Drarry- It Was All Just a Game (Old Version)

Chapter 61- The Hospital Wing

"Any luck," Ron asked as Hermione walked back from Harry's room with a frown on her face.

"No," she sniffed, sitting on the couch next to the Weasley. He wouldn't even open the door. It had been over a week and Harry still been within the walls, frozen to society. He didn't come out to get food, he didn't come out to go to class; Ron and Hermione lied and said he was sick and his teachers told him not to worry about making it up. Everyone was worried sick about him, including Draco actually. He would find himself staring off into space and thinking about him, trying to contemplate what could have set Harry off.

He honestly, completely had no idea.

"I think he's just torturing himself at this point," Ron thought out loud. Ron slept on the couch in the common room. The sight of his best friend in the state he was in was too heartbreaking. 

But he couldn't get in. The door was locked, and no spell they tried worked. Not alohomora. Not any other locking spell under the sun. It was Harry's magic locking it, and only Harry could unlock it. They even tried the muggle way, picking the lock, hitting the doorknob with several heavy objects. Nothing worked.

And Harry refused to let them in, no matter how much Ron bargained with him, no matter how much Hermione begged him, choking back tears, telling him how much they all were concerned, no matter how much Pansy rallied him or Blaise tried convincing him. 

No matter how much Draco knocked on his door and asked to play quidditch. No matter how much Draco threatened that he'd stay outside until he came out. No matter how much Draco dozed off outside the door waiting for him-- for what he felt like no reason except that he felt compelled to. No matter how many times Draco banged on the door with his fist, telling him to get his shit together and go get breakfast or lunch or dinner. No matter how many times Draco almost shook because of his anxiety. I swear to Merlin, Potter, if you're dying in there...

"What are we going to do," Hermione picked at her nails. For once she didn't have an answer. She cried a little bit throughout the week.

"Well," Blaise joined in,"someone has to do something. He can't just starve himself the way he is. I don't know about any of you but I don't want to be responsible for Potter's death."

"If anything he'd die of a broken heart, let alone starvation," Hermione said, leaning her head on Ron's shoulder.

"But no ones ever died of a broken heart before," Pansy stated.

"Since when has Harry ever followed the path of everyone else. I'm pretty sure he'll die in some insane, twisted way."

"I say we should kill the ferret first," Ron bit, "it's his fault! And besides I made a promise that I'd kill him if he hurt Harry."

"I have dibs remember," Hermione cut in. "And I say we play it out. I'm not killing him yet."

"You honestly expect me to follow 'dibs,'" Ron said, a look of disgust, "when my best friend is completely devastated and bawling his eyes out because of one man, who, let me remind you, is on this property as we speak? Where is Malfoy anyway?"

"No clue, but Harry never gives up! That I know. He'll come around, he's not going to let something that important to him slip away. We've got to give him some time."

"Some time," Pansy questioned. "He has to get married by the end of they year, he's going to propose before Christmas and it's already going to be November next week."

"That bastard! I swear I'll kill him, he's breaking Harry's heart-"

"It's not his fault," a voice came from behind them all. They turned to see Harry, hugging his blankets around him, barefoot, wearing his Gryffindor hoodie, only because it smelled like Draco, and cotton plaid PJ bottoms.