Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Masks of Real Heroes	By : Aelys_Althea Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 17755 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Many thanks to the wonderful J. K. Rowling who offered such a beautiful world for amateurs such as myself to frolick in. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction and all characters and original storylines of Harry Potter belong to her!

Chapter List
- 19
- 20
- 21
WARNING: this chapter contains references to violence and torture. It's only brief and vague, but tread carefully if that worries you.

Chapter 19: Heartbroken
Draco moved in a daze. Everything seemed disjointed, slightly splintered, as though he were peering at a reflection in a broken mirror whose pieces didn't quite fit together anymore. Wherever he hazily turned his glance around the shadowed recesses of the dark rooms, the colours seemed just slightly too bright yet oddly washed out as though even brightened the life had been drawn from the world.
Swallowing, Draco clenched Harry's hand more firmly in his own. He hadn't let go since his friend had drawn him from his stunned stasis. The first thing Draco had seen after Dumbledore's words had filtered into his ears was Harry's face, Harry's eyes swimming with softness and gentleness and sympathy, and it had undone him. He had never cried so hard in his entire life.
Gone. My father is gone… He's dead, and I'll never see him again… And Mother, what will happen to her? Will she die too? I can't lose them both, I can't…
It had been too much for him, too overwhelming. His parents, his beloved parents… his family was broken.
"Skilled Legilimens that your mother was," Draco had flinched at the headmaster's use of the past tense, but understanding hadn't quite settled enough for him to feel anything more yet, "your father was not. I can only assume, as there is no way to be certain, that he read Lucius' mind and learned of the change in allegiance."
Dumbledore had bowed his head, sadness ageing the man in a way that Draco had never thought he would bare witness to. "I am so sorry, my boy."
"What… what do you mean? I don't…" Draco's voice had been barely a whisper, hoarse and cracking.
"Draco, your father… your mother…"
Cringing as the words played into his mind once more, Draco felt a shudder ripple down his spine. How was this possible? How had it happened? Draco had assumed they would be safe when they went to Dumbledore, when they'd sided with the light. How had he been so impossibly wrong?
Biting back another sob, Draco closed his eyes. I was offered protection, and he gave it to me. Why couldn't he protect them too?
And in a thought even louder than that: It's all my fault. It's my fault my parents are… He couldn't even think it. It hurt too much. Like a Cutting Hex had ripped open his chest, leaving his heart to claw and struggle its way from the gaping cavity. My fault… all my fault…
"No, it is not."
It took a moment for the words to register; Draco hadn't even realised he'd spoken his thoughts aloud. With rapid blinks, he turned towards Harry, seated on the couch beside him and staring at him with a fierce intensity that Draco had never seen before. Not in shy, quiet unobtrusive Harry. It was determination, and strength, and… something Draco had only ever seen in his parents' eyes before: protectiveness.
"Draco, this is not your fault. There is only one person to blame for what has happened; there has only ever been one person. Don't even consider trying to shoulder the blame for something that is not your fault."
Harry spoke with such force that Draco almost felt himself believe him. That wailing voice in the back of his mind resolutely denied the suggestion, but the echoing ring of Harry's words fought valiantly to smother it.
"But if I hadn't…"
"What? Sought protection? Tried to save yourself and rely upon the only person who could offer anything that even remotely gave you a chance to survive?"
"If I had fixed the Cabinet… If I had done more…"
Harry grasped his hand more firmly, demandingly, and Draco turned sore, puffy eyes towards him. "And what? Sentenced every person in this school to their deaths? Committed atrocities equal to those the Death Eaters have done? You've read the papers as well as I have, Draco. You're not the sort of person who would ever do such things."
He knew Harry was right. He wasn't a Death Eater at heart; he had never been. It was a role, a duty, thrust upon him due to circumstance. Something unavoidable, like the growing up, or following in his father's footsteps as the Malfoy heir. But it doesn't help, it doesn't alleviate the guilt… the horror… It doesn't stop it from hurting.
As though he could see the hurt like a physical injury, Harry seemed to dampen his ferocity and let sympathy take its place. Sighing, he looped his free hand around Draco's neck and pulled him down until his forehead pressed against Harry's shoulder. It was a little awkward, the position a little uncomfortable, but Draco couldn't help melting into the bony support of his friend's embrace.
It hurts… it hurts so much…
Harry had taken to gently stroking Draco's hair. It was the same soft caresses that Draco had seen when his mother touched Harry's head.. The same as the touches she used to stroke him with in his childhood.
Will she ever again? Why did I ever tell her to stop?
The tears that welled up stung as they spilled over his eyelids. He hadn't realised he even had enough left within him to cry.
It was an indefinite time later that they finally slowed. Slowed, then stopped. Draco felt drained, exhausted, yet he doubted he would ever sleep again. It was only when he raised his head slightly from Harry's shoulder that he realised someone had entered the room.
Snape's quarters, he realised absently. He didn't even remember entering them. Of course it would be Snape who was standing in his own rooms.
Apparently noticing that Draco had become aware of his presence, Snape swept quietly forward to the side of the couch. There must have been at least a slight sound of shoes on hard wooden floor, for Harry whipped his head towards him an instant later. Snape barely spared him a glance, however. His eyes were trained on Draco.
Without preemption, Snape pulled a small glass orb from his pocket. It looked like a colourless marble, only the size of a clenched fist. He held it out to Draco who reached out hesitantly and accepted it. His hands shook slightly.
"The portkey will take you straight to St. Mungos' Entrance Hall. I apologise for the delay in getting it to you; your own safety had to be considered, and Aurors posted in place for your arrival at the hospital. We are unsure of the degree to which the Dark Lord may pursue you as of yet. There can never be too many precautions."
"Hospital?" Harry's voice had resumed its usual quietness, tone absent of the intensity it had held before.
Snape glanced towards him, regarding him for slightly longer this time as he spoke. "Narcissa arrived at St. Mungos in a critical condition. It was uncertain she would survive the night. However, due to the skill and expertise of the Mediwizards and witches on hand…"
Draco didn't hear the rest. He hadn't given himself the chance to hope, not after beholding the saddened expression on Dumbledore's face as he informed him that his mother was teetering on the verge of oblivion.
A tidal wave of relief gripped him, flooding through him like the effects of a strong Pepper-Up potion. His chest was still wrapped in a vice, shrouded in an insuppressible longing for his father, a grief for everything he had lost, but the relief he felt over his mother's survival enabled him to breath properly for the first time since Dumbledore had spoken to him.
"She's alive…"
Snape paused at the interruption, turning his attention towards Draco. He watched as his godfather clenched his jaw and nodded shortly. "She is."
"Thank the Gods." Tears welled up once more, but Draco fought to keep them from spilling.
"Draco, you must be aware. Your mother is in a very fragile state. She has only just been stabilized enough that –"
"But she's alive, isn't she?"
"Yes, she is alive. However, the trauma she has undergone… We do not yet know the extent of the damage. She is very weak, and very fragile. While she is physically stable, her mind is, as of yet, not."
Draco fought to swallow the bile that rose in his throat. Her mind is not stable? What does that even mean? She'll survive, though, right? She's not going to die too? She won't leave me, she can't leave me too, she can't, she can't…
"We can visit her, though?" Harry's voice broke through the soft chanting in his head. Visit? Yes, I could visit, I will visit her, I have to see her!
Frowning, Snape shifted his stare to Harry once more. "Draco has received permission to visit her –"
"And I will go with him, sir. Provided the portkey is capable of transporting us both." Mellow as it was, Harry's tone brooked no argument. Even in his half-maddened state, Draco had to admire his friend's capacity to stand up to Snape. Draco had known the man for years and still felt the urge to cower from him more often than not.
For whatever reason, Snape didn't dispute the claim. Maybe he just accepted the fact that he would get nowhere with further argument and had somewhere else he'd rather be. He nodded shortly once more before speaking. He directed his words to Harry, though, rather than Draco, as though he had more faith in Harry to abide by his directions. Draco couldn't even summon the energy to be disgruntled by the fact.
"You will meet two Aurors upon arrival. They will recognise Draco, at least. Though St. Mungo's in warded to protect the safety of its patients from external attacks, so Narcissa is protected, the same cannot be said for you both as merely visitors." Snape's eyes stared penetratingly at Harry, and Harry nodded slowly in acknowledgement. "You are to remain in their company throughout your visitation, until you return back to Hogwarts."
"Of course, sir."
Snape nodded his head again curtly, folding his arms into the sleeves of his robes. He shifted his gaze to Draco, who simply stared back at him in a haze of overpowering and confusing emotion. "Whenever you are ready, then."
For some reason, Draco couldn't find it within himself to speak the intonation that would transport them to the hospital. His relief was coupled with a newly kindled and rapidly growing fear. Mother is alright, isn't she? What if she has been tortured irreparably, or crippled, or her memories tampered with? The thought caused him to grip the glass orb so tightly his fingernails squeaked on the buffered surface.
Harry took pity on his hesitancy. Enclosing fingers tightening around Draco's once more, he met his gaze and offered a small smile. "Are you ready?'
Draco drew a deep breath, closing his eyes and squeezing them tightly. He wasn't sure if he was ready, but he certainly wasn't going to wait any longer than he had to. It had nearly killed him when Dumbledore had said he would be unable to visit the hospital until his safety could be assured.
With a clipped nod, he opened his eyes. "Yes." His words were more of a croak than a whisper.
Pausing for a moment as though discerning the truth of Draco's words, Harry nodded, turned his attention to the portkey and muttered 'Portus'. The redundant thought that the word could have been the first verbalization of a spell he'd done in weeks passed through Draco's mind in the split second before the magic set in.
The tug in his belly lurched him from the couch into blinding swirls of motion, a dizzying tunnel that he barely had time to feel queasy from before his feet slammed into hard floor and he was staggering to steady himself. Harry stumbled similarly, and for a moment the memory of their arrival in Hogsmeade barely three weeks ago resurfaced. A sharp pang of longing, of pain, speared through Draco and he had to struggle to shoulder it aside.
No, not now. I cannot feel now, I can't let it out. For he was abruptly in public once more. And if there was one thing a Malfoy learnt, it was that ones mask should always be firmly affixed when in public.
His father had taught him that.
Hardening his features, ignoring the remaining puffiness in his eyes that he only detachedly hoped that the strangers around him would overlook, Draco straightened his spine and cast a quick glance around himself. The Entrance Hall of St. Mungo's was hardly worth commenting on; it had that glowing whiteness of public facilities that was only faintly offset by patterned carpet. A service desk with a rather bored looking witch seated behind it was the only object in the large expanse of space other than a potted vase in the far corner that looked like it had seen better days and a plump couch to the left of the front doors. On either side of the service desk, twin sets of staircases extended a dozen steps before flattening and trailing into the unseen distance. Draco had only ever been to St. Mungo's once before, when he was a child and had suffered from a bout of magical fever. The place didn't look like it had changed an ounce. It was oddly reassuring.
A faint tugging on his fingers drew his attention from his surroundings. Glancing down towards the glass orb still clutched tightly in his hand, Draco's eyes rose to behold the request in Harry's gaze. With a shrug, he forsook the portkey into Harry's care. The dark-haired boy slipped it into his pocket awkwardly – it was just slightly too big – before lacing his fingers back into Draco's.
He should have pulled his hand away. It was improper, really, and even though Draco had on several instances held his friend's hand in public, he knew his parents would not have entirely approved. Yet in that moment, that feeling of cool skin and slender fingers was the only thing that kept his shoulders from trembling. He wouldn't let it go for the world.
"Draco Malfoy?"
Turning at the sound of his name, Draco was locked eyes with a tall, dark-haired woman across the foyer. He didn't recognise her, but that was hardly surprising. He doubted he would recognise any Auror that was likely to be assigned to him, regardless of the fact that he was supposed to be a member of the Order. Or under their protection, at least.
The woman strode across the wide expanse of empty space. She was one of only four milling individuals in the Entrance Hall, and one other, a man, appeared to be her companion. They made an odd couple, he as short and stout as she was tall and almost woodenly rigid. She stepped straight towards Draco and nodded with the same woodenness.
"Emmaline Vince, Mr. Malfoy. I am here to accompany you on your visit. This is Dedalus Diggle, my partner for the moment." She gestured towards the stout wizard who stepped forward at his name, nodding his head with a bob that nearly unseated the hat atop his head. His absent fiddling with his greying beard was at odds to Vince's cool composure. Draco felt more comfortable with the woman; she steadiness seemed to encourage his own.
Nodding, he opened his mouth to reply. It took two attempts; his voice seemed to have settled itself somewhere down in the vicinity of his chest. "Thank you. Your assistance is appreciated."
Vince nodded in turn before shifting her gaze towards Harry. Harry didn't even appear to notice; he seemed more concerned with staring at the remaining occupants of the hall, a woman dressed in a hospital gown and man patting her comfortingly on the back and murmuring inaudibly into her ear. Vince raised an eyebrow questioningly towards Draco.
"My friend, Harry. He's just here to…" He trailed off. It wasn't like he was going to tell the Aurors the truth, that he sorely needed the support of a friend. No, not just a friend. Harry would always be more than that. And in that moment, Draco sorely needed Harry.
Not that Vince seemed to need an explanation. Her eyes dropped briefly towards their still-clasped hands and surprisingly softened slightly. "Of course." A glance towards Diggle and she gestured towards the service desk. "Shall we?"
The bored witch directed them up three levels and down a rabbit warren of white corridors to Critical Care, an area that as it turned out was abuzz with activity and nearly full to bursting with patients, carers and medi-staff. Draco had to steel himself for a moment when he set foot into the ward from the sparsely filled hallways. The moans of feeble patients and demands for assistance rung like the desolate cries of a ghoul through the sterile halls.
My mother is in there. It didn't seem right. The last time Draco had seen his mother she had been as strong and capable as ever. More, for he had needed her to be as he whispered his fears into her shoulder before she finally took her leave. She wasn't the same as these patients. He struggled not to stare as a bed was levitated past, carrying a wizard so wrapped in bandages that barely an inch of skin was visible.
Except that she is. What… has happened to her? The pain was back, the ache in his chest that bespoke a creature attempting to wrench his lungs out returned. And more than that. There was fear. What would he find? What if he couldn't handle what he saw?
He would forever be thankful that Harry insisted upon accompanying him. As Vince and Diggle awaited his movement, Harry saw immediately that he wouldn't be able to manage it himself. He was struggle enough to ensure that he remained composed at the sight of the medi-wizards and witches that whipped past in an efficient frenzy. That same composure didn't extend to urging his legs into motion.
Another tug on his hand, however, and Harry was drawing him into the white-walled ward. Their shoes rung as they moved from carpet to clean tiles, similarly white and reflecting the pale magical lighting that illuminated the interior of the hospital; no candles were to be seen inside the immaculate halls.
The clicking of four pairs of shoes was all that accompanied them as they passed room after room. Three hundred and ten… three hundred and eleven… three hundred and twelve… Most doors were closed, but those that were open depicted scenes confronting enough that Draco immediately deflected his gaze.
Three hundred and seventeen… three hundred and eighteen…
They stopped outside the door. It was closed, like so many of the others, and for the first time Draco wished it was open, even if only a little. He was having difficulty breathing again, and only just managed to keep his struggle from playing out over his face. What would he find behind that door? His mother so wrapped in bandages as to be unrecognizable? A nattering mad-woman like the one he had caught a glimpse of five doors down? He couldn't lift his hand to the door handle, couldn't move an inch.
Vince, for all her professionalism, seemed to perceive his struggle. Hesitating only slightly, she reached forwards and eased the door open. When Draco made no move to step inside, she led the way. The dimness of the room seemed to seep into the corridor.
"Draco?"
Struggling to turn his gaze from the foreboding entry, Draco met Harry's eyes. They were steady yet soft, in a way that only he seemed able to express. "I don't know if I…" He trailed off, conscious of Diggle standing not two feet behind him and very obviously averting his gaze.
"You don't have to," Harry murmured, shrugging casually as if they were discussion nothing so much as a shopping venture and Draco had professed his desire to by-pass a particular store. "No one is forcing you to. But Draco, don't forego the opportunity if you think you'll regret it."
Swallowing, Draco nodded. He would regret it. He knew. But why was it so hard? Just one step, one single step into the room that he couldn't even force himself to properly peer into.
Harry made up his mind for him. Stepping forwards, he walked slowly through the doorway. Draco either had to follow his lead or let go of his friend's hand, and he would never do the latter. So his sunk into the darkness of the room.
It was a simple set up, and rather gloomy with the curtains pulled across a double window. A simple single armchair was wedged in one corner of the little room beside a square table that held a water pitcher, foam cups and a collection of yellowing magazines Draco didn't care to identify. A door to the left of the entrance held a simple yet clean bathroom, and the only other item in the room was the bed. Plain yet sturdy, it wasn't a four-poster yet boasted curtains that hung limply tied back at the headboard.
His mother lay still upon the thin mattress.
She wasn't covered in bandages. She didn't possess a multitude of burns of scars, and her limbs were not twisted like those of a cripple. Yet still, Draco felt as though a solid weight crushed his chest, squeezing and denying him a whisper of breath. No, she wasn't crippled, but she looked so ill it brought those unavoidable, hot tears to his eyes once more. Her skin was waxen and faintly yellow, lips chapped and cheeks hollow beneath closed eyes and black smudges. Her hair looked as though someone had attempted to tidy it, but still hung limply and messily, half tangled. Her arms, folded atop one another over the sheets covering her belly, twitched even in sleep, fingers picking slightly as though seeking to peel the skin from her own wrists.
If he hadn't been taught so well, Draco would have choked. What happened to her? How could she have been so…
No, don't think about it. She wasn't dead; at least she wasn't dead. And she didn't appear injured, at least physically. At least externally. Not like –'
No, don't think about him. It was hard; every memory, every recollection of the support of his father was clamoring for attention, but… You can't think about him, not now. Mother is here, she is alive. It is better than you had feared. Anything is better than you had feared.
Taking an unsteady step forwards, tugging Harry along with him, Draco knelt slowly onto the ground at her bedside. The hardness of the floor was painful even through his robes, but he ignored the slight discomfort. With a hand that only faintly trembled, he reached out and stroked his fingers gently down his mother's arm. She flinched slightly in her sleep.
She's alive… she's alive… she's alive…
It was a constant chant. He had to keep reminding himself. And gradually, despite the pain that still seized his chest, relief gradually grew once to counteract his horror, fighting for attention.
She's alive… that's all that matters…
"You are Mr. Draco Malfoy?"
An unfamiliar voice caused him to glance towards the door. A plump mediwitch, dressed in the customary set green robes and carrying a sheaf of papers upon a clipboard, filled the doorway. A smile was set upon her face, but it was purely professional.
Nodding, Draco rose slowly to his feet. He was only faintly aware of Vince and Diggle easing themselves towards him slightly. He wondered if they perceived the woman as a threat or if it was purely a reflexive response. "Yes?"
The smile widened slightly, and gained a modicum of warmth. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Malfoy. My name is Amanda Goodwillow. I have been responsible for your mother's care since her admittance three days ago." She offered another soft smile. "I am pleased you were able to come so quickly. I have informed your temporary guardian of your mother's status, but I always feel it's best to tell the family directly."
Draco nodded, pondering distractedly for a moment the identity of his temporary guardian. Probably Dumbledore. The headmaster was the most likely choice, given the circumstances. "Please. What can you tell me?"
The witch glanced towards his mother, lips quirking slightly. "Perhaps you would prefer to relocate -? No, no, it's fine, it is unnecessary." She hastily revised her statement as Draco opened his mouth to object, frowning. "I can understand your reluctance to leave. No matter."
Dropping her gaze to the papers in her hands, she cleared her throat. She paused, peering warily at Draco for a moment as though considering discontinuing her words once more. As Draco deepened his frown, however, she spoke. "Your mother is suffering from severe magical exhaustion and mental instability, a result of repeated exposure to uninhibited Legilimens attack." She flipped a page, eyes still fastened to the written words scrawled on the paper. Draco was grateful for the fact; he didn't know how well he was managing to keep his poker face. He couldn't even tell if he was still frowning. "The nerve damage suggests repeated use of a psychological torture curse," she paused, lifting her gaze. "I am sorry. If my bluntness is trying for you, please inform me."
Draco shook his head, swallowing thickly, and gestured for her to continue. She pinned him with a stare for a moment before continuing. "My best guess would be repeated exposure to the Cruciatus Curse – the nerve damage is fairly easy to discern – but there is muscular damage and even some microscopic bone deterioration that suggests a compilation of additional curses. Likely a Brittleness Hex and a Seizing Curse, enhanced with a Target Charm. The pain receptors are slightly strained, but not overtly. If she was a victim of such, she has come out the other side of it with remarkably fortunate."
Draco bit back on the urge to growl at the woman. Fortune? What about the situation was fortunate? He was saved, however, from potentially launching himself at the mediwitch by a faint mumbling behind him. Spinning hastily, he strode back to his mother's side, dropping to the floor once more. Harry's fingers fell from his own as he grasped his mother's in both hands.
"Mother? Mother, can you hear me?"
"She hasn't woken fully yet, Mr. Malfoy. Psychological assaults are often the longest in recovery." Goodwillow's voice held the same kind professionalism as her initial smile. She sighed regretfully. "So many victims of Death Eater attacks these days. Your mother is my third patient in as many weeks."
Barely hearing her, Draco leant forward towards his mother. Her eyelids twitched slightly as her eyes rolled, fluttering as though struggling to open. A frown wrinkled her brow and, accompanied as it was by another feeble moan, he feared she was in pain. He didn't have a chance to ask the mediwitch, however, as a moment later her eyelids peeled open.
"Mother?"
Blinking rapidly, his mother seemed to be wrestling herself into consciousness. Her eyes were glassy from Draco could see of them and the whites tinged a faint, unhealthy yellow. Her pupils were contracted so small that Draco doubted she actually perceived anything around herself.
"Mother? Can you hear me?"
At the sound of his voice, his mother rocked her head limply towards him. The flatness of the gaze she turned upon him nearly caused him to sob. There was not a glimmer of recognition.
Reaching up, he stroked a hand over her forehead. It was warm, unnaturally so, and faintly sweaty. He tried not to gasp when she flinched from the touch.
"Mother, are you –?"
Her head rocked towards him once more but this time there was a glimmer of awareness in her gaze. Her pupils expanded and contracted, as though at the mercy of rapid Enlarging and Shrinking Charms, and this time he flinched himself when she paused in tossing her head to snarl at him.
"Don't… touch… him… bastard…"
Her voice was wild, animalistic, even though it was barely a hoarse whisper. Her breaths came in pants. With her lips curled back, she looked like a cornered wolf. Draco had never seen his mother like that before and he was frozen in shock. He barely registered the anxious twittering of Goodwillow behind him as she fussed to reassure them that it wasn't anything to become upset about. That such had happened before.
A moment later, the snarl slipped from her face and her eyes slipped shut. She seemed to struggle for a moment to maintain wakefulness, but rapidly lost the battle and sunk into limp oblivion. This time, however, her stillness didn't look as peaceful as the restfulness of a recovering victim. He could almost see the turmoil writhing beneath her skin.
"Mr. Malfoy…"
It was too close in the room. Too dark, and there were too many people for such a small space. Draco felt like the collar of his shirt had abruptly constricted, his robes becoming too warm and his shoes too tight.
I have to get out of here.
He didn't pause to thank the medi-witch. Didn't stop to inform Vince and Diggle of his departure. He couldn't even wait to tell Harry that he needed – needed – to escape the room.
He didn't quite run, but it was a near thing.

Harry felt his heart ache in pain as he watched his friend disappear from the room with such speed it was almost as though he had Apparated. He didn't hear Goodwillow's sympathetic words as she informed Emmaline and Dedalus that 'seeing a loved one in such a state was often quite traumatic for families'.
Draco had been holding himself together so admirably. Harry had oddly proud and a little awed; he knew from past experience that Draco possessed the ability to make himself completely devoid of expression, but what he'd managed in the last twenty-four hours seemed as though it were on a whole new level. He had entered the hospital, greeted the Aurors and proceeded to Narcissa's room as though it were a routine visit. One could have even overlooked the slight redness of his eyes for the way he comported himself. Even his hesitancy in entering the room had not appeared particularly noteworthy. Simply a moment to clear his head before entering. And enter he did, with only slight encouragement.
As soon as Narcissa had awoken, Harry had known Draco would be not be able to hold himself together much longer. It had been like a blow to the gut for Harry, to see the woman he had come to care for so deeply appear so damaged. He could hardly even contemplate how hard it must have been for Draco.
Even composed as he had been, Harry knew his friend better; it wasn't even because he had witnessed Draco's display of grief not an hour beforehand and knew what he managed to only just keep hidden. He could see the difficulty growing, manifesting, like a sentient beast and struggling against the restraints Draco impressed upon it. Then Narcissa had snarled and Harry had been sure. He had just been too slow to offer his friend comfort before he had darted from the room.
I can't leave him alone. Not after that. It was the only thought that passed through Harry's head before he was hastening through the door after Draco. Emmaline was right on his tail – ever the Auror, Draco was under her protection, so he should have expected as much – while Dedalus remained to convey his thanks to the doctor and express his regrets that they weren't staying longer.
Running along the corridor of the Critical Care ward, Harry dodged around doctors and what he assumed were nurses, scanning ahead of him for a sight of Draco and struggling to suppress his urge to run. The blonde was just disappearing around a distant corner; he wasn't running, but still maintained an admirable speed. Harry hastened his own.
Draco actually made it the whole way back to the foyer before Harry managed to catch a hold of him. Grasping his arm in a tight grip, Harry swung himself in front of his friend, planting another hand on his chest to stop him in his tracks. Draco's face was a frozen mask, as pale and emotionless as a carved statue. He didn't even seem to realise it was Harry who stood before him until he blinked rapidly and met his gaze.
"Draco. Stop."
Draco flinched at his words. Harry sighed regretfully; he hadn't meant it to sound like a reprimand. He just didn't think that his friend would respond well to choice right now. Stepping closer to him, he met Draco's eyes squarely and held them fast.
"Calm down. Just breathe. It's alright. She's alright. She will get better."
For a moment, Draco didn't respond. Harry continued a soothing litany of encouraging words, soft and quiet, and eventually Draco drew in a ragged breath. He seemed to sag rather than inflate with the air; his shoulders slumped and the stillness of his face slipped into something that bordered on heartbroken. Or maybe it was, and Harry just wasn't familiar with the expression.
"She was… she…"
"I know. But it's alright. She will get better. She will." Harry raised the hand from Draco's chest and placed firmly upon his other shoulder. "Dumbledore would not have told you, wouldn't have let you visit, if she wasn't going to at least get a little better. You know that, right?"
It was shaky and slow in coming, but eventually Draco nodded. "I know."
"It will just take time."
"I know." His voice choked slightly.
"And you can be here for her whenever you'd like. Dumbledore can't stop you." I won't let him, Harry thought, and that flicker of anger, of protectiveness that he always felt for Draco, fluttered within him again.
Draco moaned, low and pained and deep in his throat, as though the words sent a physical ache through him. His brow quivered, caught on the verge of folding and leaving him sobbing. And in that instant, Harry didn't care what his friend thought about public appearances. He didn't care that someone might see the Draco Malfoy crying in front of strangers. With one fluid motion, he closed the slight distance between them and for the second time that day tugged Draco's head to his shoulder and wrapped him in a tight embrace.
I thank whatever weird glitch there is in my psyche that I can actually hug him. The thought skittered across the surface of his mind. Even if it is only to be able to comfort him, I'm glad I can touch him for this.
Draco held himself stiffly for a moment, but not nearly as long as Harry had considered he might. In moments, he slumped into him, forehead pressing against his shoulder and arms rising to latch tightly around Harry's waist. So tightly Harry almost couldn't breathe, but he didn't mind. Please, please just feel better. No, not even that. Just let yourself feel without trying to hide it.
Over his hunched shoulders, Harry could see Emmaline standing respectfully across the foyer, her eyes drifting around the room and only pausing on them briefly. As she met Harry's eyes, a small, sad smile touched her lips. Harry returned it in kind, mouthing to her a silent thanks as he began to gently pat Draco on the back. Emmaline inclined her head in acknowledgement before turning back to her watch.
They stood for an indeterminate amount of time. Long enough for a number of visitors to skirt around them and disappear further into the hospital or through the glass doors of the entrance. No one expressed anything but sympathy and sadness at Draco's grief-stricken immobility. It made Harry regret that he hadn't embraced his friend earlier.
There was one man, though, who stared a little differently. Harry felt the heat of his gaze before he noticed him, and turned his head slightly to meet the amber eyes of the man standing at the service desk. He was a tall, thin, unassuming man, dressed in rather worn clothes and with mousy brown hair and the scratching of a beard upon his cheeks. It was his stare, though, that really made him stand out. He clamped his gaze upon Harry and Draco with something bordering on shock, his mouth slightly ajar and eyes gradually widening.
What? Is it so hard to believe that Draco would need support? In a hospital? Harry felt an upwelling of unexpected resentment towards the man, a novel experience as he had always been largely indifferent to strangers. It must have shown on his face, for the man started and dropped his gaze back to the woman at the service desk.
It was enough for Harry, though. Turning towards Emmaline, he waited until he caught her eye once more. He didn't even have to raise his voice to call her; she started towards them without request.
"I think we're going to go back to school now."
The woman nodded solemnly. "As you wish." Her eyes drifted to Draco's back, his head still dropped on Harry's shoulder as though tired. "All the best Mr… Harry. Mr. Malfoy."
"Thank you, Ms. Vince. We really appreciate your help today."
"It's my pleasure."
Sharing a smile, Harry dropped his hand into his pocket and struggled to unearth the small glass bowl. With a final glance around the foyer – the amber-eyed man was looking towards them once more– he muttered the intonation and they disappeared from the hospital.
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The Masks of Real Heroes