Drarry AI Oneshots

Quidditch Injuries

The Quidditch pitch was chaos. Harry could barely see what was happening through the flurry of brooms and Bludgers, the roar of the crowd filling the air. It had been a brutal match-Slytherin versus Gryffindor, the rivalry as fierce as ever. And as Gryffindor's captain, Harry had been determined to win. He had pushed his team hard, but as the match wore on, it became clear that the Slytherins were just as determined.

Then, in the final moments, it happened.

Harry had been focused on the Snitch, his eyes tracking its fluttering wings as it danced near the Slytherin goalposts. He had spotted it first, diving after it with everything he had, but just as he reached out to grab it, there was a sickening thud behind him. He turned just in time to see Draco Malfoy plummet to the ground, his broom spinning out of control as a Bludger hit him square in the side.

The crowd gasped, and Harry's heart sank.

The game was forgotten. The Snitch was forgotten. All Harry could see was Draco lying on the ground, motionless.

Draco had been taken to the hospital wing immediately after the match. Madam Pomfrey had assured everyone that he would be fine-just a few broken ribs and a nasty bruise on his side-but Harry couldn't shake the feeling of guilt gnawing at him.

As captain, it had been Harry's job to ensure the safety of all the players. He had been so focused on winning, so intent on catching the Snitch, that he hadn't been paying attention to the Bludger. He should have seen it. He should have called for time. But he hadn't, and now Draco was lying in the hospital wing, injured because of it.

That night, long after the rest of the castle had gone to bed, Harry found himself standing outside the hospital wing, his stomach churning with guilt. He hadn't meant to come here, but somehow his feet had carried him to the door, unable to rest until he knew Draco was alright.

Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed the door open quietly and slipped inside.

The hospital wing was dimly lit, the only light coming from the few candles scattered around the room. Draco was lying in one of the beds near the window, his pale face relaxed in sleep, though his brow was furrowed slightly, as if even unconscious, he was in pain.

Harry hesitated at the edge of the room, unsure if he should be here. He wasn't sure what had driven him to visit Draco-guilt, maybe, or something else he didn't want to name. But now that he was here, he couldn't bring himself to leave.

Quietly, Harry walked over to the bed and sat down in the chair beside it. He watched Draco for a moment, his chest tightening with guilt. He had never liked Draco, not really. Their rivalry had always been heated, and even now, after everything they had been through in the war, they still hadn't exactly made peace. But seeing Draco like this-vulnerable, injured-it made something inside Harry ache.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, though he knew Draco couldn't hear him. "I should have been paying attention."

He sat there for a long time, watching the steady rise and fall of Draco's chest, the moonlight casting soft shadows across his face. Eventually, exhaustion caught up with Harry, and he let his head drop forward, his eyes slipping closed.

The next morning, Harry woke to the sound of someone clearing their throat. He blinked groggily, realizing with a start that he had fallen asleep in the chair beside Draco's bed. As his eyes focused, he looked up to see Draco watching him, his silver eyes filled with confusion and something else-something softer.

"Potter?" Draco's voice was hoarse, but there was an edge of disbelief in it. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Harry sat up quickly, his face flushing with embarrassment. "I-uh, I came to check on you. After the match."