Drarry || One Shots

Sectumsempra

   Summary
*A stupid mistake and overwhelming guilt is what brings them together in the end.*

Harry paced back and forth at the side of the Hospital Wing bed and ever so often spared a glance at the person sleeping on it. He could not hold his gaze on the figure for more than a split second as guilt and hurt overcame him and had to look away.

He remembered the obvious look of mistrust, hate and confusion on Snape's face as he had entered the infirmary. Assured that Madam Pomfrey wasn't going to go anywhere and still having classes to teach that day, he reluctantly left Harry alone with a sleeping and very vulnerable Draco. And that was the one and only time Harry couldn't bring himself to resent Snape for the hateful look he had thrown him.

His feet hurting from not sitting once in the three hours he had spent there and his head throbbing slightly, he took a seat on the chair next to Malfoy's bed, now having nowhere else to look rather than the boy in front of him. His stomach rumbled loudly, thing that made him realise it was a bit past lunchtime. Ron and Hermione must be wondering where he was. He had asked Madam Pomfrey not to let them in had they thought to check in there. He wasn't in the mood to explain what had happened. He didn't even think he could.

As his eyes glazed over the pale and pointed face he had to suppress a shudder and the urge to dig his nails into his palms in an attempt to feel even the slightest pain. His eyes were glossed and his hands, now gripping the sides of the chair, were shaking badly. Hermione was right. Of course she was fucking right. He had been so stupid to randomly use an unknown spell from a random book that no one even ever heard of. But all the other spells in the book had been harmless so he was more than confident Sectumsempra was no different story.

Oh but he had been so wrong. And as a result to his stupidly childish confidence, Draco Malfoy was now sitting, full of scars, on a hospital bed. 

They weren't the best of friends, everyone knew that, and sure, Harry did suspect -no, knew- that he was a Death Eater, but he was no fool. With the unusual amount of attention he pays to the blond boy it would have been impossible not to notice the badly concealed dark bags under his eyes and the painfully hollow and lifeless eyes Malfoy sported ever since the beginning of sixth year. Not to mention the insufferable prat had no more attempts at making Harry's life miserable, thing that, in the first five years, seemed to be Draco's favourite sport.

And seeing him so lifeless and so unlike himself, Harry wondered, and even though he would never admit it, hoped that Draco was unwillingly wearing the Dark Mark on his forearm.

After witnessing the thoroughly heartbreaking scene in the bathroom mere hours ago, Harry came to see Malfoy as what he was, a kid, much like himself. A human being with emotions as complex as any other. A human being that was suffering greatly and maybe it was Harry's heroical nature, or maybe something else, but he felt the strong urge to reach out to the boy and help him, years of rivalry forgotten.

Malfoy stirred slightly and Harry's eyes shot up again, watching the blond as he woke up, fighting the sudden urge to just bolt out the damn door and pretend he was never there.

"Potter?" he croaked out, trying to sit up, apparently unaware of the still healing scars on his chest. A second later, though, he fell back against the mattress, wincing.

He looked down at his own bandage covered chest, then up at a very giulty looking Potter and it all seemed to come back to him at once. His first instinct was to scramble away from the boy, but all he managed was to hurt himself even more. The sight tore Harry's heart in two and he couldn't help but wonder why.

"Hey, please", he found himself pleading, reaching a comforting hand as though trying to tame a mad dog. "I didn't mean it!" he desperately tried to explain, though no more explicit words came out.