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Chapter Twenty-Eight—The First Betrayal

Harry heard sounds from a distance. He could decide whether he rose to confront those sounds. He knew they were outside his head and not part of the feverish images stalking him—red wolves that melted into blue hippogriffs when he whirled to face them—and so he considered it.

But when he tried, there was a barrier in place after all, a great sticky black pane that held him like tar while he struggled. He tried to shout, and the tar flowed into his mouth. He tried to lift his hand, and the weight of the liquid wrapped around it and held it down.

He sank and was still again. The voices drifted near him and then retreated, and now he felt a sense of movement, as though he were being wheeled along broad corridors. He wondered for a moment if they had taken him to Hogwarts, to Madam Pomfrey.

Why would I need to see Madam Pomfrey? What happened to me?

But the tar answered for him, and this time it drowned the vestiges of consciousness that Harry possessed. He knew someone was shouting, and that was the last thing he knew in the moments before he lost all awareness.

"What's wrong with him?"

Draco was so angry that he was shaking. He was impressed that he had managed to keep his voice to a mere shout when speaking to Granger, who stood by Harry's bedside, her wand aimed at him. Her eyes were as level but not as calm as the stare she'd used on him when he confronted her in her office a few days ago.

They should have told him. He should have been at Harry's side the moment this illness, whatever it was, struck him. Instead, he'd had to find out from the Daily Prophet that Harry Potter had collapsed in his therapist's office and been rushed to St. Mungo's. The article, since it was written by Rita Skeeter, also hinted at rumors that Harry had been sick in the days immediately before his collapse.

Draco hadn't known whether to believe that, but now, seeing the sheer pallor of Harry's face and the way the tendons on his hands stood out above the skin, he could.

"You can read signs as well as I can, Malfoy," Granger said, and if it hadn't been for the tremble in her voice, Draco really thought that he would have tried to kill her where she stood. That tremble was the only sign that she was affected. "He's on the third floor. The staff at St. Mungo's believes he's been poisoned."

"And do you?" Draco leaned against the wall, dividing his gaze between Granger and Harry—but only because he was forced to, in case Granger attacked him. He much rather would have looked his fill at Harry. He lay far too still. His breathing seemed normal, and when Draco cast a small, nonverbal spell that would accentuate sound, he could hear a steady heartbeat. But most of his spirit and life seemed to have left him.

"I don't know what to think," Granger said shortly, and stepped back so that she could look down at Harry, her hand smoothing over his hair. Draco watched the sweat-soaked strands drop back from the scar and controlled the impulse to snap at her. She had no right to touch Harry, but she thought she had a right, and struggling with her would probably get Draco thrown out of the hospital, since he had no official connection to Harry. "We've tested all his food. There's no trace of a poison. And if there had been poison in the food, it would have affected the children and Ginny as well."

"Tell me his symptoms." Draco closed his eyes and recalled his old expertise in potions. He had not always been able to match symptoms to kind of potion, but if he could do it now, he would feel that he was contributing to Harry's health.

"Hallucinations for the past two days," Granger said quietly. There came the faint wish-swish sound of her hand cutting through the dark hair. "Color patches, he said. He had trouble moving or seeing. He was losing control of his emotions; Ginny said that he snapped at her more often in the past two days than he has in years. He was generally weak. We thought that he was sick, and it had lessened enough on Monday so that he could go to the therapist's office. That's another thing that doesn't make sense. If someone concocted a poison for him, why would they make one that showed its effects before it was ready to kill him? That just gives us a greater chance to figure it out and stop it in time."

Draco hissed beneath his breath and glared at Granger. "You must know what's wrong," he said.

Granger had gone very still, and then her head lifted and she watched him the way she might watch a Fwooper. Her hand tightened on her wand. "If this is something that you gave him and he trusted you enough to take, Malfoy—"

"It's common Potions knowledge, Granger," Draco interrupted harshly. He was looking at Harry, whose breathing was still steady but had become shallower. He knew that what he said next might cause problems, but he would rather have that than the Healers being deprived of a chance to save Harry in time. "Those are the symptoms of an overdose of the Dreamless Sleep Potion. They're from dream deprivation."

"That's impossible," Granger said. "I brewed it for him, but he knows not to take it longer than three nights in a row. And I know that he wouldn't, no matter how much he wishes for peace with Ginny. He wouldn't want to die and leave his children and his wife alone, either." She glared at Draco to let him know that he wasn't included in the number of people Harry would be unhappy to leave.

"Then someone else fed it to him," Draco said, much more calmly than he felt. "I have reason to know that he hasn't had any dreams of me in more than a week."

"You're seriously suggesting—" Granger closed her eyes and turned to face the bed again.

"Why haven't the Healers checked for Dreamless Sleep poisoning yet?" Draco asked, deciding he didn't care whether she believed him or not. If she was too caught up in defending the wife to see to the welfare of the husband, he would damn well do it himself. "There should be someone on this floor who has the necessary experience and cleverness to recognize the symptoms."

"I said they shouldn't," Granger said, her voice strangled. "I told them he was taking it because he has trouble sleeping at night—"

He didn't seem to have trouble sleeping that evening he stayed at the Manor, only trouble looking me in the face when he woke, Draco thought, but held his tongue.

"But also that he would never overdose on it. They accepted that, and took samples of his blood and hair so that they could look for other causes." Granger's voice had sunk so low on the last words that Draco had to strain to hear her.

"Well, congratulations," Draco said, amused in the midst of his bitterness. "You may just have killed your best friend by delaying his diagnosis." He turned about to find a Healer, and surprised Weasley in the doorway. He cradled two cups of steaming tea in his hand, and his gaze darted from Draco to the bed to his wife and back.

"Is that true, Hermione?" he asked quietly. "Do you really think that Ginny put the Dreamless Sleep in Harry's food?"

"She wouldn't," Granger whispered.

Draco snorted and slipped past Weasley. He could feel the blue gaze tracking him down the corridor, but he didn't care. He soon cornered a tall, thin Healer who had been enjoying his own cup of tea, but stood up with a weary sigh and nod when he saw Draco.

"I'd been resting for fifteen minutes," he muttered. "Knew it was too good to be true."

Draco ignored the words because he didn't see how they were relevant. "Harry Potter in Room 1224 needs your help," he said. "It's Dreamless Sleep overdose, after all, and I suspect that he's taken it for eight days, with the last dose occurring last night."

The Healer frowned and shifted. Now Draco could see that he bore a name plaque saying "Rex Wagner" clipped to the front of his robes, along with the crossed bone and wand that was the emblem of the hospital. "You seem to know facts that not even his best friends or wife could tell us," he said. "And yet, you don't look related to him."

"I'm not," said Draco. "But he owes me a life-debt, and I have reason to see that he doesn't die before he fulfills it."

Wagner laughed a bit. "Well, that's a unique reason to want to take care of someone," he muttered, and then pushed past Draco. The way he moved and the way his dark brown hair curled around his ears were both attractive, but Draco found that he could hardly think about such things. Harry might be dying. One went mad without dreams, and continued use of the potion past the fourth or fifth day could affect the heart.

Draco's spell had seemed to show him that Harry's heart was beating strongly and steadily, but, on the other hand, he didn't know what it sounded like ordinarily.

He followed Wagner in silence, and watched as he opened the door of Harry's room and stepped inside with enviable confidence. Draco lifted his head and tried to imitate that confidence as he marched in, though he had to learn against the door while Wagner was able to approach the bed.

He drew his wand and spent a moment looking at Harry's scar and at his chest, before he parted the robes and laid the wand over Harry's heart. He chanted several words in a Latin incantation—Draco could only catch "potion" and "purge"—paused, and then began another incantation, which continued for several minutes. Then he stepped away from the bed, motioning Granger to follow him and Draco and Weasley to keep away with the same hand.

Harry trembled, and then his mouth and his hands opened. Thick purple-green liquid, which looked like partially digested Dreamless Sleep Potion, began to gush from between his lips, from the lines of his palms, from his nostrils and beneath his eyelids. Draco took a step forwards, momentarily concerned that he might drown, but the flow stopped quickly. Then Healer Wagner waved his wand, Vanished the mess, and leaned close enough to Harry that he could probably hear his heartbeat like Draco had. Draco recast his spell, and listened to a beat that already sounded stronger and steadier, though that was probably his imagination.

"He'll be well," Wagner said, and pulled back from the bed with a pleased expression. "I've cast a spell to reverse any damage that the potion might have dealt to his heart. Of course, he'll need to keep from taking the potion again for at least two years, and preferably for the rest of his life. And he needs to go back to sleep as soon as possible after he awakens, and then have at least ten hours of normal sleep, complete with dreams. Don't let him move too far or too fast and hurt himself, either. He could." He nodded to them all, as though inviting them to share in his triumph, and then turned and left the room with a calm, efficient stride. Probably going back to his tea, Draco thought in amusement. He acted as though saving a man's life was nothing.

It was not.

And Draco knew the magic binding him and Harry didn't think it was nothing, either, because a moment later a burst of gold-white light blinded him. He lifted a hand in front of his eyes, though it did no good, and then lowered it and squinted as the glow dimmed and centered on Harry. It settled into his skin like the setting sun, and vanished. Draco put a hand on his chest, and felt the skin over his heart shuddering. He guessed that the magic had created a scar there to symbolize the fact that his saving of Harry's life had protected his heart.

He looked up at Granger and Weasley. Weasley's stare had sharpened, and his hands rested, spread open, on his knees, as though he were trying to keep from leaning forwards and touching Draco. Draco grimaced at the thought, and turned away. No Weasley touches me. That honor is reserved for Harry.

Granger's head was bowed, and Draco could no longer see her face. He wasn't sure he wanted to. He came towards the bed and took Harry's wrist, running his thumb over the pulse.

"You realize," he said, not looking at either one of the room's inhabitants, "that he can't stay with his wife anymore. He can't stay with someone who tried to kill him, and very nearly succeeded."

"I don't think she was trying to kill him," Weasley said. His voice was so thoughtful, and looking at Harry's tightly shut eyes, while wishing they would open to reveal a shine of green, was so compelling, that Draco didn't snap at him. "I think she was genuinely trying to make sure that Harry didn't have those dreams of you anymore. And she was never a good Potions student. She probably wouldn't know much about the side-effects of Dreamless Sleep. He was still resting, and better than ever without the dreams to make him twitch and roll about, so why not give him as much as he could handle?"

Draco snorted bitterly. "She has to have known better than that. Who doesn't know about the side-effects of Dreamless Sleep?"

"I didn't," Weasley said. "I think most of the Healers who saw Harry put aside the suspicion after Hermione told them that there was no way he could overdose. That only proves that not even knowledgeable eyes are enough, if there isn't a brain behind them guiding them in the right direction." Footsteps sounded, and then Weasley's hand clasped Draco's shoulder and shook it slightly. "He probably would have died because we simply couldn't believe that something like this would happen. Thanks, Malfoy. We owe you one."

"I'll be more satisfied if Granger apologizes," Draco drawled, though he was thoroughly astonished that Weasley had done so, and had to keep his head bowed so that they wouldn't see that.

"I—" Granger whispered, and then choked. Draco looked up at her to find her face pale, dark circles under her brown eyes standing out. He wasn't inclined to feel much sympathy for her. He was sure that Harry had lost just as much sleep, and to many of the same causes, even if he'd slept too heavily this past week to fret like Granger did.

"I can't believe that she would do something like that." Granger shook her head and smoothed her palm over Harry's forehead once more. "No, she's not a very good Potions student, but she has to have known there would be trouble, or Harry would have taken the Dreamless Sleep every night by himself."

"I'll leave it to you to wring a confession out of her," Draco said, and Summoned the chair he'd seen standing on the opposite side of the room. "If I go near her in this mood, I'll probably kill her." He sat down next to Harry's bed and took his hand. "Why isn't she here?" he added.

"Someone had to stay with the children," Weasley murmured. "Ginny said she would, since Mum was with ours."

Afraid of being found out, probably. Draco sneered. She wants to put distance between herself and her crime for just a little longer. As if that somehow makes her any less guilty in what almost happened.

His fingers trembled. Luckily, they were hidden inside Harry's, so that no one else could notice.

I nearly lost him.

But he hadn't. Draco forced himself to listen to the steady breathing and heartbeat, just so he would believe that.

Harry came so slowly back to wakefulness that for long moments he wasn't sure he was awake. Then he opened his eyes and grimaced as he recognized the flat blue ceiling of St. Mungo's. God knew that he'd spent enough time here, especially during his first few years of work for the Blood Reparations Department when the thought of reconciliation made people violent, that he should know it.

"Harry?"

Draco. I didn't expect him to be here. Harry rolled his head slowly in that direction. A hand intercepted him, palming his cheek and lifting his face, and then a cup of water was held to his lips. Harry swallowed eagerly. His throat felt thick and syrupy, as though he'd recently done a lot of vomiting or swallowed foul-tasting Healing potions.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered, when he had control of his voice and had managed to open his eyes completely. "I must still be sick. I don't want to infect you. I don't want Scorpius to be infected, either, or your mother."

"That was your excuse for not contacting me earlier, wasn't it?" Draco's voice was flat, promising trouble to come, but his hand on Harry's hair and scar was gentle. "It's a stupid excuse, you prat. How would you have felt if you found out I was sick and that I had decided to endure it in noble suffering instead of contacting you?"

"You're not someone to endure anything important in noble suffering." Harry nuzzled against his hand, unable to believe how content he felt. He was still tired, and his limbs were sore, but Draco was with him. If his children had been in the same room, he would have been deliriously happy, and reluctant to leave. "Did they figure out what was wrong with me?"

Draco's face tightened around the corners, turning it into a parchment mask. Harry struggled, and finally managed to free one hand from where it was trapped beneath the covers, so that he could touch Draco's fingers.

"It has to do with Ginny, doesn't it?" he asked.

Draco stared at him. "How—"

"You look as though you were caught between telling me something painful and feeling glee," Harry explained, even as he tried to calm his breathing and steady his thoughts, so that he could bear any revelation Draco would give him. "You would only do that if Ginny was involved, and if your delight that she'd been caught was tempered by the fact that you know it will hurt me."

"Harry, it can wait." Draco tried to push him back into the pillows. "The Healers said that you shouldn't move about, and maybe my glee will lessen when I have time to think about it—"

"It can't wait." Harry finally located his glasses on the table beside the bed and slung them over his face. "Tell me. Ron and Hermione would think of a way to break it to me gently, and they'd probably leave something important out," he added, when Draco hesitated. "Tell me as bluntly as you can."

Draco spent a moment more licking his lips and looking as if he would have liked to object. Then he took Harry's hands and said, "Ginny was sleeping you Dreamless Sleep Potion in your food. That's why you didn't have any dreams about me for a week—why I didn't have any dreams about you, for that matter—and why you got sick over the past few days. The brain can't stand to be deprived of dreams for long. It was trying to send you to sleep without the potion so that it could dream."

Harry shut his eyes. "I suppose that Ron and Hermione have gone to get a confession from her?" he asked flatly.

"Yes." Draco hesitated a moment more, then added, "The Healers asked if you could have overdosed on the potion. Granger told them that you'd never do that on purpose, so they were looking for something else. I suggested that they check for an overdose instead, and the life-debt magic decided that I'd saved your life again and added another scar to our collection."

Harry made himself open his eyes and smile, so that Draco wouldn't think his anger at Ginny was part of his reaction to that news. "Thank you," he said. "If you believe that I'll object to another connection set in place between us, you don't know me very well."

"What are you going to do?" Draco asked, while Harry forced himself upright. He had to lean back on the pillows and rest when he reached a sitting posture, but he didn't mind. His anger was strong and bright and clear-burning. There was no danger that it would lapse and let him alone any time soon.

"It's done," Harry said briefly. "Staying with Ginny, that is. She can't be trusted to think of reasonable consequences, and she can't be trusted not to hurt the children. Can you imagine what she might have put in their food when they fussed too much or when she just didn't feel like taking care of them?"

Draco narrowed his eyes in what Harry knew was confusion, because he tilted his head slightly at the same time, whereas he would just have stared if he were angry. "I don't think she would do that, really."

"I can't take the chance," said Harry, and then made the request that he thought would be the most difficult part of the whole day. "Can James, Al, Lily, and I stay in the Manor until I find a house or flat of our own?"

Draco's jaw dropped. "You're leaving her," he said, and the wonder in his voice was too strong to permit other feelings to intrude. "You're really leaving her."

"Yes." Harry paused to swallow. The sense of betrayal would overwhelm him otherwise. The anger beat its wings and screamed, and then burned through several of the barriers that had been holding him back. He felt the burden of maintaining Ginny's happiness fall from him like shed scales.

It felt—more wonderful than he liked to admit, actually.

"This is it," Harry went on. "She could have deprived her children of a father, and you of a partner, and Ron and Hermione of their friend—" He abruptly wriggled. The long scar down the left side of his body was nipping at him with bright, mint-like tingles.

"And she could have hurt me badly," he added, though in truth that was the least important thing to him; he'd come close to death so many times he didn't think the mere cost of his own life would be so bad, if only it didn't hurt other people. The scar, satisfied that he'd kept his promise to think about his own happiness, subsided again.

"She did hurt you badly," Draco said. There was a savagery in his voice that Harry would not have wanted to face alone. "The Healers said that your heart may have been permanently weakened. They won't know until they run some tests—"

"They can do it later," said Harry, and pulled back the blankets. He was naked beneath them save for regulation hospital pyjamas. He forced himself to ignore that, as well as the avid stare Draco probably wasn't even conscious of. "I have to go to the house, collect the children, and tell Ginny why I'm leaving her. Come with me?"

"You should really be in bed," Draco said, hovering.

"I have to do this." Harry stared at him. "I can't leave the children alone with her for much longer."

"You know that the marriage vows will still be in place," Draco whispered. "You can't ever have sex with another man. Or woman," he added, though the dismissal in his voice made it plain that he thought Harry wasn't seriously considering that.

"I don't care," Harry said. "It's done and over with."

Finally, with a small nod, Draco consented, and fetched Harry his wand. Harry closed his eyes and recited a spell that would draw strength from his magical core to send to his limbs. It wasn't always a good idea, but right now, he wanted to do this too much. The need to secure the safety of his children burned in him even more fiercely than the anger.

There would be consequences, of course. God alone knew what this would do to his relationship with Ron and Hermione, and the children would miss their mother.

But it was relief that made Harry's hands tremble when he held out his arms for the robes Draco had brought him.