Malfoy Child

In the Hospital Wing

Harry surfaced to consciousness once again, remembering everything that had happened, yet afraid that maybe he wasn't really safe back at Hogwarts. He was fearful after remembering how his body hurt so badly after the last time he'd regained consciousness.

He lay still, trying to decide if he was remembering things right or not. Had he really vanquished Voldemort? Had he actually killed Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange?

He turned his thoughts outwards. Yes, he was in the hospital wing. He could detect the medicinal smell of the place. It was unusually quiet, though. Maybe it was the middle of the night.

Someone was holding his hand. He tried to decide who it was but couldn't place it. It wasn't Draco's little hand, it was too large to be his. It wasn't Hermione's, her hands were smaller than the hand holding his. It wasn't Ron's hand either, too soft to be his.

There was one way to find out, but Harry was still afraid of moving at all or opening his eyes. Finally, he screwed up his courage and cracked his eyes open, thankful for the low lighting in the room. It must have been the middle of the night after all.

Harry's eyes opened wide when he realized who was actually holding his hand. It was Draco. Only it wasn't four-year-old Draco, it was sixteen-year-old Draco. Harry blinked furiously while trying to figure out if he was conscious or not, because he was about ready to decide that he was dreaming.

Draco Malfoy was holding his hand. The boy was sitting in a chair pulled close, his head pillowed on Harry's bed, sound asleep and holding Harry's hand.

"Draco?" Harry whispered in disbelief.

Obviously, Draco hadn't been sleeping deeply, if he had been asleep at all, because his head shot up at Harry's whisper.

"Harry?" Draco whispered, echoing Harry's disbelief.

Harry was blinking furiously again, trying desperately to grasp what was going on.

"Am I awake?" Harry whispered, afraid to speak any louder, and not sure if he could speak any louder, for that matter.

Suddenly, Draco smiled. Sixteen-year-old Draco Malfoy with a real smile directed at Harry. Harry brought his free hand up to his face to rub at his eyes before looking at Draco again. Yes, he was still there.

"Yes, you're awake," Draco said, still smiling. But then he closed his eyes briefly and muttered, "Thank Merlin."

"I'm confused," Harry said, trying to speak normally, and his voice came out as a hoarse croak.

Draco looked at him in concern. "Are you thirsty? Are you feeling any pain at all?"

Harry looked at him, bemused by the concern and the whole situation. "Water," he said, nodding. Draco moved to pour him a glass from the jug on the nightstand.

Harry moved to try sitting up, testing his body to figure out the answer to Draco's other question. Setting the glass down, Draco quickly moved to help him and adjust the pillows behind Harry to support him.

"Are you hurting at all?" Draco asked again worriedly.

Harry was back to simply blinking at the blond Slytherin.

"Harry?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head a little. "I'm stiff and a little sore, but I think I'm fine," he said quietly, his voice still hoarse.

Draco nodded and handed him the glass of water. Harry drank it down thirstily before handing the glass back. "That's better," Harry sighed, eyes closing and leaning back into the pillows. He did feel awfully weak and tired, he decided, for having just woke up.