'Then, why? You could have let that curse hit me. Instead you're a hero. I've been battling to keep the Press from getting in here and pestering you for a comment.'

'The Press?'

Now that was an interesting development. Perhaps he could take advantage of this situation and collect on some of the popularity Potter enjoyed so much of. Perhaps the spell was working.

'Yeah, there were a lot of people around when it happened. You created quite a stir. They all want to speak to the new hero.'

Potter spoke without resentment. As if he didn't care that Draco was going to steal some of his publicity. Draco was pleased. Potter was a push over.

'Well, I don't mind speaking to them, but if you could get me some clothes, I'd rather put on a dignified front than be photographed in a hospital gown.'

'Of course. I think a Healer should look at you first, though. Make sure that you're all right.'

'No, I'm fine, Potter.' The Press might give him up if he made them wait too long. Carefully, he sat up and dropped his legs over the side of the bed.

Potter sighed and handed him his clothes. 'Fine, but I'll send one in to check on you after you've spoken to the Press.'

Draco allowed himself an internal smirk. Potter was already bending over backwards, bending rules to accommodate Draco's needs. He wondered what else he could get the man to do. Plenty, he suspected. Draco had just saved Potter's life, after all. Theoretically.

'Well, get out!' Draco snapped, wanting to dress in private. Potter merely shook his head and informed him that he'd go be back in five minutes with the Press.

….

Dealing with a room full of reporters and photographers was easier than Draco thought it would be seeing as it was all a huge accident. All he had to do was look frail and wince every time he moved to gain their sympathy. It only took him to show modesty and humility for them to be eating out of his hand.

'Mr. Malfoy, how does it feel to be a hero?'

'Who, me?' Draco pretended shock. 'I'm no hero. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.'

'No one else jumped in front of the curse. Just you. How can you explain that?'

Draco frowned as if thinking. 'Perhaps their reflexes weren't as good as mine. It did happen very quickly.'

'Can you tell us in your own words what happened?'

'It all happened so fast.' Draco really had no idea what had happened at all but he appeared to think about it. 'One minute I was among the crowd, making my way to Fortescue's for ice cream and the next I heard a noise. Without even thinking about it, I found myself over the barrier.' And that wasn't even a lie, Draco thought, greatly amused.

'It was an extremely brave thing to do, Mr. Malfoy,' one female reporter said, simpering. 'Can you tell my readers why you did it?'

No. Absolutely no fucking idea, darling, Draco thought, and if I'd had a choice about it, I'd have never done it. Instead, Draco smiled awkwardly and dropped his eyes. 'There was no way I could stand by and watch the Golden boy hurt by some disaffected wizard,' he said softly.

He risked a glance at Potter, who'd been sitting quietly in the corner the whole time, half expecting to see Potter angry and on the verge of disputing his version of the story. Strangely, Potter didn't look like that at all. Instead he had awed gratitude on his face. It was enough to make Draco blink several times in shock.

After several more questions, which Draco answered modestly, just making the reporters want to call him a hero even more, Draco claimed tiredness and had Potter remove them from his room.

He was actually tired and ached terribly. He had Potter hunt down a Healer and get him some more potion for the pain. Once he'd been examined by the Healer and told he'd need to stay overnight, he settled down for a nap.

'You going to sit there and watch me sleep, then?' Draco looked at Potter seated in the corner and smirked.

'I have to. They still haven't caught whoever aimed that curse at me and they think that whoever it was might now be after you for interfering.'

Draco frowned. Actual danger was unexpected. 'Fine, then. You can stay.'

'I was going to.'

'Good. Now shut up and let me sleep.'

'Prat.' He sounded fond, which annoyed Draco. Potter had no right to familiarity.

'I'm the bloody prat who took a curse for you, Potter, so kindly shut up.'

….

The next time he woke it was to voices outside his door.

'He probably set it up, Harry; why can't you see that?' The girl Weasel. Obviously not everyone thought he was a hero, then.

'Don't be ridiculous, Gin; why would he risk dying just to set up something like that?'

'He was in no danger of dying!'

'The Healer said that he was very close to it. They said he was lucky I got him here as quickly as I did.'

'I still say he set it up to get on your good side.'

'I don't understand why you're doing this. He didn't need to be on my good side; we've had no animosity towards each other since school. We've grown up. Why can't you?'

'Fine, well being grateful to him for it is one thing, but you don't have to run around after him like a house-elf.'

'I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. Draco possibly saved my life and whatever I can do to say thank you, I'm going to do it.'

'You saved my life back in school and you didn't see me falling all over myself and acting like a house-elf.'

'Oh, so the Valentine's singing cupid you sent me was actually from someone else?'

Potter sounded amused. Not that Draco really noticed the amusement other than in an abstract way; he was way more concerned with the fact that he'd almost died! It was enough to send his imagination reeling and his stomach plummeting in dread. If they hadn't caught the assailant, then he was still in danger and he could still die! What happened to Potter hanging around to protect him? Where was the gratitude?

The girl Weasel's laughter and Potter's voice faded. Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed, intent on chasing after Potter and demanding his presence so that he could throw his body in front of a curse this time!

Then, through the opaque glass, he saw the unmistakeable lump of the other Weasel standing guard outside his door. He slumped onto the bed. Demanding Potter's presence in addition to a guard might look melodramatic. And he knew he'd have to play this very carefully if he were to take full advantage of this situation.

…

He was greatly pleased when his meal was delivered with a selection of newspapers for him to read the next time he woke. His story of heroic bravery covered the front of all of them. Some enterprising sod had captured the last few seconds of the incident. Draco grimaced as he watched the spell slam into his back and knock him to the ground. It hadn't looked like he'd stumbled from a push. And the fact that he'd tripped over the barricade would hide that.

'Draco, you idiot, what have you been up to now?' came a familiar voice from the doorway.

He looked up and smiled. Pansy glared at his door-guard – no longer a Weasley – and strode in as if she were a Healer.

'Pansy! What are you doing here?' Draco was delighted to see her.

'Well, I couldn't let you go through this traumatic experience all by yourself, could I?' She smirked and threw a Muffliato spell around them before plonking herself on the only chair in the room. 'Right, now dish. You can't tell me that you threw yourself in front of a curse for anyone, let alone Potter. So what happened?'

'Apparently, I jumped in front of a curse meant for Potter,' Draco teased. At Pansy's narrowed eyes he relented and told her about everything, including the spell.

They'd known each other virtually since birth. She was the only person who knew that he still slept with a stuffed toy, a fact she'd found out by accident one night during the war when her family had stayed at the Manor after one of Voldemort's 'parties'.

The small toy gave him comfort, and was a symbol of his forgotten innocence. During Voldemort's occupancy of his family home, he'd clung to the shaggy thing. Pansy had laughed at him when she'd seen Draco snuggled up with his stuffed lion in his arms, but then had sobered and said, 'I hope he saves us, too.'

Draco'd had no idea what she'd been talking about, but Pansy never joked about the toy after that. She'd been the one who'd made sure he had strong wards disguising it when they went back to Hogwarts.

'So, you could pretty much get Potter to do whatever you wanted right now.' A calculating grin cut across her face. It suited her.

'I could, but then that would be abusing his gratitude, and that wouldn't be right,' Draco smirked.

'That would never do,' she agreed. 'However, he does owe you his life…'

'That's true enough.'

'What you need,' Pansy said, 'is a way to capitalise on both Potter's gratitude and the positive publicity you've received.'

'I agree. What did you have in mind?'

'The anniversary of the end of the war is in four months. You'd be cutting it fine for planning and such, but how about hosting the charity ball of the season before then? Find some deserving charity – or set up your own – and use the ball to raise money. Potter owes you so he'd attend. Once you have him, you have the rest of the who's who all clamouring to buy tickets as well.'

'I like the way your mind works, lovely.' Draco smiled. It was perfect. 'We'd set the prices ridiculously high to keep out the riff-raff, of course. We'd have only the best of everything.'

'Darling, if you donated the cost of setting up the Ball, it would mean even more money to the right charity.'

'And just to ensure success, we'll make it a charity of Potter's choosing,' Draco said, beginning to get enthused about all the planning and organising.

'Excellent idea. Your mother will be extremely glad to be entertaining again.'

Draco nodded. 'I know she misses it. All the glamour and pomp. But it was hardly worth organising anything after the war. No one would have attended.' Seeing his mother happy once more would please Draco. He hated how her lively personality had become more withdrawn and isolated in the years since the war. She would welcome this opportunity with open arms.

'And you'll finally have the attention you want,' Pansy finished.

He gave his co-conspirator another grin and they set to work discussing ideas until she was shooed out of the room by a Healer an hour later.

….

'Take me home, Potter.' Draco was sitting on the edge of his bed the next day, ready to leave, but he was damned if he was leaving without Potter as an escort. Potter was the one who owed him the life debt. Draco intended to claim on it. Several times if he could get away with it.

Potter being Potter rolled his eyes, but Draco caught the amusement in them. 'Isn't your mother going to come and collect you?'

'I don't need my mother here,' Draco snapped. 'She doesn't leave the Manor much these days. Prefers not to be spat on by people that aren't even worthy of cleaning her shoes.'

'She might find that things have changed slightly.'

Draco narrowed his eyes at Potter. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean that apparently the name Malfoy isn't one to be spat at any longer. If you'd seen this morning's newspaper, you'd know that.'

Finally, he thought. 'Be that as it may, Potter, my mother is hardly likely to be reading those gossip rags. Besides, someone out there wants to hurt you and, due to my spur-of-the-moment decision to save your scrawny arse, I am in danger as well. I think it only appropriate that you ensure my safety,' Draco said haughtily.

'I wouldn't trust you to anyone else.' Potter gave Draco a stupid grin.

Raising an eyebrow, Draco responded, 'Does that mean you'll be plastered to my side until this person is caught?' Not a very pleasant prospect. He'd rather be the only one in the spotlight. If Potter were to be there beside him all the time, then it would be merely reflected glory that Draco received.

'Hardly.' Potter shook his head. 'I do have a job to do. Security will be provided for you, of course, but you only need to tell me you need me and I'll be there. Least I could do.'

'The least, indeed.' No point in letting Potter feel he didn't have an obligation. 'As long as they don't curtail my activities, then that should be acceptable.' And Draco would find many times in these coming months that he would need Potter for something.

'All right, princess, you ready to go?'

Draco clenched his jaw. Perhaps this was a bad idea and he should insist on Potter staying away from him. If Potter continued to call him something as blatantly ridiculous as 'princess', then he couldn't be held responsible for a stray hex or two. In fact…no, best not. How much more satisfying it would be to hex Potter publicly and get away with it. Draco went hard in an instant.

'Are the Press still making a nuisance of themselves?' he asked, while he conjured unsexy thoughts of ginger bits and Mudbloods copulating, making him shudder.

'I can have them removed if you want,' Potter said, obviously mistaking his shudder as distaste for the press. Nothing could be further from the truth.

'No,' he hurriedly assured Potter. 'It might be nice to receive some positive publicity for a change. I could do with appearing in public without protecting myself with Spit-Repelling Charms.'

'I wish they wouldn't continue to do that,' Potter said.

Draco stood and collected several bunches of the flowers that well-wishers had sent him. It would be advantageous to be seen leaving the hospital looking like he cared that people had thought of him.

'Why don't you tell them to stop, then? You're the darling of the wizarding world. They listen to you.'

'I rather think you've done that effectively yourself.' Potter grinned. 'You're the press' darling now.'

Why was Potter so pleased about that, Draco wondered. 'Come,' he ordered, and left the room to face the throng of people who were going to make his life wonderful and rich with attention. Just like he deserved.

Potter of course, followed him like the good little doggy he was.