LydiaCrazzy and Xiamen Thank you so much for your reviews, I really appreciate it :) I'm very glad that you enjoy the story! However, I'm not currently looking for it to be turned into a comic, for several reasons: Considering it's a fanfic, and not original work, I wouldn't be comfortable with it. The story isn't complete. And I have no money haha but thank you for the interest!

GeneralUnicornDuckPudding Thought I had lost you for a moment haha ! I'm glad you're still enjoying the story, hope you like this chapter too :3


Chapter Thirteen

Draco could feel Potter on his lips for the following hours.

It tingled him.

Tugged at him.

It blurred his senses to a point he was unsure of anything else around him.

Over the hours, the feeling dulled, leaving him with a profound sense of emptiness. As if he had never been anything, and never would be again.

Fuck.

He willed himself to remember who he was before Potter. Tried to remember the young boy he had been, the teenager he had wanted to forget; remember all the things that make him him.

You're a Malfoy, he heard ring in his head. Speeches he had heard his entire life, Malfoys don't cry, Malfoys don't whine, Malfoys know their worth, Malfoys are superior and make sure others know it, Malfoys do not hug.

And yet, laying in the hospital bed alone, his world shrouded in darkness, burns covering his arms, he couldn't help but let the tears fall.

Not for the first time either. He had also spent quite a sizable part of his adolescence whining about senseless matters, all to compensate for a lack of self assurance. If maybe he was loud enough, people would cower before him.

And never before in his life, had he craved more strongly to be held.

He longed to be flush against Potter, the way he had clung to his back when they had fled the fire. He wanted to feel his skin again, the way they had throughout their numerous fights. He wished Potter could see the true him, as he did when he stood behind him in the bathroom, saw right through him as he cried.

All of his memories were somehow tied to the Gryffindor.

He wasn't sure who he was without him.

Yet he felt certain in that moment that he had lost him.


Over the course of the following days, he had neither seen nor heard of Potter. Madam Pomfrey had of course drilled him, questioned him relentlessly; giving up only after noticing that gradually, he couldn't hear her.

Professor McGonegall had also visited him, trying to offer solutions that he may attend classes or at the very least leave the hospital wing. However, his physical wellbeing had taken such a toll, it had quickly become obvious that moving him in any capacity would not be recommended.

A simple trip to the bathroom was practically more than he could handle. The constant burns were taking over his body slowly, creeping from his elbows to his shoulders to his neck. He didn't know if they were visible, as by that time, his vision was gone completely, but he felt the difference in texture when he touched his arms.

The day after the kiss, Granger had visited him, citing some of the lessons that he had missed. She had offered to teach him the spell they had learned in transfiguration, but as Draco tried it, the magic turned inwards into him, sending sharp sparks exploding in his chest.

Later that evening, Blaise had also come to see him, bringing a game of chess that they abandoned quickly as Blaise's audio description of the board lacked somewhat. It was pleasant to be in his company regardless, familiar, easy.

After that, Draco wasn't sure how many days had passed, but one morning he awoke because of a touch to his shoulder. He opened his eyes to the darkness around him and tried listening for the sound of whomever had woken him.

None came.

He had recognized Madame Pomfrey due to the medicinal spell she carried around. He also knew that the woman was incapable of shutting up. So he realized, more so with dejection than anything else, that he couldn't hear anymore.

From that point on, he stayed in bed, under the covers, and as much as possible, tried to sleep and the pain away. He knew the nurse was keeping him "in shape" by means of nourishing potions but couldn't bother to care.

He couldn't care about anything.


One morning - afternoon? evening? - he opened his eyes and he could see the corner of his side table. He shot up at once, ignoring the pain in his unnaccustomed muscles, and searched for the face he knew had to be there.

But he was nowhere to be found.

There was a dim glow emanating from a single letter lying on top of his side table. It was lazily folded in four and marked simply "Malfoy".

Draco suppressed a groan and grabbed the letter. The glow was just enough to illuminate what was written and faintly around the folds of the paper. It read:

Malfoy,

I've been thinking a lot (I can practically hear you answer an insult to that).

I don't know what to say… I just don't know anything.

Hell… I'm worried about you, okay?

I meant it when I said I don't want you to die. But I also don't want to have your life in my hands. Contrary to what you think, I really don't have a hero complex. I don't want to save you.

But I haven't been able to get you out of my mind for weeks. Years probably if I'm really honest.

But I don't understand this situation. So help me? Explain it to me.

Give me a reason to stay.

Harry

Draco breathed in deeply. Regardless of all the hope one might find in Potter's writing, all Draco really felt for certain was that if Potter requested a reason to stay, he didn't currently have one. Draco giving him a reason would be forced. And he had never wanted to do that.

When Potter refused his hand in first year, he hadn't retorted. He had always wanted Potter to simply choose him. And it hurt back then, and it hurt now, that he wouldn't.

Draco turned the letter around to write on the back, as it was the only thing he was capable of seeing for real.

Potter, he started,

Firstly, I appreciate that you have taken the first step.

There is no need to be worried about me. The situation, while uncomfortable, is under control. I am managing and receiving all the aid that I might need. While I appreciate you would not save me. I can also assure you that I have no need for a savior.

I am not entirely certain what explanation you would require. I can suppose reasonably that you have read upon Veelas - unless of course you cannot read as I have always supposed. I am certain Granger would be more than glad to read you bedtime stories.

All trivialities aside, I cannot nor will I give you a reason to "stay" as you say. I find no particular use in that approach.

It is not a reason, but all I can grant you is an honest explanation of my own feelings, as you Gryffindors are so fond of discussing.

I want to be clear about this, as I will not be repeating myself:

I want to be with you.

Draco Malfoy


After long doubting his letter, he requested the nurse send it for him.

Very fast he received a simple answer, delivered once more to his side table upon his wake.

If you weren't a Veela, would you still want to be with me?

To which he replied:

Does it matter?

Within the evening he received:

It does to me.

Draco sighed and lay back on his bed, holding the letter to his chest.

He hated all of this. He hated his family, his inheritance, Potter, himself. He hated that they hadn't been friends from the start. He hated that he hadn't made amends over the years, that he picked Voldemort's side. He hated that he had been mean.

He hated that Potter had saved him from that fire.

More than anything, he hated that through all their fighting, all their disputes, their bickering, their disputes; through all the insults they had thrown, all the times they had thrown each other insults; through all the years and lessons shared in a cold hate; he hated that Potter had made him fall with him.

In their own way, Draco knew Potter like no other could. He knew his anger, his impatience, his limits. He knew his triggers and weaknesses. He knew exactly how to make him react, how to snap him out of a stupor, how to make him prove himself. He saw when Potter isolated himself, when he felt insecure, when he was making a mistake. And in his own way, he had supported him; he had sent hoards of "Potter stinks" carriers to him, had insulted him to a point Potter had to argument for himself, had made sure Potter was caught when he was doing something stupid. Fighting with him just proved his strength, his loyalty, his convictions, his ambitions; things Draco could only admire and respect.

How much easier things would be without all that.

But if he was honest, he had always hated Potter to the point of love.

If he hadn't, maybe they wouldn't be in this situation now.

Late in the evening, he responded:

It's more complicated than that.


The next night, he saw an owl perched by his side, that had come in from a window he had requested to remain upon.

The letter that night just read:

I'm coming to see you.


And done! Sorry it's a little later. My computer decided to just give up…

Hope you like it xxx