Luck of Nines

40

He was left once more in the room, as Pompfrey hustled off to 'floo call' the headmaster. Malfoy was beginning to stir though, it started with increased breathing, than small motions. Then Harry leapt, on his feet, well and truly startled, as Malfoy without warning or reason let out a blood curdling shriek. Their motions were larger now more frantic, Harry moved away some more.

Did they have rabies?

That would be rather concerning, because Phineas had been the only cause for Malfoy's wounds and the once Slytherin student's blood had gotten all over Harry, his nails still had bits of the blood underneath them although he had been hit with a cleaning spell and he was stuck in a hospital gown.

He tried to recall, as he kept a close eye on Malfoy's twisting form, if he had licked his paws at all this morning. He didn't remember the iron taste of blood...

There were no paintings in the hospital wing, so he had briefly indulged himself in taking that form to see under the beds, and that had transitioned to lounging in the glorious heat of the potentially-artificial sun being let in by the windows. A girl at the sorting had said the glass displaying the night sky in the dining hall didn't actually do that and wasn't actually glass. He wasn't sure how true it was, but the book she cited sounded pretty official and nobody argued.

Basking in the sun was never quite as delightful as it was when in cat form, as just like any other sense it was limited in what it could feel by his form.

Pompfrey had rushed in by this point, being very up close and personal for someone dealing with rabies. The best thing to do really, was to just run and find a large source of water, if not that then to use whatever means possible to keep your distance.

     Slowly though, Malfoy seemed to come to his senses, his breathing calming as he looked around, "P-Potter?" He asked weakly.

     "Yes, he's right over there," thankfully he had schooled his expression by the time that Pompfrey gestured over at him, "You're okay, it's safe now."

"Did... what about...? Is..." He didn't seem to be able to get the question out of his mouth.

      "Parkinson and Phineas died." Harry stared blankly at him, moving back to sit on his own bed again.

       "Beckwith-!" Malfoy announced startled, "He tried- H-he was going to kill me!"  His hand raced to cover the cut on his head that had been bleeding so much only to discover there was barely even a sign of it left, "Pansy... she..."

      Pompfrey shushed him, holding him close and rocking him gently, whispering empty words and promises all the while.  Harry sat nearby, his eyes simply watching the somewhat familiar, yet still vastly unfamiliar display of a mother comforting its young.

      "I... I need- I must speak to my father about this." Malfoy said, desperately trying to pull together the cracks in his facade, pushing limply away from the Mediwitch.

      "And you will," she assured, "You'll speak to Dumbeldore after Mr. Potter here does, and I will floo call your home while you do so okay? Just take deep breaths now. Mr. Potter, Dumbledore is waiting for you in the room next to my office." 

     "Yes, ma'am." He stated, having noticed Dumbeldore exit emerald flames through said office's window and then move to stand beside the door next to the office. He walked off with a final glance at Malfoy who had yet to pull himself back together again. He seemed uncomfortable with Pompfrey's cooing voice and the way she just sat there after he pushed her away, still talking down at him while looking at him with those pitying eyes.