A/n: I'm a bit scared. I think I might be losing readers and I'm kind of depressed about it. I know it's because I'm taking too long to get to the point. But I like the prequel so much. It's the happiness and innocence of this first part that will form all the more contrast with later events!
So bear with me, please! I swear the second part is coming soon. And in the meantime I have a little present for you to thank you all for your saintly-like patience ;-) Because it's time for a...
! ! ! Flash Forward ! ! !
So, if you prefer not to know anything of what will happen (though I made sure to reduce spoilers to a minimum), skip this chapter. :)
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There was no time for anything but to grab his keys and cell-phone and run down the stairs like a madman. Draco jumped into his car and drove straight to the street Harry had given him, breaking all the traffic laws on the way there, his heart urging him to go ever faster.
When he arrived in the right street he left his car half on the pavement, not caring about bloody yellow lines. It was too late for anyone to care anyway. And since this wasn't a very nice neighbourhood, policemen would never come here at this hour.
"Harry?" Draco whispered loudly, not knowing how careful he needed to be. Were there others around? Was Riddle looking for him?
There were some night shops open on the other side of the street, with foreign-looking men in training shoes and pullovers. They seemed only mildly intrigued by what Draco was doing. Still, yelling was probably not a good idea.
"Harry?" He whispered again, wondering whether the teenager was even capable of hearing him anymore.
It took ten minutes to find him. It was just a small shape, huddled against the wall under some trees, engulfed in darkness. It had been all the much harder because he was wearing a large grey jumper that he'd pulled over his knees. His head was plunged into the collar, leaving little tuffs of inky hair sticking out. It would've been comical in another situation.
"Harry." Draco spoke a little louder as he grabbed the youngster's shoulders, shaking him firmly.
Harry moaned, but managed to stick his head out of his shell of wool. Getting his hands and legs out of the jumper seemed to be a more complicated task though. Grey-eyes had to help him find the holes in the sleeves for his hands, and pull him to his feet. The teenager wobbled for a moment and leaned back against the wall. Draco slid an arm around his waist, intending to help him walk back to his car and get the hell out of there, but the dark-haired one jumped away as if Draco had tried to stab him.
"Don't touch…" His green eyes fixed Draco's hands as if they were poisonous snakes.
"It's me, Harry." The blonde tried to soothe him. "It's Draco. You called me. Do you remember?"
The dark-haired one clutched at the wall for support, his legs clearly straining to support his weight. "Draco?" He breathed. It was barely audible.
"Yes, Harry. Draco. You'll be safe with me. I promise."
"Dra…ke." Harry slurred, not even able to pronounce the entire name this time. It pained the blonde to see him so weak, vulnerable and lost. He resembled a helpless animal, a raven with broken wings.
"Harry, please, let me take you home." He pleaded. He didn't know whether they were in danger in that place and he was in a hurry to get the person most precious to him to safety. "I'm going to touch you now, okay?" He said, trying to be as careful as possible so as not to scare the black-haired boy any more than he already was.
Harry backed away at first, clinging to the stone wall as if he wanted to disappear into it, glancing nervously at Draco's approaching hands. But when they finally reached him, he let himself practically fall into them. That's step one. Draco encouraged himself and he began the short walk back to the car, half-carrying his friend.
But halfway there, Harry stopped cooperating. "It's odd." He said, his voice suddenly clearer than it had been before.
"What is it?" Draco worried that something else was wrong.
"I thought…that…sssshhh was s-sss-supposed to….f-feel good." Harry had used the 'ssshhh' sound that people on the street often used for SH. It was probably easier to pronounce in his state.
"It doesn't feel good?" Draco asked, trying to get the one in his arms to move forward again.
"No." Harry said in a half-sob, and then his body heaved and bent forwards, and the contents of his stomach splashed onto the pavement in front of them, splattering a part of Harry's jeans and shoes.
Immediately Draco moved him to a tree, slinging his arm around the teenager's stomach to help him bend forward, away from himself so that he wouldn't get more on his clothes. He also pulled his hair away from his face, though it wasn't really long enough to come close to his mouth.
Harry's body convulsed again and again, barely leaving him time to breathe in between the waves of nausea. The blonde felt panic rising in his own stomach. He didn't understand. Harry had been right, SH wasn't supposed to make anyone feel sick. Was it really SH he'd taken? Was it something else? Harry hadn't been able to tell him whether he'd swallowed, injected or inhaled or anything else. Or how it had even happened. And Draco doubted he was anywhere capable to tell him now.
It took a while for Harry's body to understand that there simply was nothing left to throw up. As soon as the dry-heaving stopped, Draco lifted him entirely off the ground, thinking it would be much quicker that way.
Going up the stairs to his apartment after the ride home was a little harder. Harry was far from being heavy, but he was still a whole person who had to be carried up four flights of stairs. It was the first time the blonde complained that there was no lift in his building.
And then the long night began. Draco sat cross-legged on his bed with the barely conscious teenager in his lap, helping him to the bucket by the side of the bed if the dry-heaving returned, or trying to get him to drink some water, not daring to give him medicine as he still didn't know which substance Harry's body was consuming.
Sometimes he could hear the dark one mumble some unintelligible words, and sometimes it seemed like he suddenly gasped awake, breathing frantically and clutching at Draco's shirt as if his life depended on it, only to fall limp again a few minutes later, moaning in pain. Maybe the sickness came in waves.
It was hard for Draco to watch and to hear. Especially considering that Harry wasn't just sick. He was on drugs, and probably a very dangerous one. How had he come to take it? He would never have done such a stupid thing willingly. Draco had made it clear to him to stay away from that shite. It would kill him.
And what would be the consequences once the drug had left Harry's system? With any other substance, he might've recovered just fine. But if it was SH, there would be an immediate dependency, one that had proved impossible to shake for every known patient to science. If you took it just once you were guaranteed to be dead within a year. That was a staggering one hundred percent mortality rate.
If Harry had ingested SH, which Draco hoped fiercely was not the case, it would mean he could be gone before he reached his twentieth, or even nineteenth birthday…
Draco tightened his hold on the dark-haired boy, cradling him closer to his chest and trying to protect him with his body. It showed just how sick the teenager was that he wasn't protesting or even reacting in any way. He just lay there, breathing as if he were inhaling tar instead of oxygen.
It was just before dawn when the raven opened his eyes and was conscious enough to take in his surroundings. His memories jumbled, and feeling like he had the worst flue of his life, the first thing he did was to crawl to the edge of the mattress, hoping to find a bucket.
There was indeed a bucket, and it already held a layer of something that smelled so rancid it made Harry's stomach contract painfully. Something incredibly bitter flowed up his throat and ended up in the bucket, a new wave of awful smell intruding into his nostrils, and a new nausea attack accompanying it.
Spasms shook his body as he emptied every molecule that his stomach contained, probably just bile and water. It was hard to get enough time to breathe. His stomach was relentlessly pushing everything out.
The door opened. The noise made Harry look up, and it was only then that he realised he was in Draco's bedroom.
"Harry." Draco breathed in concern as he hurried over, helping the teenager to right himself and wipe his mouth. Then he looked into his eyes, seemingly inspecting them for a reaction.
"I'm awake." The raven croaked with the voice of a life-long chain-smoker.
The blonde sighed in relief. What Harry meant with 'awake' was that he was sober, that he was back to himself. If you exclude the sickness that is. But it was something, because now he could get some answers.
Though not just yet. Harry looked awful. He was weak and had trouble putting two words together. The blonde helped him lie down on his pillow and covered him with the quilt when he started shivering from the fever.
The sky over London was slowly shifting from black to a muddy brown, the effect of the artificial lighting, while Draco thought to himself in silence, but found nothing to say. Asking how Harry felt seemed quite pointless. It was clear enough how he felt. And asking him what he remembered would only distress him further.
"I'm going to die." The raven said grimly and suddenly, opening his glazed eyes to look up at Draco. Grey eyes thought Harry would hate it if he could see himself through his eyes, so pitiful and small, lost among the thick covers.
His heart contracting at the dreadful words, Draco hastened to counter them. "You'll be fine. By this evening you'll be able to get back on your feet." He smiled, but it was a pathetic copy of a smile, a failed attempt at cheerfulness.
"You know what I'm talking about." Harry said, his eyes flashing at him accusingly, momentarily regaining some of their former glory. "It won't be today. No…not today. But the day I die is close now…"
This wasn't a subject grey-eyes was comfortable with. Besides, it was still uncertain. There was still a possibility that it wasn't SH. The sickness was abnormal after all. It had to be evidence that it was something else, something that was harmless, or as harmless as any drugs could be. As long as it was only once, you could recover from those, it didn't have to ruin your life.
"Go to sleep for now. We'll handle this when you feel better." The blonde whispered in the dreary morning light as he moved his hand slowly towards Harry's face, and when the dark-haired one didn't move away, touched his forehead and slipped his fingers through the dark hair, brushing it away where it stuck to his skin from the sweat.
The raven was only slightly reassured. A feeling heavier than any he'd encountered before was spreading through his abdomen. It felt like death had already started to take him over, slowly, unbearably slowly, nibbling at him. He realised he would watch himself die over the next few months.
If it weren't for the fingers in his hair he probably would have cried. If he'd been alone, he would certainly have cried. How could you not? When you're already dying, who cares about pride? Death is highly undignified anyway, there is no glorious or heroic way to do it. You just…drop dead.
But now Draco's hand was on his head, brushing against his sensitive scalp. It felt good, the fingers were cool against his burning skin. Harry's mind was still clouded and heavy, and it didn't take long before he was subdued to the point where he slipped back into a deep, blissful sleep of ignorance.
God! I hope this makes up for the slow progression of the story, and the apparent lack of romance and passion. I'm focusing a lot on the friendship at the moment, because I want them to have a strong bond for what's next.
I you would all review this time and show me that you're still with me on this...I'd be so happy you can't even imagine such euphoria! I'd go around the world and come hug each and every one of you and kiss you all over!
Uhm, maybe not all over, y'know... but lots and lots! ;)
