Scattered Pieces (Drarry Fanfic)

Chapter Six: The Price He Pays...

What the bloody hell was that all about?

Harry was in a daze as he sat hunched over, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the immobile figure on the hospital bed.

The raw emotions that had inundated him in that alley thoroughly shocked and unnerved him. He hadn't thought himself capable of displaying such strong feelings anymore. Not after everything that had happened to him. The War had drained him of everything, which was why he'd lost Ginny. He couldn't give her what she needed. He was empty.

Or so he thought.

Seeing Draco turn deathly white as he crumpled to ground in a writhing heap, had sent Harry running towards the blond without even a second thought. His body had moved of its own accord before he'd even realised what he was doing. His mind had barely caught up with his body when the sudden burst of overwhelming dread and panic had nearly crippled him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice had been screaming for Draco and that familiar curl of anguish he'd felt in the Room of Requirement when he'd seen Draco almost engulfed by Fiendfyre had twisted his insides again.

He could list the number of times he'd felt that mind-numbing terror rip him apart. But he wouldn't dwell on those events. They were far too painful still. Even after so many years had passed, the wounds were still too raw.

His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Remus, Tonks, Fred. Even Snape...

Then, there was Draco.

The blinding rage he'd felt when he cast Sectumsempra had quickly dissolved into that unspeakable anguish and guilt when Harry realized what he'd done. He'd almost killed Draco.

The Fiendfyre. Locking gazes with Draco's wide grey eyes filled with fear and resignation as though accepting his death had haunted Harry even to this day. At that moment, Harry had nothing else on his mind but the need to save him.

And again today...

The few times, Harry had accounted his irrational emotions to guilt for nearly killing Draco in that bathroom and finally to pity because Harry had realized that Draco was nothing more than a broken pawn. The blond didn't deserve to die, despite the terrible choices he'd made.

But today... Harry came up blank. Nothing. He hadn't even seen, much less spoken to the bloody git in five years. 

So why?

Harry clasped his shaking hands together, fighting to compose himself. Taking a deep, steadying breath he studied Draco lying prone on the bed. He seemed so fragile. Although his complexion no longer held the greyish hue of death, it was far from healthy. Draco's skin almost seemed translucent, like frosted glass, a single careless touch could break him. Beads of swear dotted his forehead, a few rivulets streaming down the sides of his face. Even in his sleep, Draco wasn't at peace. The hard set of his jaw, the furrow of his eyebrows, and the slight tremble of plush, pale lips were telltale signs of a restless slumber. Harry was no stranger to nightmares, he was very well acquainted with quite a number of his own, keeping him company at night.

Wrenching his gaze away from Draco, he settled for blindly staring out the window.

This broken man on the bed wasn't the Draco Malfoy he knew. But then again, he wasn't the Harry Potter he once was either. The War had changed everything. Everyone.