What If? -Drarry

Part Two: Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Harry awoke bleary-eyed on the morning of his second day in the hospital wing, and knew instantly that he was not alone. Someone was sitting on the end of his bed - he could feel their weight next to his feet. Groggily, feeling a sharp pain in the newly-healed cut on his arm, he pushed himself up on his elbows a little to see a blurry figure whom he recognised as Draco, cross-legged, on the end of his bed. Reaching for his glasses, Harry wondered why Draco hadn't noticed him wake up, but as the world came into focus he saw that Draco was reading Jane Eyre. His favourite. No wonder he hadn't noticed.

"Morning," Harry grinned tiredly. Draco jumped in surprise and looked up at Harry, first with shock, and then happy relief. Quickly dog-earing the page, he threw the book to the side and scrambled over, pulling Harry into a very tight hug and burying his face in his neck.

"Harry! You're awake! I was so worried about you, I'm so sorry I didn't come yesterday, I tried but I couldn't! There were loads of people for ages and then after that you feel asleep and I didn't want to disturb you... I'm so sorry, I should have done something... I should have protected you,"

"There was nothing you could have done!"

"I should have done something. I tried but Blaise stopped me. Oh God, Harry, when I heard you screaming... I thought-" Draco cut off and pulled out of the hug, examining Harry's face with an intense gaze. "Are you alright? How do you feel?"

"Better," Harry winced as the cut on his arm gave a twinge. Draco didn't look convinced.

"Did you get hurt badly?"

"Cut on my arm. Nothing major."

"Do you want to say what happened yet? Or do you want to wait?"

"I'll tell you at some point but... not right now. It's too raw."

Harry felt like Draco's piercing eyes were looking straight through him, and felt terrible for putting him through so much worry. He grasped for a change of subject.

"Cornelius Fudge was here yesterday."

"The Minister for Magic? Why?"

"Well, officially it was to give me my prize money. I had totally forgotten about it, but I guess I did 'win' the tournament, though it doesn't feel like I did."

"What about unofficially?"

"He told me I was a deranged lunatic and that I was making everything up. I think he's been reading Rita Skeeter. To be honest, it's probably best that you didn't try to see me yesterday; you wouldn't have enjoyed the conversation."

"What? What does he mean by that? Made what up?"

Draco looked shocked, and Harry realised that he had completely failed to change the subject. He sighed, resigned. "Okay, I'll tell you just now - if your dad hasn't already - but don't make me go into details. Promise?"

Draco put a hand on Harry's cheek. "My dad hasn't told me anything yet, and I would never make you do or say anything you didn't want. You know that."

Harry smiled briefly at Draco, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Painfully, he began to recite to Draco what he had seen in the graveyard, and what had transpired in Mad E- Barty Crouch's office. He used a coping method to prevent himself from getting upset, one that he had been forced to come up with all the way back in first year. Unfortunately, he had to do a lot of coping in the past few years. He pretended he was telling another person's story, distancing himself to a point where he felt disconnected from the entire experience. Even so, when he had finished, he realised that he had tears welling up in his eyes. He squeezed them shut and shook his head like a horse trying to get rid of flies. Draco shut his mouth, which had been hanging slightly ajar throughout the telling, and swallowed, hard. Then he said, in a surprisingly calm voice: