Favoring The Strong {Drarry}

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[10:56 pm | 22:56]

It's been 2 days 3 hours and 41...42 minutes.

Nothing's changed.

The tempus fizzles away above him just as the door is lightly pushed open.

"Oh," says one of the circulating doctors or nurses that keep popping in to check on Draco's vitals, "Didn't realize you were still here, Dr. Potter."

"Yeah," Harry responds, his voice just as hollow as his heart felt when Draco'd left the last time. Or anytime where something with Draco doesn't go to plan. He wonders if that's what love means. Missing someone with all you have even when they're right there. When they're there but not there. Almost certainly especially then.

He remembers the same pang when he'd walked towards his death with the resurrection stone held tightly in his hands and his family floating along behind him.

"Have you gone home at all?" asks the nurse and Harry feels bad that he's been here 2 days and he doesn't even know the guys name, but his eyes never leave Draco's face. "Eaten? Have you even gotten any sleep?"

"I will when he wakes up." He knows that probably came across more dire than the situation really warrants but he's tired of being forced into situations like this. When loved ones are ripped and shredded and laid out to bleed and there's nothing he can do about it.

"You don't think he'd want you to have proper rest?"

"Oh, he definitely would, but I can't sleep if he's not in bed with me." Harry's pinkie is interlocked with Draco's though he doesn't remember when it's happened and he doesn't see the nurse glance at it before getting back to his job.

"Have you tried sleeping in here? Would you like me to send in a cot? I can bring in a pillow, and maybe a few extra blankets."

Harry doesn't mention how sleeping on a cot or with a blanket is a luxury in times like this. It'd make him sound... He doesn't even want to think about how it'd make him sound. He shakes the thought out of his head because he's not out there anymore. He's not on the run. Ron isn't splinched and angry in the middle of nowhere while he and Hermione scream and cry and dance in the Forest of Dean. That time is over a decade behind him. He blinks himself back into the present.

"It's not a problem," Harry says shaking his head. He finally turns to look properly at the nurse with a sad plastered on smile. "I'm fine, really. How is he?"

The nurse gives him a look that he is all too familiar with from people who haven't gone through war or lost people or died. It's a look that says 'I'm sorry things are hard, but I don't quite understand what you're going through'. People don't voice it, but he's seen it enough that he can still hear it in the flutter of pitiful lashes. He's used to it.

"He'll be fine," the nurse says  with a strong voice that Harry can't quite feel the power behind. "Doctor Lee pulled him off the propofol, so he should be waking up within the next few hours. As long as his observations seem all well later, you both could be going home first thing in the morning."

"That'd be— thank you..." Harry glances down at the name tag on his scrubs. "Nurse Bennett."

"I'm only doing my job, Dr. Potter." He walks to the door before tossing a small wave over his shoulder. "Have a good rest of your evening."

Harry's voice is just as hollow as ever when he responds: "You too."

When the door slams firmly shut he throws up a few wandless charms over the room and wishes he could call James and Teddy because he knows that they're probably worried sick but he can't bring himself to move away from Draco's side. He's sent them updates through text, because he knows if he starts talking to his children, his voice'll crack and give him away.

"How the hell did we get here, huh?" Harry asks, speaking more to himself than the man still deathly pale and motionless lying in the bed next to him. He runs a hand down his own face. "We were just kids playing at being adults back then. Sometimes I feel like we still are. And just when things are looking up..."

Harry rests his elbows on his knees and lets his head fall forward into his hands. He's starting to notice how tired he really is. How much it takes out of you to think you've lost someone over and over again.

His exhale ends in a sob and it's almost too much for him to even realize that he's crying. That it's come this far. That he can do nothing about it but sit and wait and cry. There's no dark wizards to kill, no dragon pox to heal, no diapers to change. Just him.

He's not sure he's worth much like this.

--:--

"Is Father going to die?" James Lucius asks, but his voice is small and broken and Teddy can't answer him. James is doing what he can, but he can't help but go mute sometimes when Aunt Val comes around or when he thinks he sees Uncle Wyatt come back from the gym, but it happens and he can't even apologize. If he could, he'd have nothing to apologize for. "Dad's a healer, right? S-so he can help. He can use magic to heal him a-and..."

"Magic doesn't work like that, Jamesie," Teddy says and he sounds resolute and much too old for his age. "Sometimes magic makes injuries worse. Dad wouldn't risk it."

"So what are we supposed to do?" James asks with tears in his eyes and Teddy wishes he hadn't've worked himself into a crying fit, because he doesn't know what to say to that either. James voice is practically a whisper as he asks: "Are we cursed?"

"I don't—" And now Teddy is sniffling, because he's been thinking the same thing since he figured out what death was and he learned his birth parents were never coming back. His Gam was never coming back. His dads had to come back. "I don't know, Jamesie."

-&-

hey futher muckers
y'all crying yet?
cause im thirsty

how are y'all liking this so far?
what you expected? better? worse?
love it? hate it? lemme know

as always, i hope you enjoyed anyway
love y'all

-- angel janeé xoxo 💋