Chapter 4
The first words to come out of Malfoy’s mouth after he regained consciousness in the hospital wing was the most ridiculous thing Harry had ever heard in his life.
“You’re alive.”
Harry snorted, but it wasn’t really funny. Malfoy looked genuinely relieved, and he was staring at Harry as though he couldn’t believe Harry was real.
“You could have died,” Saying the words out loud made Harry angry again, knowing this was true. “I told you to be careful, and you ignored me, and you almost died.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that dramatic.” Malfoy spoke lazily as if he was talking through a haze of brain fog.
“It was, you idiot.” Harry was furious. He’d been on his way to the library to check out a book he needed when he found Malfoy curled up on the floor, and when he bent down to see if he was okay, he quickly realised that Malfoy was anything but. His entire body was shaking, and his pupils were blown wide, and he was sweating profusely.
Harry had tried to talk to him, to snap him out of it, but Malfoy’s eyes refused to focus. After a few tries, Harry decided he should run and get help, but when he attempted to move away, Malfoy made a strangled groan that caused Harry to look back at him, only to find Malfoy reaching for him. He didn’t know what possessed him to do so, but this small act convinced Harry that he had to stay right where he was.
Instead, Harry hoisted Malfoy onto his back, tried to get Malfoy to wind his arms around his neck but when it became clear that Malfoy was in no condition to do anything but slump his head onto Harry’s shoulder, Harry ended up running for the hospital wing and hoping that Malfoy wouldn’t tumble off.
Thankfully, they managed the trip without any further casualties, and upon her laying eyes on the pair of them, Madam Pomfrey handed a bucket to a miserable second year for her to throw up in and bustled over, waving her wand to clear a bed for Malfoy immediately.
Then Harry had been shooed off to have dinner, and had been forbidden to see Malfoy when he tried to before bed. Madam Pomfrey said he was in a very delicate condition and that Harry would have to come back tomorrow.
When Harry returned after his morning classes, Malfoy was still unconscious. According to Madam Pomfrey, he’d woken up once in the middle of the night, but he was delirious and crying so she ended up giving a sleeping potion so he could resume resting. Harry sat at his bedside, doing his homework and occasionally glancing down at him to make sure he was still breathing.
Harry glared at the redness around Malfoy’s eyes that indicated he was still sick, a stark contrast to the rest of his paper-white skin. He couldn’t believe that Malfoy didn’t have more regard for his own safety. He would have thought that at the very least, Malfoy would have visited the hospital wing upon discovering he had been poisoned, so why in Merlin’s name hadn’t he done anything about it?
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Harry’s voice climbed up to a half-yell.
“Look, Potter, I’m fine.” Malfoy tried and failed to sit up, his body still weak from the effects of the potion. He had no choice but to lie there staring up at Harry, but he still managed to look somewhat dignified.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Harry spat.
Malfoy flinched, but didn’t respond. Harry only grew angrier.
“I don’t bloody understand you, Malfoy. If you won’t do something about this, I will.” Harry began stuffing his things in his bag, not caring when his parchment got crumpled and a bottle of ink spilled all over the homework he’d been working on.
“What are you doing?” Malfoy’s eyes grew wide.
“I’m going to tell McGonagall about what happened.” Harry scowled, throwing his bag over his shoulder and pushing his chair back roughly. “This isn’t some harmless prank, okay? Even Madam Pomfrey was worried, and you know that’s serious. What if I hadn’t found you, huh? You could have died, Malfoy. Seriously.”
“No, you’re not.” Malfoy reached out and grabbed Harry’s arm. He was still weak enough that Harry knew he could throw his hand off his arm whenever he wanted to, and for a moment, he wanted to really badly.
“Why the hell not?” Harry demanded. Try as he might, he couldn’t wrap his head around why Malfoy wanted to keep this from Professor McGonagall. Whatever Hermione had said about Malfoy having to keep a low profile in order to get through the school year without any noticeable mishaps didn’t explain why Malfoy would allow himself to get hurt. He could easily have visited Madam Pomfrey before the poison kicked in and prevented all of this from happening, and no one would be none the wiser because if there was one thing Madam Pomfrey was good at, it was keeping secrets.
“Just … don’t. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“And I don’t need your permission to do things.” Harry snapped.
“Please.” Malfoy blurted out. Harry stared at him in shock. Malfoy looked back at Harry steadily. He still hadn’t released Harry’s arm.
“Fine.” Harry sighed. “Let go of me now, I have to go meet Ron and Hermione.”
“Okay.” Malfoy finally let go of Harry’s arm. He shifted so that he was facing away from Harry, and for a split second, staring at the back of Malfoy’s mussed up blonde hair, Harry felt bad for Malfoy.
“We’re going to Hogsmeade.” Harry paused, wondering if he was really about to do this. “Do you want anything?”
“What?”
“Y’know, sweets or books or anything. I reckon we could even sneak in some firewhisky, if you want some.”
It was a sort of extended hand, an offer of truce, and they both knew it.
Harry was reminded of something from a very long time ago, of another extended hand of the more literal sense, one that he had rejected. A brief moment that had resulted in years of rivalry.
For a prolonged moment that felt like eternity, Malfoy didn’t respond. He didn’t turn to face Harry at all, and for a split second Harry thought he’d gotten his answer.
“Firewhisky, Potter?” Malfoy drawled. “Are you suggesting we drink together?”
Harry flushed.
“It was just an example, Malfoy. You know what, forget it, I was trying to be nice, but if you want to be an arse about it-”
“I was joking, Potter. No need to make your repulsion at the idea of getting drunk with me so obvious. I’m already fully aware how you feel about that, and believe me, that is one of the few things we will ever agree on.” Malfoy paused. “But if you’re still offering, I guess some chocolate would be nice.”
“Chocolate it is then. I’ll, er, see you later?”
“Yes, Potter, now piss off so I can sleep.”
Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He hurried out of the room, but he couldn’t hide the small smile that crept onto his face.
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“Hey, do you guys mind if we make a quick pit stop in Honeydukes? I told Malfoy I’d bring him chocolate.”
“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” Ron stared at Harry in disbelief. Hermione raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything.
“Come on, then. I’ll explain everything later.” Harry lead the way into the sweet shop that was bustling with customers as always. He picked out his favourite chocolatey treat and bought two boxes, one for himself and one for Malfoy. All the time he was doing so, Ron followed Harry around and questioned Harry to make sure he’d understood right.
“So you, Harry, are buying Malfoy, as in Draco Malfoy, chocolate?”
“Yes, Ron.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“No, Ron.”
“Is he blackmailing you?”
“No, Ron.”
“So you’re doing this because you want to?”
“Yes, Ron.”
“Wha-”
“Oh honestly Ron, I’m sure Harry will fill us in later. Have you got everything you need, Harry?” Hermione interrupted, clutching a bag of goods to her chest. She blew a strand out of her face impatiently.
“Yeah, let’s go.” Harry nodded, grateful to be free from Ron’s onslaught of questions. Ron muttered a complaint that neither Harry nor Hermione quite heard but obligingly refrained from questioning Harry further until the three of them reached The Three Broomsticks and found a table in a corner.
“Alright, so what’s been going on, mate?” Ron asked as soon as they placed their order for three butterbeers.
Harry took a breath.
“Well, you know how I was telling you that I was a bit worried about Malfoy?”
“Yes.” Ron nodded impatiently.
“He ended up getting poisoned.”
“What?” Hermione gasped.
“Yeah.” Harry nodded grimly. “Found him almost passed out in the middle of the corridors and brought him to the hospital wing. I wanted to do something nice for him, hence the chocolate. He’s a git, yeah, but he doesn’t deserve that.”
“Harry, you know you should report this.” Hermione said seriously, a crease appearing at the top of her nose. “This is very serious.”
“I know, but Malfoy doesn’t want me to.”
“What, because of his reputation?” Ron raised his eyebrows. Hermione glared at her boyfriend, who shrugged sheepishly and took a sip of his beer to avoid eye contact.
“Ron, I’m sure there’s more to it than that. Malfoy probably doesn’t want his name being mentioned among the professors at all, in case word gets out somehow. You know how rumours get all twisted, by the end of it there would probably be a headline in the papers saying that Malfoy poisoned a muggleborn because he couldn’t leave behind his blood supremacist views or something.”
“Real dark, Hermione.” Ron muttered, but they all knew she was right.
“So what are you going to do, mate?”
“Well, I know who poisoned him. I kind of saw it happen during breakfast. A couple of third years put something in his drink.” Harry admitted.
“And you just let him waltz around not knowing he’d been poisoned?” Ron gaped. “Merlin, Harry, that’s a bit much, isn’t it?”
Even Hermione looked disapproving.
“Hear me out. I tried to tell him but he refused to listen to me. You know how stubborn he is. Anyway, since we won’t be doing him any favours by taking this to the professors, I think I’ll do a little digging myself and figure out what’s going on. I can track the third years down and I dunno, teach them a lesson about not spiking people’s drinks.”
Harry frowned when he caught Ron and Hermione exchanging a smirk.
“What?” Harry questioned. “Do I have something on my face?”
“No, Harry.” Hermione laughed. “It’s just good to see you so … lively. Who would have known Malfoy would be the one to get you so worked up over something?”
“That something being Malfoy’s safety.” Ron shook his head. “The world’s gone mad.”
“I’m not worried about Malfoy’s safety.” Harry protested. “I’m just trying to do the decent thing as a human being.”
“Going a little over the top if you ask me, mate.”
“Well, no one asked you, Ron.” Hermione smiled sweetly.
“This is what I deal with everyday. My girlfriend is an absolute bully.” Ron whined. Harry laughed, happy to divert the conversation to a different topic, although Ron’s remarks made him wonder. His determination to hunt down those idiotic third years was perfectly rational. Right?
On the way back to Hogwarts, Harry made Ron and Hermione wait as he bought one last thing. It took the last few galleons he had wandering around his pocket, but Harry felt it was worth it as he tucked the bottle of firewhisky into his cloak.
“What did you get?” Hermione asked curiously when Harry hurried back to them.
“Oh, nothing.” Harry shook his head. “Just one more little thing that Malfoy wanted me to pick up for him.”
“You know, it’s nice to see you two getting along after everything.” Hermione smiled, but Harry could detect a teasing undertone that he wasn’t sure he liked.
“I thought you hated him? I mean, he was pretty awful to you, Hermione.”
“Oh, well.” Hermione shrugged. “After everything, it seems silly to hold onto old grudges. Besides, I got to punch him in the face. I think that’s more than enough to get back at him for all the things he did.”
“Continue to bring that up whenever you can, ‘Mione.” Ron grinned, butting in between the two so that he could put his arm around both of them. “It remains the hottest thing you’ve ever done to this day.”
“Please don’t ever say that again.” Harry made a face.
Seconds later, the three of them burst into laughter and slowly slipped into casual chatter about mundane things like homework and exams and common room parties. Harry smiled to himself.
He’d been wrong about returning to Hogwarts being a bad idea.
Hogwarts would never be quite the same again, that much was obvious. But what made Hogwarts feel like home wasn’t just the moving staircases and bewitched ceilings. It was his best friends, talking about stupid stuff that didn’t really matter on their way back from Hogsmeade, and having to run the last couple of feet so they made it in time for curfew. It was poking fun at Malfoy behind his back, it was the exhilaration of playing Quidditch, it was the countless memories that echoed throughout the halls wherever he looked.
If he hadn’t come back for eighth year, Harry would always have regarded Hogwarts as a place that was haunted, a place that Harry couldn’t quite stomach to look at.
Instead, he’d made the difficult decision to square his shoulders and walk through those doors one last time, and even though the first few weeks had been undoubtedly tough, it made the biggest difference.
Hogwarts felt like home again.