Trapped Between Duty and Pride
Chapter 9: Trapped Between Duty and Pride
Harry knew he had made a mistake.
He had strayed too far from Hogwarts.
The night in the forest had been peaceful—until it wasn’t.
The hunters had taken him by surprise.
He hadn’t even known they were there until it was too late.
A group of wizards, armed with magical weapons and tracking spells.
Not just any hunters—they knew what they were doing.
And they had seen him as prey.
He had managed to escape.
Had fought, clawed his way through, barely making it back into the protective borders of Hogwarts.
But a final spell had struck him.
A searing pain had burned through his abdomen, forcing him to the ground.
He had only made it back to the castle through sheer willpower.
And now, he was paying the price.
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Draco stared at Potter, his expression a mix of anger, frustration, and disbelief.
"You are, without a doubt, the most reckless creature I have ever met, Potter!" he hissed.
Harry was slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, his face pale.
The wound on his stomach was still bleeding.
Draco grabbed his arm, yanking him upright.
"You’re coming with me to the infirmary. Right now."
But the moment Draco touched him, Harry stiffened.
His entire body went rigid, his muscles tensing as if Draco had just electrocuted him.
"No."
Draco’s eyes narrowed.
"Potter."
Harry shook his head, trying to pull away.
"I can’t go there."
Draco inhaled sharply. "You’re bleeding out! Stop being so damn stubborn."
"I can’t."
His voice was quiet but firm.
Draco let go of him, studying him for a moment.
"Why not?"
Harry avoided his gaze.
"If they find out…"
He didn’t finish the sentence.
But Draco understood.
If the healers in the infirmary examined him, if they asked too many questions, if Dumbledore or Snape found out…
He wouldn’t have control anymore.
Not over his secret.
Not over his life.
Draco scoffed. "So, you’d rather just sit here and bleed out?"
Harry gave a small shrug.
Draco clenched his fists.
"You know what, Potter?" he said, his voice cold. "Sometimes I wonder if you’re really the Chosen One or just a complete idiot."
Harry let out a weak snort. "Maybe both."
Draco rubbed his temples.
"Alright," he said finally. "Infirmary is out. But you still need help."
Harry looked skeptical.
"And you think you can handle that?"
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Better than you, considering what a bloody mess you’ve made of it so far."
Harry wanted to argue—but he couldn’t.
He knew Draco was right.
So, reluctantly, he nodded.
Draco rolled his eyes.
"There we go. Now come on."
And without giving him a choice, Draco pulled him out of the empty classroom.
He had had enough of Potter’s stubbornness.
Now, he was the one making the decisions.
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Draco dragged Potter into the Slytherin dormitory, refusing to put up with any more of his resistance.
Harry had fought back enough, but even he knew when to stop.
With gritted teeth, he sank onto the bed.
"Stay. There." Draco’s tone left no room for argument.
He pulled out his wand and began carefully treating the wound with a series of precise spells. He wasn’t a healer, but he had enough experience with magical injuries to know what he was doing.
Harry flinched only once, but he didn’t make a sound.
Draco continued in silence.
When he was done, he inspected his work critically.
"It’ll hold," he said shortly. "But if you keep acting like some kind of bloody martyr, you’re actually going to die one day."
Harry let out a quiet chuckle, his eyes already half-closed.
"Thanks, Dr. Malfoy," he muttered sleepily.
Draco rolled his eyes.
"Stay in bed. The rest of the day."
Harry mumbled a vague agreement before slipping into sleep.
Draco stayed for a moment, watching him, then shook his head and left the dormitory.
The Chosen One could be a damn idiot.
_______________________________________
When Draco returned later with Zabini, Pansy, and Nott, he expected to find Potter still asleep in his own bed.
But when they opened the door, they were met with an entirely different sight.
Potter wasn’t on his bed.
He wasn’t even in human form.
Instead, a small, snow-white wolf was curled up in Draco’s bed.
And as if that weren’t strange enough…
He was burrowed deep into Zabini’s blanket.
Silence.
The four Slytherins stood frozen in the doorway, staring.
Zabini was the first to break.
"That… is my damn blanket."
Pansy clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.
Nott raised an eyebrow.
"Looks like Potter has a thing for your stuff, Blaise."
Draco gaped at his own bed.
The small wolf lifted his head lazily, blinking at them with sleepy, glowing green eyes—then simply laid his head back down.
"You have got to be kidding me…" Draco rubbed his face.
"Oh, this is very real," Zabini said dryly. "The Chosen One has decided to sleep in my blanket in your bed."
Draco pulled out his wand, tapping it against the wolf’s fur.
"Potter. Wake up."
A quiet, indistinct sound came from the small wolf—almost a grumble.
Then he buried himself even deeper into the blanket.
"He just ignored us," Pansy noted, amused.
"That’s not ignoring," Zabini corrected. "That’s a challenge."
Draco let out a long, suffering sigh and dropped onto the bed, massaging his temples.
"I hate my life."
The little wolf seemed to disagree.
Because he looked very, very content.
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After checking on Harry, Draco, Zabini, Pansy, and Nott had gone to the Great Hall for dinner.
But the scene they had just witnessed wouldn’t leave them alone.
"Okay, so… why?" Pansy finally asked, slicing into her food. "Why is he sleeping in your blanket, Zabini?"
Zabini shrugged. "Potter obviously has excellent taste."
"Or he’s a spoiled little brat," Draco muttered, stabbing at his meal with irritation.
"But seriously," Nott leaned forward. "Why your bed, Draco? And not his own?"
Draco scowled. "Because that’s just my bloody luck. Of course, after spending the entire day dealing with his mess, Potter decides to steal my bed."
Pansy smirked. "Seems like he’s picked you as his favorite Slytherin."
Draco shot her a glare. "Say that again, Parkinson, and I will hex you under the table."
The others laughed but eventually returned to eating.
When they were done, they grabbed some extra food—because whatever was going on with Potter, he needed to eat if they didn’t want him collapsing one day.
When they returned to the dormitory, they found exactly what they had expected.
Potter—or rather, the small wolf—was still curled up in Draco’s bed.
Sleeping soundly.
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Zabini let out a low whistle. "Now that’s dedication."
Draco had finally had enough.
He had spent all day worrying about Potter, dealing with his stubbornness, and now—now—this ungrateful little furball had stolen his bed?!
"That’s it," Draco growled.
He stomped over to the bed, grabbed the blanket—and pulled.
It happened faster than expected.
With a soft thump, the small wolf tumbled off the bed.
A quiet, disgruntled whine filled the room, and then Potter lay sprawled on the floor, his fur bristling in confusion.
Draco, already pointing his wand at the bed to clean it, gave him a glare.
"You have your own bed, Potter."
Potter blinked.
Then—before Draco could react—he jumped right back onto the bed.
He curled up on Draco’s side, resting his head on the mattress.
Draco froze.
Zabini stared.
Pansy burst out laughing.
"Oh, Merlin," Zabini grinned. "I think you have a new bedmate, Draco."
Draco could only sit there, completely done.
"I hate my life," he muttered.
But he didn’t make another move to push Potter away.