The world was nothing but a blur. A blur with other strange blurs that bent over him, bewildering him with the babbling noises that were quickly beginning to make sense.
"Harry? Oh, Harry! Madame Pomfrey, he's waking up!"
Harry blinked, but the blur didn't go away. "Glasses," he croaked, his throat dry. His mind was fuzzy, and he couldn't figure out where he was. Did the potion not work? Why was he not dead?
Someone pressed the familiar frames of his glasses into his open hand, and Harry slowly slid them on, the world coming into focus. He was in the infirmary, with Ron and Hermione standing by his bedside, their faces pinched with worry. The Mediwitch bustled in, her stern face registering relief.
"Alright, you two must leave. You may return later this afternoon. I daresay Mr. Potter will be out of here in no time," she said firmly, shooing a reluctant Hermione and Ron out of the room, both of whom looked like they were bursting with questions. Harry could hear them now.
What happened?
Did someone try to poison you? I'll bet it was Malfoy... That would be Ron.
Why did you suddenly collapse? Was it You-Know-Who? Typical Hermione...assuming that anything abnormal was because of ol' Moldywart. 'Course, it usually was because of him, but this time wasn't. And he couldn't tell them the reason why. After all, they'd nearly hit the roof when he'd shown them the scars on his arms, the scars now hidden by an elaborate glamour.
You didn't try to hurt yourself again, did you, Harry?
They hadn't understood his pain, when he'd shared one of his darkest secrets with them. They hadn't understood his need to cut himself, his need to feel pain, in order to block the pain of life. He didn't trust them with this secret this time. If he'd had that note he written them, he'd have burned it by now, not wanting them to see it, considering he was still alive, and still prone to their disapproving words. But the note was gone, to his dismay. Who had it? Or was it still in the bathroom? He hoped so.
And there was still the matter of Ron and Hermione waiting to be allowed to speak with him.
He really didn't feel like explaining himself to them. He didn't feel like telling them that he still didn't want to live. That he hated his failure at not even being able to die properly. At least right now, he could stay in the relative safety of the infirmary. Although, he realized, glancing up at Madame Pomfrey, he now had one very concerned nurse poking and prodding him, with questions, and with her wand.
"Mr. Potter. Care to explain why you took a rather large dose of Sleeping Potion?" she asked, her lips pursed with disapproval. This woman would not be taking any lies from him.
Harry groaned. Why did nothing ever go right for him? "I was tired and wanted to take a nap?" he tried weakly. Pomfrey glared him down.
"In the middle of the girls' bathroom?"
Yeah, it sounded silly, even to him. "I...I..."
"Spit it out, Mr. Potter."
Harry sighed, preparing for a barrage of questions and disapproval. "You can't tell them," he pleaded. "They can't know, unless I tell them..."
Madame Pomfrey nodded. "You can trust me to keep your secret," she promised.
"I'm tired of always being the hero," Harry whispered, looking down at his clasped hands, feeling a burn in his eyes. No, he would not cry in front of the nurse. Too many years of experience at hiding one's emotions came in handy. "I didn't want to be the Golden Boy anymore...I just wanted to be Harry. But no one would let me. So I took the only way out. Or tried to."
Madame Pomfrey didn't seem shocked by his admission of what he'd tried to do. But she did seem rather surprised by his feelings of always being the hero. "Oh, Harry," she murmured soothingly. "It must be difficult, with everyone placing their hopes on you...but you must understand, there's no one better! You can help save lives!"
That's what I was afraid of, Harry thought bitterly. He didn't want to be the only one who could defeat Voldemort. He didn't want to be responsible if lives were lost, because he didn't move fast enough. With another sigh, he turned his head away from the Mediwitch.
Madame Pomfrey's sharp eyes took in the boy in front of her. He was quiet, quieter than was usual for the fiery Gryffindor. And there was a sorrow and bitterness about him. She clucked her tongue, and said, "You'll be staying here for a few days, to make sure the toxins are out of your body. Thank Merlin, that Snape reached you when he did, or else we would have lost a very important young man."
She gave Harry what was supposed to be a comforting smile. "And you really should thank Mr. Malfoy as well, for helping save your life. Death is permanent, Harry. It shouldn't be used as a way to escape. You could always talk to someone."
What? Malfoy turned me in? Anger pulsed through Harry. He had no right! I don't want to talk to anyone...they'd never understand me...Why did he have to get help? He could have just let me die...why didn't he let me die?
An interesting question indeed. Harry glanced up at Pomfrey suspiciously, as she continued to speak. "Mr. Malfoy has shown a bit of concern with your recovery. He has been waiting outside for you to wake up. I will allow you two a half an hour or so to talk, then I will return with a dreamless sleep potion. Heaven knows you need the rest..."
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but the woman had already left to get Malfoy. He cursed under his breath; Malfoy was the last person he wanted to see.
•••
Questions had been burning in his mind for the past two days. Potter still had not woken up, though Pomfrey had promised that was normal. And the letter...Draco glanced down at the paper in his hand, its edges now torn and wrinkled from the constant reading, crumpling, unfolding, and re-reading cycle he had going. He shoved it into his robes once more.
Why did Potter try to kill himself?
That question played over and over in his head, as he walked down the infirmary for the umpteenth time in the past two days. He passed the Weasel and Mudblood on his way down, barely giving them a second glance, not noticing the odd looks they shot each other. It was certainly unusual for Draco to pass them without a barb of some sort.
And while the news that Potter had tried to kill himself hadn't been shared with anyone yet, the news that Potter had collapsed and nearly died had. As did the news that Draco had gotten Professor Snape to help Harry Potter.
A Slytherin, saving a Gryffindor's life. And the two biggest enemies at that.
Things were definitely strange at Hogwarts.
Draco had just entered the infirmary - again - when Madame Pomfrey came bustling towards him. "Oh, Mr. Malfoy," she greeted. "In answer to your unspoken question, yes, Mr. Potter is awake. And yes, you may see him. I must warn you, do not say anything that will stress him out unnecessarily. He is still a bit weak. Come this way."
Draco blinked at the rush of words. Potter was awake? At long last, his questions could be answered. Well, hopefully, if Potter were in a good mood, and provided he didn't get distracted. Although he doubted Potter would be happy to see him...
•••
"You ruined my death."
Sure enough, Potter was unhappy to see him. Those were the first words Draco heard as Madame Pomfrey left. He arched a thin eyebrow at the boy in the bed, his silver grey eyes meeting brilliant emerald ones. Said green eyes bored into Draco, and if looks could kill, Draco was sure he'd be dead on the spot.
"What, no thank you?" he asked sarcastically, transfiguring an empty water glass into a chair, which he sat in, far enough away from Potter, should the other charge him. The way things were going, it looked like his questions would have to wait for another day.
"What is there to thank you for? Bringing me back to hell?"
Draco snorted. "You don't know the meaning of hell," he said bitingly.
"And you do?"
"As a matter of fact, yes."
Draco and Harry glared at each other for a moment, before Harry said softly, "Why did you get help?"
The unexpected question startled Draco for a moment, and he hesitated. "I don't know," he said at last, shrugging. "I couldn't just watch you die in front of me..."
"Why not? I'm your biggest enemy."
Draco huffed. "I'm not some bloodthirsty Death Eater that enjoys watching his enemies die in front of him, Potter. Contrary to popular belief, I have a heart. And I wasn't going to just let you die like that."
Harry stared at him for a long time. Draco Malfoy, actually caring whether or not Harry Potter died? "You should have," he grumbled bitterly.
"Why?"
"Why should I tell you?"
Draco pulled the letter from his robes. "I think I may know the answer to that already," he said in a quiet voice.
Harry accepted the letter that Malfoy handed to him, the utter bizarreness of the scene - him and Malfoy actually having a decent conversation, without hexes or punches flying - being overridden by his curiosity. He visibly blanched, when he saw the first few words. In his handwriting.
His head snapped up, and his eyes burned furiously into the blonde. "How dare you?" he hissed. "How dare you read what was meant for others' eyes?"
Draco snarled back, "If I read the letter correctly, my name was included in that letter. So in all due respect, Potter, I too have the right to read said letter."
That startled Potter enough, enough to make him fall silent for a moment. Draco watched him with wary eyes, as Potter glanced down at the letter in his hand.
"I disgust you, don't I?"
"What?" Draco eyed the Gryffindor oddly.
"I disgust you. Killing myself, to escape my problems. You think I'm nothing but a selfish Gryffindor."
"I've always thought of you as a selfish Gryffindor." The words were spoken without the usual malice, and Harry looked up at Malfoy. He shrugged, as he continued speaking. "I agree that there might have been a better way for you to escape your problems. We can't all kill ourselves, when life bites us in the arse. But no, you don't disgust me. No more than you usually do."
A small smirk played on his lips. "I can relate, Potter. Feeling like that is nothing to be ashamed about. Just keep it to yourself, though, instead of trying to get a bunch of attention. Believe me, this is the wrong sort of attention.
Harry couldn't believe it. The one person he expected to taunt him about his weakness, and hold it as blackmail over his head, was the understanding one? And was actually admitting to feeling that weakness at times too? This was a side of Malfoy Harry had never seen, one he was unsure how to deal with. So he dealt with the Malfoy he normally knew.
"What do you want?"
Draco frowned. "What do you mean, Potter?"
"What do you want from me, in exchange for you not sharing this with every student in Hogwarts?" Potter crossed his arms, his chin lifted with that typical Gryffindor defiance.
"I wouldn't spread this, Potter," Draco said softly. "I know what it's like to want to hide this from everybody. I'm not going to go and spread your little secret around. I wouldn't want that happening to me."
Potter's mouth opened slightly, and he seemed to be struggling for words. Draco chuckled. "You look like a fish out of water," he laughed.
Okay. Now this was getting rather eerie. Malfoy was laughing, like Harry had said something funny. But it wasn't a mean laugh. Rather the laughter that accompanied friendship. Harry shut his mouth, pressing his lips together in a pout. "Oh shut up," he grumbled.
Draco laughed even harder. "Yep, there it is. The infamous pout," he sniggered. Potter glared at him for a moment, similar to the blonde's usual glare, then his face broke into a hesitant smile, which then moved into a small chuckle.
Soon, both boys were laughing at each other. "You know me rather well, Malfoy," Harry said, once they had calmed somewhat. Malfoy shrugged.
"And you know me well too, Potter. Imitating my glare...very impressive, though you need some work on that."
Harry shrugged too. "But not too well. We don't know each other, beyond observable things."
Draco thought for a moment. "No, we don't," he said in a solemn voice. His face brightened, as a thought came to him. "Potter, you said you wished that we'd had the chance to be real enemies, that all of that was an act. If that's so, then I'd rather we be friends, then enemies. I'd hate to be your real enemy. You really know how to strike fear in a person's heart." He smirked at the Gryffindor, who protested the sarcasm.
"Fine. We can try to be friends. I can't promise I won't hex your ears off, though," Harry threatened jokingly. Malfoy grinned, as Harry stuck out a hand. "Truce?"
"Truce." Draco shook Potter's hand. "Seeing as we are friends now, and honor-bound to keep each other's dirty little secret, I will consent to your calling me by my given name, Draco."
"Only if you call me Harry."
"Deal then, Harry."
"Draco."