Carpe Noctem (DRARRY)

Chapter 4- This Isn't A Sickfic.... I Swear

______________________________________

Chapter 4- This Isn't A SickFic... I Swear

~Harry's POV~

"Harry Potter?"

It was in potions class when he was grimacing and complaining and doing his work, daydreaming occasionally when the strict voice of Professor McGonagall pierced the silence. When the boy looked over, when he saw her face, he knew something was wrong.

Her strict voice shook just the tiniest bit, and in that, was a lifetime of worry. It was strange how unsettling it was to see a fully grown adult be sad.

And then, biting his lip, Harry followed McGonagall into the hallway, to 'create a little privacy'. Panic started fluttering in his stomach. Who got killed this time? Hermionie? Ron? Why did this always happen??

"Harry, well, there's no easy way to say this, but Draco's... Well, in the hospital wing. He was attacked..."

The world froze and then shattered.

"Draco?" Harry didn't expect... He didn't even think it was a possibility. He hadn't worried about it because he hadn't thought about it.

"... By some students... And due to some, ahem, predicaments, we cannot heal him as we would normally go about it. And perhaps I thought you might like to see him?" The kindness in her normally-strict voice would've shaken Harry, but instead, he just nodded and allowed himself to be led to the hospital wing. Doesn't she think we're enemies? I mean... We are, but... Oh! I bet Dumbledore did this.

How bad was it? Who did it? What does he look like? Is he... Dying? God, I hope not, his father'll think I murdered him.

Images of Draco, lying on the same bed that Harry was in when he 'broke' his arm, wires leading out of him, pulling as he breathed. Bandages stained with horrendous amounts of gore. They all streamed through his head, worse than what the reality could ever be...

Right?

As they reached the heavy oak doors leading to the dreaded wing, Harry held his breath, and though it must've only been a second they waited before knocking, it felt like a millennium.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

______________________________________

After the trip to the hospital wing, everything was blurry. Fuzzy. Like static from a television, or the falling sensation you get right before closing your eyes to sleep. No matter how much water he drank, or many times he blinked to get the fog out of his head, nothing worked. Why wasn't he angry? Anger would be better than this. Grief is the opposite of useful. At least anger is motivation.

"Hermionie?"

It took Harry a second to remember that he was the one speaking, swaying on his feet, cobblestone floor uncomfortable. That he was the one seeing through these green eyes.

"Yeah?" The girl in question turned to him, smiling softly, but her smile dissolved as soon as her eyes landed on Harry.

".... Are you okay? You're looking kind of... Well... Pale?" Her eyes were wide as she tried to smile, pulling a tiny makeup mirror out of her book-bag (she had developed the habit of carrying one around after the Basilisk incident) and handing it to him discreetly. Students glanced over, but once they saw Harry, quickly turned their eyes the other way.

Peering into the mirror, Harry did not like what he saw.

Harry gave the mirror back to Hermionie, who was now worried, yes, but her brows were furrowed and her lips were set in a line. He smiled at her, to ease the tension, but that set her off on a monologue.