All Life Is Yours To Miss

Chapter 21

"What do you think, Hermione?"

Granger looks at Draco, clearly trying to temper her smile. "Very fetching," she says at last.

Draco turns slowly and stares daggers into Weasley-Ron, (Ron and Hermione. Hermione, Hermione, Hermione) who is grinning and rummaging in his bright red duffle bag. They have been coming to visit Harry every weekend, but for some reason it hadn't occurred to Draco that they would decide to watch the Quidditch first, and now he wishes he'd been better prepared, because the element of surprise has allowed Ron to festoon him in Gryffindor paraphernalia, and, as the match hasn't yet begun, he is currently the main attraction for all the students in the stands.

"And finally..." Ron says, producing a huge hat in the shape of a lion and plonking it unceremoniously on Draco's head.

"No," Draco says. "Absolutely not."

"You haven't seen the best bit yet," Ron protests. He pokes the hat with his wand and it roars loudly.

At his other side, Hermione snorts and then pretends to look the other way.

"Weasley, I will not-"

"Ron."

"Ron Weasley, I will not wear this thing. I am already well over my recommended quota of Gryffindor clothing with the scarf and the badge and the gloves," he says firmly, grasping the hat and beginning to pull.

"Why, Professor Malfoy, what a wonderful display of inter-house unity," McGonagall says from somewhere behind him and he turns slowly.

"Well, thanks, but I was just going to..."

"Surely you aren't going to take it off?" she says, eyebrows arching dangerously.

Draco sighs. "Well, I thought I'd let Ron wear it. He's... cold."

"I'm alright, mate," Ron says loudly, and when Draco looks at him, he is pulling on a nearly identical lion hat.

He turns quickly to Hermione, but she, too, is now sporting her own lion hat. Bastards.

Draco smiles weakly at McGonagall and turns back to the pitch, where the players are now standing.

"Lovely," he mumbles to himself. Ron pokes his hat with his wand. It roars.

"It's starting!" someone shouts, and then all eyes are on the game.

Ten minutes later, it's over. Despite Draco's best efforts, the newly-put-together Gryffindor team is steamrollered by the more established Slytherin side, ending in a score of 200 to 40. He claps for them as they walk dejectedly off the pitch, torn between feeling like a complete tit and feeling bloody proud of them for their performance. Ramsay had passed at least three times, Roxanne had made a valiant effort to use both of her arms, and their Seeker had been glued to his Slytherin counterpart for the entire match, but it hadn't been enough.

"It wasn't enough this time," he mumbles to himself, and Hermione, who is walking beside him as they return to the castle, gives him an odd look but doesn't say anything. They listened and they tried, and there is absolutely no reason why they cannot do the same thing all over again against Hufflepuff-but this time, even better. As they head for the hospital wing to report the news to Harry, he has the odd suspicion that he's looking forward to his next Quidditch practice.

When they step inside, Poppy is at Harry's bedside, and so are her pipes and other bits of cleaning equipment. Draco stops in his tracks, glancing quickly at Harry under his little tent before he turns and starts to walk back out into the corridor.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asks.

"To wait outside until Madam Pomfrey has finished what she's doing," he says, and, realising that she is probably unaware of the delicate nature of the process, adds: "It's waste management."

"I know. It's alright, he won't mind," she says, going to pull up a chair near the bed.

Draco stares at her and Ron, who hasn't moved yet, glances between them.

"It's a bit humiliating for him, don't you think?" Draco tries.

Hermione gazes at him, eyebrows knitted. "I don't see how it is, Draco. It's just us, after all, and we can't see anything," she points out, indicating the tent.

Poppy continues to work but there is something about her face that tells Draco she is trying very hard not to speak. He wishes he could be sure what she wants to say but she gives nothing away, so he looks over at Harry's pale face and messy hair and all of a sudden is caught up in a tide of protectiveness that makes his voice loud and stern as he says:

"That's not the point. I can't imagine you would want people watching if you were in his position, and it will only take a few minutes, so we are going to step outside."

Ron blinks, shrugs, and walks back towards the door.

"I wouldn't mind," Hermione says quietly, but she lets go of the chair and follows him.

Draco holds the door open for them. Just as he goes to pull it closed, he catches Poppy's eye and she gives him a small, secret smile.

Once back inside, the three of them sit around Harry's bed and give him a blow-by-blow account of the game.

"The Beaters were a bit all over the place," Ron says, and Draco bristles silently.

"They're new this year. They're improving," he insists, reaching out to correct Harry's hair and stopping himself just in time. He doesn't understand it; these people have been Harry's friends for most of his life, and yet he almost feels as though he wants to protect him from them, and not just them: everybody. It doesn't make sense, and he is genuinely afraid that it never will.

"Have you got a moment, Draco?" Poppy asks, emerging from her office.

He blinks, pulling himself out of his thoughts. "Of course."

He pretends not to notice Ron's and Hermione's wide-eyed expressions but secretly, he is thrilled to feel like the person who is a part of things. A real person.

In the office, she closes the door behind him and smiles. "I've got something for you."

"Oh?"

"I told Rosa about you the other day and last night she sent me this," she says, picking up something from her desk and handing it to him.

He stares down at it, throat strangely tight. It's a drawing of a blond-haired man on a broomstick, which, while slightly wobbly in places, is definitely him. Astonished, he looks up and meets Poppy's eyes.

"It's me."

She laughs. "Yes. We have firecalls every Thursday night and she always likes to hear about what's going on at Hogwarts. She was rather taken with you; apparently you sounded very interesting."

Draco shakes his head. "Good grief, I'm not interesting at all."

"I don't think that's true," Poppy says, placing her hands on her hips and treating Draco to her full-on stern face. "And she doesn't think so, either. The only other teacher she's ever drawn a picture of is Hagrid."

Draco smiles. "What a strange and exclusive little club I belong to. I shall put this on my wall. Please tell Rosa I liked it very much."

"I will. How are you sleeping?"

"Oh, little bits here and there," Draco says. "It's getting better all the time."

Poppy nods, apparently satisfied, and Draco takes his leave. Harry has Ron and Hermione, and he has a work of art to display and a hungry beetle to feed. As he walks through the chilly, sun-dappled corridors, he can't help but feel like... how had Hagrid put it? Like he has a secret. And sooner or later, he will find out what it is.