Drarry One Shots

Petals and Blood

A/N A year eight story. This story was a request from @Hena_00. I'll explain the concept at the end, mostly because I don't want to give the story away right from the beginning. I don't suggest you read this story if you suffer from Emetophobia...

Artwork by (I believe) Litarnes

***

Harry was certain that there was something wrong with Malfoy. It was obvious really. He was too pale and had lost a lot of weight since the war, not that there was much to lose. And he looked sick; his skin was pallid with a slight green sheen and he had dark circles under his eyes as if he wasn't sleeping properly.

And then there was the cough. It rattled from his chest, hollow and raw and worrying.

Harry might have ignored the evidence if it were anyone else, only this was Malfoy and Malfoy had that way of capturing his attention. Plus, Ron had just said Malfoy had caught up with him in the corridor after Potions and apologised to him... for everything... from the name calling to constant trouble making through the first six years of school, including the derogatory song and insulting his family, from the Snatchers hauling him into the Manor to his aunt scarring Hermione and not doing anything to prevent it and Bill being maimed and for the loss of Fred. Malfoy had then left a faltering Ron in shock as he slipped away into the shadows. No fanfare, no entourage, no witnesses, just a genuine apology.

Something was seriously wrong...

Harry couldn't help scrubbing a hand through his hair before he remembered that he was trying to tame it with Sleakeazy. He grimaced at the feel of it and stopped. He couldn't help looking across the Great Hall to where Malfoy was sitting at the end of Slytherin table with Goyle, Nott, Bulstrode, Greengrass, Zabini, and Parkinson, his head bowed and no challenging eye-contact returning Harry's gaze.

Harry frowned. It wasn't right.

'Just ignore him,' Ginny sighed, pulling on Harry's arm before reaching up to tease Harry's hair back into place. 'Probably plotting how to get his precious name back in the good books or something.'

'I don't think so,' Harry said slowly because he was so deep in thought.

'Shall we play a Seeker's Game after dinner?' Ginny said, a slight glint in her blue eyes.

Harry's attention was drawn away from Malfoy. Ginny had stopped playing Quidditch since the war, but this was her code that she wanted some private alone time with Harry, normally beneath the Quidditch bleachers. It was hard to find some privacy in a school full of 300 students, even one the size of Hogwarts. Mostly because Harry was Harry and everyone had too much of a vested interest in his every move.

'Sure,' he said, his eyes lighting up behind his glasses. He was, he knew, too easily distracted by his hormones.

Still, he couldn't help glancing back across the Great Hall to Malfoy, just in time to see him cough violently. Parkinson was all over him like a Dragonpox rash, pouring him water and fussing in concern.

Harry frowned slightly at the sight but got up and left the table with Ginny. He felt Malfoy's gaze on his back even though Malfoy never caught eyes with him these days.

'Mum says she's seen this lovely cottage for sale in the village,' Ginny said as she linked arms with Harry and led him out of the Great Hall. 'She's sending me the details.'

He felt like he was being paraded in front of everyone. He also felt like things were moving a little fast. He was sure a wedding was being planned behind his back and the colours of the bloody flowers had already been picked even though he'd not even hinted that such a thing was on the cards. He wasn't actually sure it was on the cards. He just wanted to live a little and have a bit of fun. After all, he was only eighteen and had just come out of a hell of a year, as things go.