All Life Is Yours To Miss

Chapter 12

When Hagrid leaves, Draco heads automatically for the shower, shedding his muddy clothes with relish and dropping them all straight into the laundry basket. Body drained but mind whirling, he stands under the gargoyle and lets the hot water rain down on him until the whole day, including the unexpected interlude with Hagrid, begins to feel like a strange dream. Clad in pyjamas and dressing gown, he impulsively picks up Stanley and dances him around the living room until he starts to feel dizzy and Stanley is tacking to be put down.

He already knows where he's going, and he can't even be bothered to think too much about it, so he walks through the moonlit corridors and up the stairs, and before too long he is settling himself in the chair at Potter's bedside. He has new pyjamas again-red ones this time-and his hair is lying across his forehead at quite the wrong angle. Something compels Draco to lean forward and rearrange it for him, but he resists.

"Hello, Potter," he says, yawning and wrapping his arms around his knees. "Today's Friday the twenty-eighth... just about. It's pretty late. I have had a very strange day. Would you like to hear about it?"

Potter says nothing.

"Of course you would. Now, where to start..."

Draco isn't sure how long he talks for, but he tells Potter about Hagrid and Stanley and scheming first-years and splinters in the broom cupboard, and all sorts of other things. He talks until he is barely aware of moving his lips, until his muscles are stiff and his fingers are numb with the cold. Every now and then, he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, the scene is unchanged. Potter is still there, his chair is still uncomfortable, the darkness is still pressing at the windows, and it's all rather reassuring.

At least it is, until there is a firm hand gripping his shoulder and shaking him, and he snaps his eyes open to find that sunlight is now streaming into the ward and he and Potter are no longer alone. Hurriedly, he attempts to straighten his arms and legs but a bolt of pain down each one persuades him to stay put for a moment longer. Surely he hasn't spent the night here... just... surely he hasn't, he thinks desperately, but the look on Pomfrey's face is quite illustrative as she continues to shake him.

Why is she still shaking him?

"Good grief, I'm awake," he tries to snap, but it comes out as more of a hoarse whisper.

"Up you get, then," she says briskly, peering down at him with her hands on her hips.

"I will in a minute, I promise. My legs are a little bit stiff," he admits, but there is not a scrap of sympathy to be seen on her well-scrubbed face. She looks so energetic and healthy, too, the rotten bugger.

"That is why sensible people sleep in beds, not in chairs," she says, and Draco thinks that if his knees weren't so stiff he would be tempted to kick her.

"I didn't plan to sleep here," he says, feeling suddenly and unhelpfully like a sulky teenager. "And anyway, I doubt Potter minded."

"Be that as it may, I am a nurse, not a hotelier, Mr Malfoy," Pomfrey says, stepping forward as though she is planning to hoist him out of the chair herself.

"What, no breakfast, then?" Draco asks before he can help himself.

Pomfrey tuts and walks away, and he stands slowly, wincing and groaning as he attempts to ease each group of muscles back into its intended shape.

"Catch!" calls Pomfrey, and Draco turns just in time to see a small green projectile heading his way. He catches it in one hand, amused to see that it is an apple from the fruit bowl on the windowsill. "Now, off with you!" Pomfrey orders, and Draco obeys, dropping the apple into his pyjama pocket and casting one more glance back at Potter before he walks out into the corridor and straight into Weasley and Granger.