A Throne of Blood and Stars

Chapter Twenty-Nine

He sits on the chair next to the bed and watches as she carefully arranges everything back how it's supposed to be, and then it all disappears into Harry's hospital gown.

Madame Pomfrey runs some regular tests on Harry and when she's satisified, she gives him a smile and goes to turn around.

"Madame Pomfrey," Draco says suddenly. "Could I ask you something?"

"Of course, dear. What is it?"

"Yesterday, when you came to get me in the Great Hall during breakfast," Draco watches her eyes shine in apprehension. "What did you need me for?"

"I needed to know which potion you'd rather me administer to Harry, seeing as you're the one that's supposed to be here with him until he heals," she leans in over the bed and whispers. "And I don't trust that old Slughorn. Drives me mad!"

Draco's face breaks out into a smile. She wanted his advice and not his professor's. "Oh."

"Why?"

"I must have fallen into a deep sleep. I could not remember half of my day for whatever reason."

"Did you need anything? Sleeping Draught?"

"No, thank you. I just wanted to make sure I had not done anything...out of my element."

The Medi-Witch nods. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll be in my quarters."

Draco watches her flick her wrist left and right, throwing charms and spells, no doubtingly alarms for when her patients need help.

And when she finally crosses the doorway, Draco stands and walks to the window. He sees the Quidditch pitch decorated in team colors, looks like it was Hufflepuff against Gryffindor.

Piece of cake, Draco smiles to himself. He knows Hufflepuff always puts up a good fight, but they're not as impulsive as Gryffindors.

Gryffindors will do anything to get to the cup, they're desperate for it, and their last second moves spice up an otherwise easy match.

That's one thing that Draco misses. Playing Quidditch, the rivalry between Houses. Sure, everyone is friends, now, especially with the lack of returning Slytherin eighth years, but it's just so boring.

Even without thinking about the impending doom of his fate, Draco had fun being a kid--a mean one, yes. But he still had friends, he still had homework and holidays and fun.

Draco hasn't had fun in a long while.

*******

The blond ends up sleeping in the uncomfortable chair next to Harry's bed.

When he wakes up it's Thursday morning, and there's a silver platter with a plate of food, a cuppa next to it. And he sees a folded note behind it all.

You don't need to attend classes, but you are welcomed to. I excused you either way so you can rest, as you have done more than anyone can ask for.

Headmistress McGonagall

Draco sighs. He's not weak. He can go to classes, and he can do his classwork, and he can socialize and make potions and decipher his Arithmancy book.

Or he can stay here and watch Harry's chest rise and fall with every breath rhythmically, watch his eyelids flutter every time the sun hits his face when he moves. And he can watch his throat bob whenever he swallows in his sleep.

He doesn't know why Harry Potter is his means of meditation all of a sudden, but he finds he doesn't really care. So he puts the folded note back on the tray and lifts the cuppa.