Drarry Oneshots

Unconscious Confessions

Summary: During an intense Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, Draco Malfoy ends up getting knocked off his broom. He goes into a coma and Harry knows it's all his fault. However, is that the only reason Harry can't stop visiting him? Set in an eighth year

Word Count: 3655

"Merlin, why do I actually feel guilty?" Harry asked the unconscious body in front of him. "I suppose it was my fault." He replayed the events in his mind.

Harry dove for the snitch, the crowd holding their breath. He was so close, his hand reaching forward to grab it, to win the game.

Something, or rather someone, yanked back on Harry's broom, the jolt startling the boy. The Gryffindor was falling before he knew it, gaining control just seconds before crashing onto the ground.

"You started it though, you git." Despite himself, Harry laughed slightly. "That was childish, you know? Pulling on my broom and all? I should be mad at you." He only laughed harder. "I don't think we're enemies anymore, not since the war ended. How can we be when we've literally saved each other's lives?"

They hadn't really gotten a chance to talk much since their eighth year started. In fact, now that Harry thought about it, this Quidditch match was the first time he seemed to be back on his old enemies' radar at all.

"I'm still going to catch it," Harry replied smugly as the two seekers scanned the area for signs of the missing snitch. "You're just lucky you weren't removed from the game; that was definitely foul play." His grin was teasing as he spoke.

The Slytherin shrugged; however, the excitement in his eyes let Harry know they were both having too much fun to stop.

The game was rough after that. To anyone else, it would have seemed the two boys were fighting more than they used to. In reality, there was now a playfulness there hadn't been before. There was an innocence not possible when the threat of war had still been in the air.

They were shoving each other, yanking each other's broom. Harry, once again, was about to grab the snitch when he was shoved on the side. The mistake had been when the Gryffindor shoved back just a bit too hard.

Harry shivered, thinking of the thud he had heard as the boy's body hit the ground. His laughter became hoarse, tears mixing in. "I'm sorry- I-"

"He'll wake up, right?" Harry asked Madam Pomphry, unable to keep the worry off his face.

Her sad smile was enough of an answer. The woman bit the inside of her cheek, a soft look in her eyes. "He's a fighter, Harry, I'm sure he'll be okay."

After everything, this couldn't be what killed him. "You really can't do anything?" He knew if she could, she would have. Still, why couldn't magic fix this? Harry had fallen off his broom more than once.

Seeming to sense his worry, she only smiled, undeterred by the questioning. "I'm afraid not. He hit a delicate part of his head. It's-" She hesitated. "It's up to him whether he wakes up."

Harry didn't really understand what that meant. Surely Hermione could explain it to him later. "You're going to wake up, aren't you?" He stared at the body before him. It looked tired, defeated almost. Did he even want to wake up?

Tears streamed from Harry's eyes once more. He had been trying to have a lighthearted visit, but the worry was flooding the boy faster than he could handle. "I'm so sorry, Draco!" Harry sobbed until his eyes grew dry. Then he promised the blond he'd return tomorrow.