Author's Note: First of all, I'm so, so sorry about the long delay. There's really no excuse for it...except that there is. Haha. But from here on out, I do solemnly swear to update more frequently. Sorry for the wait, and thanks for reading!
*
Chapter Five
It was strange, Draco thought, to have a nearly amicable relationship with Harry Potter. Not that they'd been consistently antagonistic towards each other for some time, but it was a different thing altogether to look across the Great Hall at breakfast and exchange glances acknowledging their shared exhaustion.
See how tired I am, Potter? Draco wanted to shout across the room. It's all your fault! Yet the thought made him smile slightly.
"You look happy this morning, Draco," Luna said, not looking up from her upside-down Quibbler.
Draco barely resisted smirking. She really was barmy.
"Have you given any thought to the Halloween Feast? For example, if you'll be attending, and if so, are you bringing a date?"
Draco nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. "First of all, I wasn't aware that one required a date for the Halloween Feast. And second of all…are you coming on to me, Loony?"
"Oh, you're very handsome, Draco, but you really aren't my type. We don't really have much in common, do we?" Luna said, twirling a strand of hair. "And it's true that most people don't bring dates, but I've always found that on Halloween the stars are aligned for passion."
Draco snorted. "For you?"
"Oh, yes," Luna said, smiling a little too contentedly. Draco shuddered slightly, unable to keep images of Luna in various trysts with Longbottom from entering his mind. He couldn't wait until later, to tell Potter what she'd said.
Potter.
"Halloween is the night Potter's parents died, you know," Draco said suddenly, unsure of why. He sifted listlessly through his bowl of cornflakes, avoiding her eyes.
"Everyone knows that, Draco," Luna said. "It's quite sad, isn't it? My mother died on a Valentine's Day…she was quite fond of inventing her own spells, you see. Unfortunately, one of her spells backfired on her, and it killed her."
Draco stared at Luna, the cornflakes going dry in his mouth. "Luna…I didn't know."
Luna just smiled, the same serene smile as ever. "It's okay, Draco. I still miss my mum, but I know I'll see her again someday. So the point is, Valentine's Day is never sad for me. Sometimes, I'll throw a little party for her on that day - I'm sure she appreciates it."
Draco shook his head, still reeling slightly from Luna's matter-of-fact account of her mother's death. "I highly doubt Potter would appreciate us throwing a party for him."
"Who's throwing a party for me?" Potter asked, grinning as he sat beside Luna.
Draco frowned, embarrassed at having been caught talking about Potter. "Potter, this is the Slytherin table."
Potter shrugged. "Yeah, so? Luna sits with you every day. Anyway, what's this about a party?"
Down the table, a few of the Slytherins regarded Potter suspiciously, but none dared comment on his presence.
"Oh, Draco reminded me that your parents died on Halloween, which is really very sad, and I was telling him about the parties I always throw for my mother on the day she died."
Face flaming, Draco began attacking his cornflakes with renewed zealous.
Potter was quiet for a moment. "Halloween's coming up, you know," he said quietly. "And a lot more people than just my parents have died." He gave a small, desperate sounding laugh. "You know what, Luna? I think we should do it. We should throw a fucking Deathday party on Halloween. We can have it at our flat, don't you think, Draco?"
Starting slightly at the use of his first name, Draco looked up sharply. "Umm, if that's what you want, Potter." He wanted to tell Potter that he found the idea rather fucked up, but it really wasn't his place to say. Not that that had ever stopped him in the past, but still…
Potter grinned. "Great, then. Er, well, I've got to run…I have some things to do before class." He stood up, then stilled, looking at Draco. "Hey, I'll see you later, alright? For our lessons," he clarified, perhaps for Luna's sake.
"Right," Draco said. "For our lessons."
Unable to help himself, Draco watched Potter leave, watched the shift of shoulder blades beneath robes as he sauntered back to the Gryffindor table. He whispered something to Ginny Weasley, who stiffened at his approach, and then nodded reluctantly.
Draco watched as Potter and Ginny left the Great Hall together. Then, incredibly, Potter turned around, looking straight at Draco. Draco stared back, maintaining the fierce eye-contact that, prior to a couple of years ago, had been their trademark. Potter blinked, an almost thoughtful expression on his face.
They continued their odd staring match for several seconds, until Ginny Weasley whipped around, and following Potter's gaze, glared at Draco before tugging Potter away.
Draco raised his eyebrows and shrugged, turning back to his cornflakes and ignoring Luna's questions.
*
Potter found him in the Owlery later, just as Draco was sending off his latest letter to Narcissa.
"Um, hey," Potter said ineloquently, thrusting his hands in his pockets.
"Hey," Draco replied, self-consciously running his fingers through his hair to ensure it was free of feathers or, heaven forbid, owl droppings.
"Did you follow me or something?" he asked, only half joking.
Potter laughed awkwardly, a blush creeping up his neck. "Oh, no. I've got a map that lets me see where everyone is in the castle." He didn't offer to show Draco the map, and Draco didn't ask. Suddenly, all the times Potter had turned up in seemingly unexpected places during sixth year made a great deal of sense.
"Must come in handy." Draco smirked. "I can only imagine all the clandestine trysts that must go on here, which you've always been privy to. Quite the voyeur, are you, Potter?"
Potter scowled. "I don't use it for that," he muttered, looking at the ground.
Draco smirked harder. "I would. I've always thought Filch must have something unnatural going on with his cat, if you know what I mean."
Potter rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Honestly, the thought has never crossed my mind until now."
"Ah, but now you won't be able to stop thinking about it. That's how these things work." Potter was staring at him again, Draco noticed, with that same thoughtful expression from earlier. It made Draco uncomfortable…and slightly dizzy.
"What?" he finally snapped.
Potter started slightly. "You're funny," he blurted. "Just never noticed before."
Draco's mouth felt dry, and his stomach flipped oddly. "Yeah, well…" Ironically, Potter thinking him funny seemed to have the opposite effect on his speech, reducing it to Crabbe and Goyle-like monosyllables.
Draco cleared his throat, turning around and petting the nearest owl. Outside the rain was blowing in torrents, and he shivered slightly as he was sprayed with freezing droplets.
"Your girlfriend didn't seem too happy earlier," Draco began casually. "Then again, if I were a Weasley, I probably wouldn't be too happy either." He smirked, sneaking a look at Potter.
Potter rolled his eyes, then sighed tiredly. "She's not my girlfriend."
"Oh?" Draco leaned back against a post. "And here I thought you'd be settling your differences, so you can get married and have a dozen little Weaslettes running around. Come on, Potter, it's what everyone expects. Mustn't let them down, now."
Potter smirked indulgently. "Yes, well, they'll get over it, I'm sure."
Amazingly, Potter kept talking. "The thing is, I never really knew Ginny that well. I think I liked the…idea of Ginny, what she represented. I mean, she's smart, funny, brave, beautiful…well, she is," he said, perhaps noticing Draco's look of disgust. "Even your friend Zabini thought so."
"Blaise's tastes often left a lot to be desired," Draco muttered, scratching absently at his wrist. "Anyway, go on."
Potter sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "I can't believe I'm discussing this with you…okay. So that's all I ever knew about Ginny. That, and she's my best friend's little sister, and belongs to the family I've always wanted to belong to…"
Draco snorted rudely, causing Potter to glare at him.
"Say what you want about them, but they're good people. Theirs is the only family that I can even sort of claim as my own, so…" he trailed off, his eyes darkening.
Draco snapped his fingers in front of Potter's face, and he jumped slightly.
"Hello? Do continue."
Potter looked vaguely amused. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you? I should have known that my humiliating attempts at romance would be funny to you."
Draco waved a hand. "I'm waiting, Potter."
Potter laughed. "Okay, you sadist. Anyway, after…well, after sixth year I broke up with Ginny. I told her I couldn't be with her until I defeated Voldemort." He snorted. "It really does sound stupid and condescending, doesn't it? As if she couldn't have taken care of herself…"
Draco nearly replied that yes, it did sound stupid, but took pity on Potter. He sighed, crossing one ankle over the other. "It isn't stupid to want to protect the people you care about," he said softly. "I wouldn't have found it stupid."
Potter raised his eyebrows, eying him strangely. Draco blushed, realizing how that must have sounded.
"I meant, if I had been Weasley." Even worse! "I mean…oh, fuck. Never mind."
Draco pushed off from the pole he'd been leaning against, turning his face to the frigid wind in the hopes of eradicating the crimson flush he could still feel.
Potter cleared his throat. "Well, so when…everything was over, more or less, Ginny was still there. Kind of as a default. And she was the same person as before, only I'd…changed. And I realized, I knew nothing about her, and she knew even less about me. So…it all kind of fell apart from there."
Potter looked strangely vulnerable, standing there with his eyes wide and the wind mussing his hair. Most of the time, it was all too easy to remember that Potter was a powerful wizard, and had defeated the most powerful Dark wizard of all time. But now…he looked much too young, much too fragile to have ever defeated anyone.
Perhaps having realized he'd just poured his heart out to his erstwhile enemy, it was now Potter's turn to blush. "Anyway, I really was looking for you to see if you wanted to have lessons. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to tell you all this. I'm sure you could care less."
Draco blinked, a small stab of hurt pinging through him. And he wasn't even sure why. "You're right, I don't," he snapped. "Next time you want to have your emotional period, maybe you'll have it on somebody else. Granger, perhaps." He turned his back to Potter, suddenly seething and furious. Why, why did Potter always make him feel like this? Always, without fail, the moment he'd let his guard down around Potter, Potter just had to say something stupid and careless, something to remind him that they weren't equals, that Draco had no right to hear about his stupid romantic mistakes...
He heard Potter sigh, and unexpectedly, felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Despite himself, Draco leaned into it, shivering.
"I think I'm starting to figure you out, Malfoy. Every little thing I say, you somehow make it into something it's not…" He laughed mirthlessly. "It's going to be a problem, I'm afraid, as I'm the most clueless person on the planet."
Not looking at Potter made him brave, Draco decided. "Why do you talk to me, Potter?" he whispered, rainwater dribbling down his chin as he said it. "You don't owe me anything…just the opposite, in fact. Yet from the moment we got back to Hogwarts, I can't seem to get rid of you."
Potter exhaled, his breath tickling the hairs on the back of Draco's neck. God, he was standing so close…
"Do you want to get rid of me?" he asked quietly.
Draco shivered again, feeling hot and flustered and, goddamit, aroused beyond belief. Not because of Potter, he told himself, but because of another person's close proximity. He was an eighteen year old male, after all.
"No," he whispered hoarsely. "I just don't understand it, is all."
Potter laughed softly. "Neither do I, to be honest." The hand left his shoulder, and he felt, rather than heard, Potter move away. Draco turned around, more grateful than ever to the person who'd designed robes.
"I never thanked you," he blurted, shoving the wet hair out of his eyes. "You had no reason to save my life, but you did." He bit his lip, slightly horrified at himself for sounding so…so…
"You'd have done the same for me, I think," Potter said carefully after a moment. "Now, come on. It's freezing up here. How about we go down to the kitchens and have some tea, then we'll do our lessons?"
Draco nodded, feeling every bit like a drowned rat as he trailed after Potter, and all the more grateful to the person who'd invented robes.
*
"For fuck's sake, Potter," Draco said later, exasperated. "If you'd listen for just a moment to what I'm saying -"
Harry let the parchment in his hands fall to the floor. He sat back, glaring at Draco.
"See? I'm no good at this, I told you. I'll never remember all the properties of moonstone, or murtlap, or whatever else you've been going on about -"
"I'm trying to fucking help you!"
"Well, congratulations, it's not working!" Harry crossed his arms sullenly. "This was a bad idea," he muttered.
Draco sneered. He couldn't help it. "Please, Potter," he scoffed. "You know you're not even trying."
Harry laughed harshly. "Right. Because I would choose to be complete shit at something, because I'd just love to lose out on my chances of becoming an Auror for failing bloody Potions!"
Draco stood to his feet. They had been in an abandoned classroom for the better part of an hour, and so far, nothing seemed to be helping Harry. Draco had assumed that teaching Harry the basics behind potion-making would help him gain a NEWT level understanding of the art, but he'd obviously been mistaken. Harry, for all his knowledge in defensive magic, appeared to be missing some mechanism in the brain for remembering potions. And, Draco suspected, he just wasn't trying.
"Whatever, Potter. As if that would even matter. Don't you want to learn it for yourself, not for a score on some test?"
Harry frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "You're Harry Potter. If you want to be an Auror, you don't have to worry about NEWT scores…hell, you could probably join now if you wanted to."
"I don't want to be treated differently, Draco! Yes, you're right, but I don't want that! It isn't right, and it isn't fair…I just want to be like everyone else for a change."
Draco laughed rudely, sitting back down. " 'Everyone else' doesn't destroy Dark Lords…or compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament at age 14-"
"-Crouch put my name in the Goblet of Fire!"
"Whatever," Draco said, waving a dismissive hand. "The point is, you're not everyone else." Draco eyed Harry curiously, a thought striking him. "You really do consider yourself just like everyone else, don't you?"
Harry huffed impatiently. "I am like everyone else. Really. I'm nothing special…honestly, everything that's ever happened to me has been because of chance. It could just as easily have been you, or Ron, or Hermione…it could have been anyone. It just happened to be me." He sat quietly for a moment, looking thoughtful.
"I really am trying, you know," he said finally. "In Potions. In everything. I'm just…sort of tired." He shrugged. "I'm sorry."
He really did look tired, and once again, Draco felt his guard slipping. It was strange - mere minutes ago he'd wanted to slap Harry out of sheer frustration…and now he just wanted to hide him away somewhere, and let him finally have some peace. Draco mentally shook himself - this was Potter, for fuck's sake!
"Well," Draco said, making sure that he didn't sound overly concerned - which he wasn't, of course. "Maybe if you slept sometimes, you wouldn't be so tired."
That didn't sound terribly concerned, did it?
Harry chuckled. "Of course I sleep. I'd be dead if I didn't, wouldn't I?"
Draco took in Harry's face - the pallor, the under-eye circles - and nodded carefully. "Yes, I suppose you would be. But you don't sleep much, do you, Potter? I've noticed it since term started."
Draco bit his lip, once again indignant at himself for what he'd given away. The Draco Malfoy from three years ago would never, ever have admitted to paying that close of attention to Harry Potter's sleeping habits. But then again, that Draco Malfoy had lived in another world, not this strange, topsy-turvy universe in which friends were dead or had abandoned him, fathers were in jail, and Harry Potter was his sort-of friend.
Harry chuckled softly, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses. "You don't miss a thing, do you, Malfoy? Old habits die hard, I suppose." He gave Draco a meaningful look. "I always noticed everything about you, too."
For some reason this statement caused Draco's heart to flutter slightly. "Oh?"
"Well, yeah. I always noticed you. Half the time I wanted to punch your face in, but I certainly noticed you." He winced, looking vaguely embarrassed. "Er, I just realized how creepy that must have sounded. The noticing bit, that is. I think the punching part was mutually agreed upon."
Draco cleared his throat, looking at the floor. "I think the noticing bit was mutually agreed upon as well." He cleared his throat again, then snuck a look back at Harry, who was looking at him with the strangest expression.
"So, anyway, I think we've agreed that my current method of teaching you Potions if failing. And also, that you need to get more sleep. Honestly, are you trying to kill yourself? Have you tried Dreamless Sleep?"
Harry nodded, his expression darkening. "Yeah. I don't like it, though. It's kind of like being dead, isn't it?"
"I wouldn't know."
Draco stared at Harry. Were the rumors true, then? Had he really died? But of course, that was impossible…people didn't just die and come back to life, even in the Wizarding world.
"Yes, well…it's just sort of weird. If you want to know the truth, I've been surviving on Pepper-Up potions ever since Voldemort died. And before you tell me…I know they're not good for you, that you're not supposed to take them all the time. But it's the only thing that works!" Harry's eyes looked unnaturally bright for a moment, but then it might have just been the light.
"Potter," Draco said carefully. "You're an idiot."
Harry laughed. "I'm so glad I can always count on you for the truth."
Draco snorted. "I'm serious. Did you pay no attention in Potions, ever? Taking Pepper-Up is supposed to be an occasional fix…like, say you'd spent an entire night studying, so you take one in order to function the next day. But keep taking it, and it just builds up in your system, throwing any hope of sleeping out the window. And you have to sleep, you stupid wanker. Pepper-Up is just an artificial fix, and can be toxic upon continuous use!" He shook his head. "It's no wonder you can't concentrate on anything."
Harry smiled. "I'm pretty sure I've never been able to concentrate at Potions."
Draco glared at him. Did he think it was funny that he was slowly poisoning himself like some overwrought Celestina Warbeck?
"You're an idiot," Draco repeated. "I can't believe you think this is funny. As soon as we're back to the flat, I'm throwing all that shit out."
"I don't think it's funny," Harry muttered. "I just…what else am I supposed to do?"
"You can sleep…like 'everyone else'. Stupid fucker."
Harry grinned. "I'm honored that you care."
"I don't," Draco said crossly. "But can you imagine what everyone would say if the Boy Who Lived poisoned himself on my watch? Very bad for politics."
Harry's grin didn't fade. And the fact that Draco wanted to grin back at him was very disturbing, indeed. What was happening to him? His father was in prison, his mother was a step away from living on the streets, and here he was, making nice with Harry Potter. And enjoying it.
Annoyed at himself, Draco pushed his mug of tea away.
"Well, are you ready to get back? I have things I need to do - unlike you, my NEWT scores matter to me."
Harry's brow furrowed in bemusement, and he bit his lip nervously. "What did I say now?"
Draco sighed. How could he explain to Harry what he could barely explain to himself? He studied Harry's face for a moment; he looked weary and eager to please - to please Draco, of all people. To save him, as if that could possibly make up for the countless others he'd failed to save. But Draco didn't need any saving, not really. He'd survived things that would have caused weaker people to simply shut down - he'd endured threats against his life and his family's lives, he'd witnessed torture and sadistic murders, all with the ever-present knowledge that he could be next.
Draco didn't need saving, he just needed to forget. But how could he? The world wouldn't let him.
In the end, he just shook his head in resignation. "Nothing, Potter. Nothing at all."
*
On his way to class the next day, someone bumped into Draco, hard enough to send his books flying out of his hands.
"Watch it," Draco snapped furiously, drawing out his wand. It was hard to determine the culprit, as a group of at least a dozen had formed around him to watch. There were gleeful, anticipatory expressions on many of the faces, as if they had been waiting for this moment the entire term.
Draco sneered at them - at all of their stupid faces - before bending down to retrieve his books. He could hear the words, Death Eater, barely muffled behind coughs, and his heart skipped a beat.
Hoping the shaking in his hands was merely his imagination, Draco finished gathering up his books, straightening his back in, what he hoped, was a dignified manner. This was nothing new - he'd gone through some variation of these games from the moment he'd arrived back at Hogwarts.
"Is it true that You-Know-Who fucked your mum?" One boy asked.
"And his dad," piped in another.
Draco glared at them both, then smiled cruelly.
Someone poked him in the chest with a wand. "What's so funny?"
It was a bad idea to speak, a really bad idea. But Draco had never backed down from a verbal confrontation, and he wasn't about to start.
"Oh, I was just thinking. I didn't really agree with his methods, but the Dark Lord had some good points. For example - Muggle-loving, Mudblood trash shouldn't reproduce, and as that explains the entire lot of you -"
Somebody punched him in the face - naturally - but with such force that he nearly blacked out. Stars exploded behind his eyelids, and his ears rang strangely. It was only after a moment that he realized he'd ended up on the floor and was alone, and as he dizzily attempted to stagger to his feet, he vaguely became aware of McGonagall's voice cutting into his consciousness.
"Mr. Malfoy! Whatever are you doing, loitering around in the halls when class has started?"
He blinked, trying to focus on her. This, of course, was impossible.
"Have you been drinking, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco shook his head, the motion causing a wave of nausea so intense that he nearly doubled over.
"No," he managed, gritting his teeth. He could only imagine the detentions he'd face for throwing up on McGonagall's shoes. Although, the image nearly caused him to giggle aloud.
He heard McGonagall's footsteps draw nearer, and a small intake of breath.
"Hospital Wing, Mr. Malfoy," she said briskly, and the last thing he felt was a supporting hand clutching his elbow, and the faint tingle of a spell.
The first thing Draco realized, upon waking, was that he was in pajamas, and it was night. He wondered vaguely who had removed his clothes - Madame Pomfrey, perhaps? Or had McGonagall claimed that honor? He nearly laughed out loud, then winced when his head gave a throb of pain.
"Here, Mr. Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey said, bringing something foul and bitter to his lips. He made a face, but swallowed dutifully. For a brief, insane moment, it was almost like being tended to, as a child, by his mother. She could have just had the house-elves do it, as Lucius had often insisted, but Narcissa had had none of that. And Draco had been glad, had felt so happy and loved. Sometimes, he'd even pretended to be sick, just so she'd be there with sweet-tasting potions and her cool hands smoothing back his hair, kissing his forehead.
Humiliatingly, Draco felt tears well in his eyes, and he closed them, pretending to fall back asleep. This, of course, led to really falling asleep, and when he woke again, it was early morning.
"Hey." Harry, of all people, was seated next to his bed, looking as exhausted as ever. "Is it…is it okay that I'm here?"
Draco barely had the energy to even feel incredulous. "I don't care," he slurred sleepily. "Though Madame Pomfrey might have something to say about it."
"I don't care," Harry replied. And it may have just been Draco's imagination, but as he drifted off to sleep he could have sworn he felt somebody brush the hair off his forehead.
*
Draco's dreams were strange that night. Many of them featured Voldemort, and Crabbe, and Dumbledore, and all of the things which he'd tried, through sheer will power, to eradicate from his dreams. Unlike other nights, though, the dreams didn't scare him. Perhaps it was a side-effect of the potions, but he awoke calmer than he'd felt in a long time.
It was still night, and after allowing a moment for his eyes to adjust, Draco could clearly see Harry slumped over in the chair next to his bed. If it hadn't hurt to merely think, Draco would have rolled his eyes. Harry's neck was bent at an awkward angle - he would regret having spent the night there in the morning, that was for sure.
"Potter," Draco whispered, fearful of rousing Madame Pomfrey. And why had she allowed Harry to sleep there, after all?
"Potter!" he repeated, when Harry didn't stir. Once again, no response.
Draco sighed. "Harry," he said finally. To his amazement, Harry made a small, spastic motion, then jerked upright.
"What?" he asked anxiously. "Do you need something?"
More than a little taken aback, Draco shook his head no, then immediately regretted the action.
"Here." More of the bitter potion was being forced down Draco's throat, but he truly didn't mind in the least. The potion provided near instant relief, and Draco sighed contentedly upon swallowing it.
"Thanks." Harry remained poised just above Draco's bed, still close enough to touch. Draco fought the sudden and insane urge to run his fingers through that legendarily untamable hair.
"You've had a head injury," Harry said quietly. "You have brain swelling…that's why you might not feel exactly like yourself right now."
Draco felt exactly like himself - never better, in fact. The potion coursing through his system was extraordinary…why couldn't he feel like this all the time?
"We'll talk more about it when you've had some more rest - Madame Pomfrey will kill me if she catches me talking to you right now." And just like that, the warm presence that was Harry Potter removed itself from his bed, leaving Draco feeling cold and strangely empty.
"Potter?"
"Yeah."
"You're too good to me. You're…" Draco felt tears prick through his eyelids once more, and he blinked rapidly.
"Hey. Just get some sleep, okay?" Harry's voice was gentle, comforting, but what Draco really wanted was to actually feel him next to him, warm and breathing. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to say this.
Instead, he said, "why don't you sleep on one of the extra cots? That chair can't be comfortable."
"Why, Draco, you do care," Harry said teasingly. Draco heard him settle into the bed across from him, heard the rustle of clothing as he removed his robes and nestled under the covers.
"Course I care," Draco managed to slur, feeling as though he were speaking through a long, spiraling tunnel. "You're the only one here who gives a fuck about me. You're a hero, Harry. My hero."
There was a long silence. Finally, "You'll feel better if you get some sleep, Draco. And perhaps if I cast a Memory Charm on you tomorrow. Because I can guarantee you'll want it."
"No," Draco said sleepily. He felt tears slip down his cheeks again, and he wasn't even sure why. "Why would you do that to me? You hate me, don't you?"
Harry sighed. "I promise I don't hate you. And I was just kidding about the Memory Charm, okay? So, just go to sleep."
Draco drew in a shuddering breath. "Okay. Goodnight, Harry."
"Goodnight, Draco."
*
Harry was still there when Draco woke up again, along with Granger and Weasley. Even in his slightly fucked-up state, Draco felt more than incredulous. And embarrassed.
"Here to finish me off?" Draco asked, wincing inwardly at how small and pathetic his voice sounded.
"Considering it," Weasley said with a chuckle.
"Ron!" Granger said exasperatedly.
Weasley rolled his eyes. "Hey, I'm only joking. It wouldn't be a fair fight right now, would it? And I've already punched you once, remember, Malfoy?"
"Yes, and that was fair, was it? I couldn't even see you!" Draco once again felt as if his control was slipping - his usual ability to create quick and acerbic replies was gone, replaced with raw, desperate emotions. He blinked rapidly - how long would he feel this way?
"Ron, don't," Harry said quietly, taking his place once more at the chair beside Draco's bed. "Do you think you could go tell Madame Pomfrey that he's awake?"
Weasley left, thankfully, and Draco closed his eyes. Harry's presence at his side was comforting - far more than he could ever admit.
"I'm keeping up with all the notes for you," Granger said suddenly. "I believe I'm in all of your classes - I've always told Ron and Harry they should be taking Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. You learn so much, don't you think?" She chuckled nervously, and Draco opened his eyes tiredly.
"Well," she said, brushing an errant strand of hair back. "I just wanted to tell you that. And that I hope you feel better."
She looked for a moment as though she wanted to say more, but apparently decided against it. Draco drew in a deep breath.
"Thank you," he said quietly. She nodded, her eyes watering slightly.
"How are we feeling today, Mr. Malfoy?" Madame Pomfrey asked briskly, brushing by Granger.
"Fan-fucking-tastic," he replied as cheerfully as possible. Pomfrey pursed her lips in the guise of appearing stern, but was barely able to contain the slightest hint of a smile.
"Well, I'm afraid to say it, but your visitors are going to have to leave."
Weasley needed no encouragement, looking relieved as he sauntered off. As if on an afterthought, he turned around. "Umm, right. Hope you feel better, Malfoy. The flat isn't the same without you. Your charm, and all that."
Draco smirked, as best he could manage. "Right then. Later, Weasel."
"Bye, Draco," Granger said, giving him a small wave.
"You too, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey said to Harry, who, other than standing up, had made no other move to leave.
"No," Draco said, surprising himself. "Potter can stay. Please." He couldn't bear to look at Harry - what must he think of him?
As another person to save, that's what. But at the moment, Draco was too desperate for his company to even care. Or to even question why he felt so desperate.
Pomfrey sighed. "Fine. Potter can stay. But you're making yourself useful as you did last night, understand?"
Harry nodded, looking relieved as he sat back down.
Pomfrey then proceeded to cast a variety of diagnostic spells over him - particularly over his head - before forcing what felt like an endless slew of potions down his throat.
"When you're feeling more yourself, the Headmistress wishes to speak to you," Madame Pomfrey said. "And until then, just try to rest. Mr. Potter will keep up with your potions - as he's determined to be here, apparently. The swelling has already gone down, but you may not have complete control over your coordination - or your emotions - for a couple of weeks."
"Great. So I'll be Longbottom's and Weasley's lovechild."
Harry nudged his arm playfully. "Hey."
"Does that mean I'll be in the Hospital Wing for the next two weeks?" Draco asked Madame Pomfrey, pointedly ignoring Harry's hand, which had settled beside his shoulder.
"She said you can come home tomorrow," Harry answered. Draco raised an eyebrow at the referral to their flat as "home", but said nothing.
Madame Pomfrey smiled indulgently. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. I suppose my services are no longer needed, as you seem to have everything under control."
"Sorry," Harry muttered.
She shook her head. "It's quite all right." She then proceeded to give him instructions for the rest of the day. Draco felt his eyelids growing heavy, felt himself drifting off to sleep. And through it all, the reminder of Harry's presence at his side filled him with feelings of warmth, of contentment and trust. And for once, he didn't bother to question it.