Pov Draco
From the day that he turned eighteen and began turning, there was an aching in his bones. A longing for something he couldn’t find words for. His father had explained that it might be because of the absence of his mate.
Because the stupid Veela, beside gigantic wings, had mates.
He didn’t want a mate. He didn’t want to force someone to be with him, to love him without wanting to. He didn’t even want to be a Veela. His father had told him it could happen, there had been a few Veelas down the family line. Lucius himself never turned, but now Draco had.
At first it was just the sensory sensitivity and bursts of emotion not entirely appropriate for the situation. Smashing a vase against a wall because he woke up late and his eggs were cold was a bit much. He had profoundly apologized to his mother after, as she had been shocked and hadn’t seen it coming.
Secondly, it was the feathers. They were sprouting all over his body, itching and then falling out. His bed was littered with feathers and the house elfs were working twice as hard to keep the house clean, collection feathers all day. They stayed clear of his bed though, he had hissed at them when they tried to take away his feathers.
No one was destroying his nest!
Another thing that was quite strange. His bedroom became his nest and nobody was allowed in.
Then the most terrible part of the turning started. He woke up one day, in his nest, with an itchy back. During the day it only got worse, up until the point that he couldn’t sleep from the itching and pain. The next day was spend moaning in pain, not being able to move from his bed. He had felt his bones change and grow under his skin and when they were fully formed, they broke through the skin. Two very bloody wings prodded out of his back, spraying blood all over his nest
His parents had come into his bedroom at that point, dragging him to St. Mungos, where the nurses had tried to manage the bleeding.
When his transformation was complete, he could go home. Finally back in his nest and his territory, he felt calmer. Still filled with longing and heartache, but he could handle that. His parents were weary and checked on him several times a day. Especially worried was his father. Draco didn’t ever think himself being very loved by his father, but Lucius had proven otherwise. He assisted Draco with information, books about the Veela en they had long talks until deep into the night. His mother was lovely too, always ready with a shoulder to cry on if the hollow feeling in his chest got too much to bare.
Then one day, the feeling of longing changed to a need. He had to have something. And that something had a name.
Potter.
--
It all began with a softly spoken “Father, can you get Potter for me?”
Lucius Malfoy had risen an eyebrow, but he had grabbed his coat and gone out.
He came back empty handed. Apparently Potter had refused to come with him without a good reason. Draco thought himself to be a very good reason and it hurt that Potter thought otherwise.
The rejection ached a little, but it wasn’t too bad. He hadn’t really tried yet right? He had to impress Potter, court him properly. Then Potter would surely love him.
Draco hated himself for thinking that. He didn’t want Potter to love him. Potter would never voluntarily love him and Draco knew that getting Potter to love him with force would hurt his mate. He felt nauseous by the thought of it.
He had to try though, a Veela was nothing without its mate. He would suffer and then perish and die.
--
Draco had slept awful the last few nights. The turning and tossing wouldn’t stop and all he could think about was Potter hating him. But he got up the courage, went to the shops for some flowers and went up to Potters house. He had put on his suit and done his long, sleek hair up in a braid. He looked splendid, saying so himself. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.
“Yeah, yeah, coming!” Harry grumbled on the other side of the door.
Draco thrilled softy when he heard his mates deep voice.
The door swung open and there stood Potter, disrayed and his hair a complete bird nest. He was wearing a black sweater with holes along the neckline and black pants. His feet were covered in fluffy socks. He looked like he’d just woken up. Draco blushed brightly and shoved the flowers towards Potter.
“Eh, morning Malfoy?”
Draco huffed in dissatisfaction. Potter was supposed to take the flowers. He pushed the flowers softly against Potters chest.
Potter finally took the flowers and Draco smiled.
“What can I do for you Malfoy?” Potter asked. He looked a little agitated and unsure. Maybe Draco should clarify about the importance of his visit.
“I’ve come to court you!”
Draco smiled brightly at his mate. He had to show Potter he was likable and a good mate. His wings wanted to come out to show Potter how strong he was and how good care he took of his wings.
Draco tried to calm down and pulled softly on the end of his braid. The wings couldn’t come out right now. Potter didn’t even know about the existence of them. Or that Draco wanted to flaunt them in front of his mate. Might need to clarity that too, Draco, He scoffed at himself.
“Sorry. Before you say anything, let me explain. I have, by some remarkable coincidence, become Veela. And-and I don’t know how else to tell you, but you are my mate.”
Draco’s gaze dropped to his feet. This was not how he had planned this to go. Stupid Veela, ruining everything. He couldn’t even form a proper sentence in the presence of his mate.
He looked up at Potters face, nervous for his reaction.
Potter was fuming, his arms were crossed and his whole posture was defensive. “No.” he said, “I won’t play a part in this. I’ve done enough, I deserve some peace. Go away.”
Draco hissed at Potter and then whimpered. He had hissed at his mate. He wasn’t supposed to hiss at his mate. But Potter didn’t want him. It hurt and an ice cold feeling washed over him. He shivered, teeth chattering.
“You don’t want me? But I brought you flowers. And I was very nice.”
Potter frowned, face screwed up in anger. He looked tense, ready for a fight. Draco felt so confused, everything in him said to run away or sneer at Potter in disgust. But all his Veela wanted was to protect Potter and help him fight that what made him so upset. He stood frozen, staring at Potter.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I don’t want to see you Malfoy. You don’t get to manipulate me. And take your stupid flowers with you!”
Potter threw the flowers at Draco’s feet and slammed the door in Draco’s face.
Pov Harry
(weeks earlier)
He was so angry. Harry seethed and cried out. He struck the wall with his fist, hitting a big hole in the fragile plaster.
Not that it mattered, the place was a dump. He hated it. Grimmauld place had never been his home, not even when Sirius had still lived here.
Sirius.
Another scream of rage. Another hole in the wall.
In the last couple of months Harry had locked himself up, away from everyone who wanted to congratulate him on winning the war. He spend all his time tearing Grimauld place up in his rage. He’d ripped the wallpaper off the walls, thrown chairs and tables around and broke down walls.
Every room but Sirius’ and Regulus’ was destroyed.
That were the rooms were he slept. And cried. To be honest, he cried more than he slept.
After all that tearing apart things, he was a little more calm. Yet the anger shimmered in his veins, rising to the surface every once in a while. As was the case now.
Today he had looked around and had noticed how broken up the house was. When he was done crying about that, he saw something besides that. A glimpse of potential that triggered his curiosity. That hadn’t happened in a long while.
He had spiraled down- or was it up?- into seriously thinking about renovating the place. That line of thoughts had led to crippling guilt. Towards Sirius. Towards Ron, Hermione, all of the Weasleys. Towards the whole world in general, that he had abandoned.
“I. Don’t. Own. Them. Anything.” Harry yelled, each word accompanied by a kick from his foot against the already abused wall.
Well, he wanted that wall gone anyway. It stopped the light from the kitchen from reaching de dining room. He was so done with the dark.
Dirty beige plaster flakes fluttered down from the wall above him, coating his hair in debris. He coughed and ruffled his hair. Yeah, he was gonna renovate this whole place, making it his home. He wanted high ceilings, lots of birch wood and light filtering though the house. He was going to do it himself, hopefully processing his emotions and healing the aching wound inside his chest.
With a huge sigh he sat back in the one fauteuil he hadn’t ruined. He felt settled, already planning where he wanted to start. He was building a future yet again.
--
(present)
Harry slid down the wall, dropping his head in his hands. A sob left his lips. He couldn’t do this. He had just won the war. He had given his all, fighting over and over again. He wanted, no needed, rest. Not a Veela Draco Malfoy begging to court him, bringing him flowers.
He had been worried when Lucius left, thinking this would probably not be the end of it. It never was with the Malfoys. And again he was proven right. Lucius hadn’t said anything about Veelas, just that Harry’s presence was required by Draco Malfoy. He, of course, refused and Lucius had left. The encounter had left Harry confused and rattled. But he wasn’t anymore now. It clearly was the first step of some plan to get Harry’s graces. Well, he wouldn’t fall for it. Sure, Malfoy, a Veela, that was just ironic. Harry wasn’t surprised, the git had always been pointy, dramatic and he had the hair for it.
But Harry being his mate. No, that had to be a joke, they hated each other. He didn’t know an awful lot about the Veela, but he had seen them before and he had felt their alure. He was glad that he didn’t feel any with Malfoy and didn’t feel compelled to adore him.
After sitting in the hallway for some time, he crept up the stairs, cup of tea in his hand. Hopefully his bed was still warm.
--
Several days later, Harry was in the middle of reconstructing his kitchen when there was a knock on the door. He was sweating and stained all over, as he had been going for hours and wasn’t quite in the state to open the door. He ranked a hand through his long hair. It was all dusty from working inside the cabinets, where a lovely spider family had made its home. He looked like a proper construction worker, not really fitted to go answer the door, desperately in need of a shower. He scoffed, he didn’t care what anyone thought about it. It didn’t matter.
“Yes?” he said, opening the door without looking.
After a beat of silence, he heard a soft croon. His gaze snapped up.
“For gods-sake Malfoy, again?” His anger flared up, hadn’t he been clear before?
The hopeful look was wiped from Malfoy’s face and he looked rather sad. Tired too, now that Harry looked at him. The purple beneath his eyes had darkened. He looked a little thinner too, but yet as tidy as always.
“Good afternoon to you too Potter.” Malfoy’s voice broke when he said Harry’s name. His eyes were watery. Harry crossed his arms defensive. He was still mad.
Malfoy crooned sadly, longing. Harry’s throat locked and he swallowed hard.
“What do you want now.”
Malfoy offered him a narrow box. Harry raised his eyebrows suspiciously.
“What’s this?”
“Please take it.” Malfoy squared his shoulders, a silent demand that Harry somehow couldn’t refuse.
“Don’t come back here Malfoy.” He grabbed the box and with a last glance at Malfoy, he closed the door.
The box was very light. And Harry was so very curious to what it held. He knelt down in the hallway, unable to help himself. The lock clicked and the content of the box was revealed. At the bottom of the box there lay a feather. It was gray, the kind of gray that the sky turned on a dreary morning. It shimmered in the light as Harry picked it up carefully. There were small spots of gold accentuating the edges.
A very big, sturdy and beautiful feather. Malfoy’s feather. Malfoy had given Harry a feather.
He sat in the hallway for a long time, staring at the wall.
Pov Draco
After he had delivered his special gift to Harry, he went straight op to his nest, tears dripping down his face. His whole body ached and all he wanted to do was sleep forever. His mate didn’t want him.
He buried himself under the covers, where everything smelled like him. He stifled a sob. It didn’t smell like Harry. He knew how Harry smelled now, after meeting him today. Harry smelled like wood shavings, caramelized sugar and freshly picked oranges. He smelled save, like home. A bit like sweat too, but that made Draco want to burry his face in Harry’s neck desperately. He curled up even tighter.
There was a soft knock on the door. “Draco darling?”
He heard his mother tiptoe to his bed. The second she reached her hand out and touched him, he threw the covers off and hissed at her. She jumped back in fear. Draco blanched.
No, no, no. This was his mum! He stopped hissing and turned away. He sobbed loudly and cried out.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that! I’m sorry mum.” He covered his face with his hands. His nails had turned black and sharp and he sobbed even louder.
“Oh love.” his mother sat beside him. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and he curled up against her.
“It hurts mum. So, so badly. I don’t know if I can do this.”
His mother hummed. “I know my dragon. I know.” She wrapped him up even closer in her arms.
He cried himself to sleep in her embrace.
--
He could barely eat. The thought of food alone made him nauseous. His mate hated him, how could he possibly think about eating? He still tried, for his parents. The slower he wasted away, the longer they had to say goodbye.
The same was with sleeping. He spend hours and hours in his nest, not wanting to come out. But sleeping he rarely did. He just couldn’t. When he tried, he kept thinking about what Harry had said.
‘Go away.’ ‘I don’t wanna see you.’ ‘Don’t come back here.’
It was like a stab to the heart every time. He’d cried for days after gifting Harry his feather, but now he had no tears left to cry. He was pain, wasting away and he couldn’t do anything about it.
--
He was going to try a third time. The last time, he told himself. After this he wouldn’t bother Harry any longer. He would bring no flowers and no other gifts. He wasn’t going to dress up, his sweatpants and soft sweater were comfortable and he couldn’t phantom being able to handle rough fabrics against his sensitive skin.
With his feet bare and his hair loose, he felt weak and vulnerable, but more like himself.
--
Without a clue what to say, he stood on Harry’s doorstep. With a sigh, he knocked and waited in anticipation.
Harry swung open the door, halfway putting on a leather jacket. He looked ready to go somewhere. And he looked good. The jacket made him look tough, as did the black pair of ripped pants, covered in paint stains. He was wearing eyeliner and his hair was wrapped up in a bun at the back of his head. He looked pissed off and Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away from him.
“No.”
“Harry, please.” Draco begged.
Steam blew from Harry’s ears and his eyes glowed with anger. He pushed Draco to the side with force and Draco stumbled back. Draco’s footing was unsure, his bones brittle, and he swayed on his feet for a few seconds.
Harry was leaving, walking down the steps to his house. He couldn’t leave, Draco thought frantically. Harry, his mate, needed to save him before it was too late!
He ran after Harry as fast as he could and jumped in front of him.
“No, you have to listen! You can’t leave!”
Without his permission, his wings popped out. They crackled like they were breaking apart. They fanned out, as if to stop Harry from leaving. Harry sneered and pushed one of the wings out of they way, swirling Draco around in the process. A cloud of feathers came loose and Draco cried out and sprung away from Harry’s touch. Harry scoffed and walked on without looking back at Draco, who fled home in pure agony from his mates touch.
--
Later that day, he stretches his wings in the garden of the Manor. He hadn’t let his wings out in a long time, not feeling up to it. The sadness made it hard to let them out and they hurt a lot. Now that Harry had seen them, Draco had to know how they were looking at the moment. That cloud of feathers made him worry. No doubt that Harry’s rejection had effected his wings too.
He groaned as he spread out his wings. They shook in effort. He heard small snapping sounds as he waved them softly.
Draco gulped. Not good.
Without looking he ran a hand over the feathers. They felt rough under his touch and when he pulled his hand back, he held several broken flight feathers and a lot of the fluffy covert feathers. He sobbed dryly.
“No.” he moaned. He’d been a bad Veela, not taking care of his wings. He should have preened them, what should his mate think?
Draco hissed at himself. No mate, Harry didn’t want him.
Ruffled his wings, he shook out a puff of dust and gray fluff.
He ranked both hands through his wings, pulling them in front of him so he could see how they looked. It was awful, half of the feathers broke off in his hands, the other half creaked in protest. The once beautiful gray feathers looked dull and the golden spots had turned a dirty brown.
Draco shrieked in anger and agony. He let go of his wings and tugged at several crooked feathers. With a harsh pull, they came loose. The gray of his wings got splattered with tiny beads of bright red blood.
Draco didn’t care and pulled some more out.
So many feathers were soiled and dirty and he wanted them gone. He pulled and pulled until his hands were red and slippery from all the blood.
Panic took him over and he screamed out. He grabbed his head and fell to his knees. He pushed his head against the cold soil and wrapped his arms around himself. His fingers turned to black claws and he jammed them deep into his arms. Blood poured down his arms, but he couldn’t feel the pain. His screams of agony echoed between the carefully kept trees and bushes in the garden.
The ground was littered with spatters of blood and broken feathers. It looked like a battlefield. It was a battlefield, one of the war Draco was fighting against himself.
Lucius and Narcissa stood in the archway to the garden, out of reach of their only son. Narcissa was sobbing violently, shaking in the arms of her husband. She gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly and he stroke her long soft hair. She had her face turned away from their sons suffering, pushing it against Lucius’ chest. He himself couldn’t look away. Wouldn’t look away. He had done that too many times before.
Pov Harry
There was a letter waiting for him in the kitchen when he got home He shook off his leather jacket, sat down at the wooden table and grabbed the letter with shaking hands. The handwriting was elegant and the Malfoy crest glistered threatening. With a big gulp of air, he opened the letter and read:
Dear Harry Potter,
I’m writing you in regards of collecting the life you are in depted to me. There is a matter that I could use your help with. Draco hasn’t been well and I’d like you to stop by the Manor to assist.
I’m awake that you’ve rejected several of his attempts to reconnect, but I’m asking you to set aside your differences. If not for him or me, it’s for your life I saved.
Sincerely,
Narcissa Malfoy
Harry crumpled the letter in his hands. He shook in anger, but he barely noticed. How dear she? How dare they? He would let them know he did not appreciate this.
--
Harry slammed open the heavy entrance doors of Malfoy Manor and with it, tore through the thick wards of the house.
“Malfoy!” he yelled out furiously. “Malfoy, get over here you spineless bastard! You utter prick! Coward!” he raged on.
His tantrum fell silent as he heard hurried footsteps from within the Manor coming his way.
“Ah, there you are you slimy-”
“Yes mr. Potter, what can I do for you?” Malfoy senior asked him as he came in Harry’s sight.
“Lucius.” Harry said coldly.
His face felt tight with anger and he widened his stance.
Lucius just raised an eyebrow and waited. The man looked like a proper Lord and that made Harry feel like a child. Lucius stood tall and with all the white in the entrance hall his hair seem more light, like his sons.
Huh, they apparently had had renovations as well. The Manor looked nothing like the house that Harry had been captive in. Usually he could appreciate a nice renovation, but not now.
”What”, Harry waved the envelope and letter from Narcissa around, “Is this supposed to mean?”
He stepped closer to Lucius. The air shimmered with Harry’s magic. Lucius was clearly taken back and retreated a few steps. With a splat, Harry threw the letter down on the ground in front of Lucius.
“Not even for a life-dept I will talk to that snake of a son of yours!”
With that, he crossed a line with Lucius.
“You. You leave my son alone!” he yelled.
“That’s all I ever wanted!” Harry roared back.
A strange look of hurt crossed Lucius face and he pulled out his wand. Harry was quicker.
A light beam slammed into Lucius’ chest and he stammered back. Harry was out the door before he could see the spell take hold.
Pov Draco
Draco crept further down the stairs where he had been listening in on the conversation.
“Father? Father, are you alright?”
He ignored the Veela inside, who was shrieking for his mate and wanting to hurt his father for trying to hurting his mate. He didn’t even think about his bones creaking, which hurt with his mates rejection once again.
His father was laying on the ground, looking disoriented at Draco. And Salazar, his hair. Draco’s eyes went wide. His fathers hair looked ridiculous.
A small grin slipped on his face. “Father, you might want to take a look in the mirror. Harry-” his voice trembled over the name. “-has given you nice purple locks.”
Lucius jumped up, furious. “He did what?!”
Draco nodded. “Yes father. And might I say, it looks rather fetching on you.”
Lucius still looked angry, but there was a glint of humor in his eyes. Draco hadn’t said a word after injuring himself gravely in front of his parents. He was too ashamed, too scared to look at them directly, let along talk. His parents had tried to comfort him and let him know they were only scared and worried, not angry or disappointed, but up until this point Draco hadn’t believed them. But now, after Harry broke down the house and Lucius hadn’t lashed out at Harry, he understood. His mother would even use a life-dept to help him. His father would rather be walked over than to hurt Draco’s mate. They loved him, even in his dying days.
Draco’s smile widened a bit. Purple really was his fathers color.
Lucius turned around and grumbled underneath his breath. “Narcissa will hear about this.” and went looking for his wife.
Draco sank down on his knees once his father was out of the room. His breath was erratic and he felt his own heartbeat at the back of his eyes. Black spots were clouding his vision and he blinked frantically. It scared him tremendously, how weak he had become. Purely from losing his mate. Well, not losing, he reminded himself. From never having him.
When Draco tried to get up, his knees gave out from under him. His bones were creaking and popping and Draco shivered. It felt like his bones were splintering inside of him. He dropped down to the floor and smashed his knees to the marble floor. He grunted and hissed in pain when he touched his knees to assess the damage. It seemed that even more bruises would join the amount that littered his body now. With no dignity left or fucks to give, he crawled in the direction of his rooms.
--
How he had gotten back to his room, back to his nest, he didn’t know. It took a long time and neither his father nor his mother had intercepted him. He was grateful, he thought he might have killed them if they had seen him like this. However weak he was, his Veela still had a little fight in it and it was enraged.
He had heard Harry’s words. No, he hadn’t just heard them. They had destroyed him. That tiny sliver of hope he still held crumbled under Harry’s rage. His words had echoed around in the Manor when he cursed Draco in his own home, his save place.
There was nothing left to reject in Draco, he didn’t feel like he existed anymore. Harry had taken every piece of him and had crushed Draco. And no matter what Draco tried, he couldn’t stop himself from loving Harry and even after all these rejections, he would still give up him life if that meant Harry would be save.
--
The days blended together from that point. One moment it was day and his mother brought him food that he wasn’t going to eat anyway, the next it was pitch black and Draco could only shiver in pain. He didn’t know how many days had passed, just that they were all filled with pain.
He knew his death was coming near. His body was giving up, completely in sync with his mind. Draco’s parents pleaded with him, trying to reason that this wasn’t worth dying over. That made the Veela tune them out even more.
Harry was worth dying over.
Or rather, Draco wasn’t worth living if Harry didn’t want him. This was how it was meant to be. The sad, pathetic, unworthy Death-eater dying in agony and the brave, loyal, loving Harry Potter getting to live a free and unburdened life. It didn’t feel like a good thing, but Draco told himself it was better this way. His parents would get over it and the rest of the world would be pleased to have gotten rid of him. Draco blew out a rattling breath. He gave up.
--
The pain was gone. Yesterday his whole body had ached and with every move black spots flashed for his eyes. He hadn’t made much noise anymore, just the occasional grunt in pain.
But now he was completely silent. There was no need to use his voice. He was not in pain. He was numb. It was as if he lived in a big aquarium and was looking at his body laying in bed. He could barely feel the covers of his nest touching his skin.
He heard the door opening, but the noise was muted. He didn’t give a reaction.
“Draco?” It was his mother.
“Draco? Oh god Draco!” She ran to his bedside.
“Lucius! Lucius, come quick!” she yelled. He had never heard her yell so loud, he thought distracted.
She sobbed, shaking his brittle frame. “Draco, Draco, darling, wake up!”
He couldn’t.
There were loud footsteps running up the stairs.
“Narcissa?” his father yelled.
His mother stopped shaking him as his father appeared in the doorway.
“He’s-He’s gone, Lucius.”
She broke down crying and draped herself over his body.
“No.” his father whispered. His face was ash-gray.
He walked up to Narcissa and leaned carefully over her. Draco felt cold fingers touch his throat.
“Narcissa, love. He isn’t dead. Just not..here.” Lucius whispered.
His mother could only sob.
“We should get him to St. Mungo’s. You-you should get his stuff.”
His father sounded unsure in ordering her, but his mother stopped sobbing and he could feel her nodding. His mothers warmth disappeared, but soon his father lifted him up in his warm and strong arms.
“Oh Draco. you’re as light as a feather.” His father kissed his forehead softly.
A lone tear slid down Draco’s cheek.
Pov Harry
During his daily evening meditation, there was a tapping on the window. Harry’s hands clenched into fists. This was useless anyway. He had been trying to regulate his breathing for over an hour, but his inner turmoil was through the roof.
A tear of frustration slid down his cheek and he wiped it away roughly. He knew it wasn’t truly anger that he felt all the time. For that, he cried way too often. It just felt like the safest way to express himself.
Another tear fell down. It was grief that he felt. He was mourning for all that he had lost and inside he was terrified. That inner turmoil, it was mostly panic. How was he supposed to move on after the war? After all the loss he had caused? No, he didn’t believe it possible.
The tapping hadn’t stopped. Harry sniffed and hopped down from the kitchen table where he had been sitting cross-legged. He found it the best spot to think and besides, the floor was too cold to spend hours sitting down or laying down and contemplating why things were the way they were. Old wizarding houses, they all had cold floors.
He opened the latch of the window and a scruffy owl came tumbling through. It dropped a letter, screeched in Harry’s face, refused the owl treats he offered and flew out of the window.
“Tsk, grumpy much.” Harry grumbled. Without looking, he openend the letter.
--
The paper slipped from Harry’s fingers. He was full on crying, bitter sobs of regret fell from his lips.
“No,” he whispered. “No, he can’t be.”
His vision was blurry and he didn’t understand. The letter came from Malfoy Manor and it informed him that Malfoy was admitted to St. Mungos and that there was no chance that he would leave the hospital alive. It wasn’t signed, but the dried tear streaks on the paper told him it was Narcissa’s last attempt at making him care, making him listen to what Malfoy had tried to tell him so often.
Malfoy was dying, and quick. Even if Harry rushed to the Hospital, he might not get there in time.
With shaking hands he gripped his wand as tight as he could. He had to correct the biggest mistake of his life. Scrunching up his face, he concentrated on the image of the hospital hall. This was going to break so many rules, and he might even splinch himself in the process, but this really was the fastest option.
With a crackle and a force of magic that not even Dumbledore was capable of, Harry Potter tore through the wards of St. Mungo’s.
--
“Where is he? Where is Malfoy?” Harry yelled, running through the hospital.
“Mr. Potter, you can’t run in the hallway!”
He completely ignored the med-witches, this was life or death. His worn out sneakers slipped on the floor. He was surely a sight for sore eyes. Red teary eyes, his hair fizzy and tangled and running so fast he almost fell.
He didn’t know where Malfoy was, but he had a gut feeling and he followed it.
“Malfoy!”
Panting frantically, he busted through the doors of one of the rooms on his left. Two pair of eyes looked up at him. Lucius and Narcissa seemed worn out and devastated. It was eerily quiet in the room. Narcissa held Malfoy’s limp hand in her shaking ones. Her lip trembled as he met her eyes looking for a better answer than the room could give him. She shook her head.
“He’s dead?” Harry whispered.
“Yes, you were too late.” Lucius croaked out.
He looked half the man he was the last time Harry had seen him. Slumped in his seat, crumpled into himself, he was the picture of utter defeat.
Harry took a shaking breath.
“You did this. Are you happy now?”
Lucius pointed a trembling finger at him. His other hand covered his mouth as a sob fell out. Harry went ash gray. He knew he did this, but it being put to words crushed him. Malfoy had died and it was his fault. Harry nodded, unable to speak. Lucius nodded once in hatred and all but ran from the room.
Shivering all over, Harry moved closer to the bed. Narcissa blinked up at him with watery eyes. She stood up and put a calming hand on his shoulder.
“Take your time.” she whispered. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
Harry never felt more grateful. He stifled a sob and dropped down on the bed beside Malfoy.
He sat there for hours. Malfoy’s body lay still under the covers. His wings, or what was left of them, were folded neatly and for once he seemed peaceful. All the times he came to Harry’s door he had looked stressed, tired and utterly sad. Now his face was relaxed and there was something so innocent and pure about him.
Harry held his hand. It was so cold that Harry started rubbing circles over it with his thumb, trying to get some warmth back into it. Harry whimpered.
“Malfoy, Draco, please.”
He broke down and draped himself across Malfoy’s body. His chest wasn’t moving, he wasn’t breathing and that send Harry into hysterics.
“No, no, no! Please, Draco you have to wake up!” he cradled Draco’s face in his hands and pushed their foreheads together. Tears dripped from his eyes to Draco’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You were so lovely and I was just so-” he hiccuped. “-so angry.”
Harry curled his body into Draco’s side. He fitted like it was meant to be. Sobs shook his frame. He clenched Draco’s shirt in his fists, trying to calm himself. Slowly his breathing evened out, his body relaxed and, exhausted as he was, he fell into a deep sleep.
--
Through-out the night, safely tucked away at Harry’s side, slowly but surely Draco’s body began to warm up. His blood came to flow again and his heart started up with a steady pump. Then, his lungs fulled with air and Draco huffed out a tiny, barely there, breath. Harry’s love brought him back from the brick of death.
When the clock struck midnight, Draco’s arm wrapped around Harry’s sleeping from. It went unnoticed by Harry, who was curled up around Draco’s body, tear-tracks fresh on his cheeks.