Disclaimer: I own nothing! Only my ideas.
Authors notes: So, today I realized a great folly in my plotline. If Harry was simply frozen by a basalisk, a Mandrake Restorative Drought would have brought him back. As I don't want to go back and edit the original story line, I like the idea of a statue Harry floating around Diagon Alley somewhere, so somehow I'll address this when we get into exploring Harry's "death" in a few chapters. Anyways, enjoy!
Chapter 3: Open eyes, open wardsThe door clicked shut softly, too softly to wake the slumbering lion in the hospital bed, but the whispered locking charm pulled him out of his deep sleep. With great amounts of difficulty, Harry slowly cracked his eyes open a quarter inch, taking in the blurry scene around him. He wasn't sure where he was, or what he was doing sleeping as the golden rays came through the window, but one thing he was sure of: The lanky blonde figure in white walking towards him with a wand probably was not very well intentioned.
He tensed as words began to flow out of the blondes mouth, wand swishing through the air with the ease of one who has cast a million times, and prepared to spring up to his own defense, muscles coiling and lungs filling with air as he gathered all of his energy to… lift his arm an inch, drop it, and weakly mumble, in an accusing, scornful kind of way, "Malf.. no."
Draco stopped his arm movements and stared, unable to trust his senses. Sure enough, Harry's eyes were open, confused green eyes peering at him through accumulated bloody crusts as his wand arm moved futilely beside him. Less than three hours prior, immediately after Harry had left the ER, Draco had (against the wishes of the nursing staff) inserted a temporary feeding tube into Harry, tapped into his private stash of potions and discreetly mixed a blood replenishing potion, skele-gro, and one of his personal creations that repaired organ damage into the tube feeding bag. He knew it would help, but he had no idea Harry would already be conscious, let alone attempting to fight him off.
"Harry, I'm here to help you.. You're at a muggle hospital, you've been the victim of a hit-and-run, a concerned driver found you on the side of the road, and I am now your attending physician." He lifted his wand again to start the spell he'd been crafting again. Harry gurgled, frustrated sounding. "Listen, Wonder Boy, I practiced as a mediwitch for years before you, well, were frozen. I am bound by my own conscience, the muggle Hippocratic oath, as well as the Mungonian oath in our old world not to hurt you. I am casting a spell to stabilize your bones as they regrow, another to protect your organs, and a third to let me know immediately if you take a turn for the worse. If you'd please stop fussing, let me save your life, I owe you at least that!" Draco quickly shut his mouth at the last sentence. He had explained his duties as well as the procedure with the same set calm and soothing smile he used every day in the ER, to calm frantic mothers of dying children, or scared patients with minor ailments. Until he hit the last sentence, and his voice cracked, allowing out a rush of emotions he had kept pent up for several years. He choked for a moment, eyes misting as the world went green, again.
Harry listened and watched, still groggy and unable to understand what exactly was going on. All he heard was a soft, generic kindness- from malfoy? – and a sudden intensity, a burst of emotion that reminded him of when Ginny sat him down at the table and told him she couldn't do it any more, Ginny with her red hair and red cheeks, and red rimmed eyes from too many tears, Ginny looking at him, pleading, one last time before shutting the door as he, politely, sat down in their kitchen, politely empty, with obligatory pain and sorrow. There was the world in red again, and his eyes closed as he lost himself in memory.
Draco cast. Harry's eyes snapped back open, suspicion of the magic slowly encasing his body pulling him out of his temporary mental prison. He peered curiously at the blonde, who moved his wand in practiced swishes, rambling in latin that flowed past Harry's ears like water. But no harm came, only a sensation of fullness as his organs were each warded individually to keep them safe, and a comfortable stiffness as his bones set, followed by the sensation of being wrapped in a blanket as Mafoy set the ward that would alert him if Harry's condition worsened.
Draco looked at the prone, suspicious, fighter in the bed once he finished casting. Harry barely had the strength to open his eyes or twitch his finger, but he still was looking him with a seething loathing, as if by looks alone he could kill his archrival. Perhaps he can, a fleeting thought, the blonde shook his head for such sappy sentiments, this is not anybody special, he thought to himself, this is just a patient, a patient that seriously needs my help, whether or not he wants it.
But regardless of how often he thought that to himself, he couldn't shake the plethora of mixed emotions he felt as Harry glared at him. He was joyful, overwhelmingly happy to finally, finally be noticed again by the man he had chased and thought was dead, but a piece of him sorely regretted that it was with such venom Harry looked at him. Hesitatingly, he stepped forward. "Feel better, Potter," he said, softly, and rested one warm hand on Harry's shoulder. Emerald eyes began to drift towards his, but before he could meet them, Draco turned and walked briskly out of the room, waving his wand to dismiss the wards locking the room and discreetly hiding his wand again.