jharad17 - Whelp

From where he huddled on his bed, in the room he was to share with Harry, Draco made no sign he had heard anyone say his name. So Severus said it again, and this time, added a, "Look at me, please."

The boy swiped his arm across his face before turning over to do so, and Severus understood more with that one gesture than he could have with any words just how well he had failed. Even now, Draco needed to appear strong, and without feelings, a legacy of the elder Malfoy that Severus had hoped to erase. He hoped now to just be given the chance.

Draco's face was splotchy, with the cut he had sustained starting to bruise around the edges, though at least it was not bleeding anymore. And his hair – generally perfectly coifed – was still messy from his broom flight and race through the castle. But the boy didn't shed tears in front of him, and held his gaze steadily, with a touch of wariness, as if expecting more scorn to be heaped upon him. The very idea pierced Severus' heart.

"I . . . spoke out of turn, earlier," Severus said to the boy. "I was . . . upset, about Harry being hurt, and I took it out on you."

Draco stared at him, eyes narrowing, but did not reply.

Severus sighed. No doubt Poppy would know if he said the actual words. "And I am sorry. I should not have given vent to my anger in such a fashion, especially when you were still in need of medical attention."

Pale eyebrows went up over grey eyes like a summer storm. "Is Harry all right?"

"He will be. You . . . you did well, in coming to find me. Much longer and I might have not been in time to get him breathing again. But he will recover. He's sleeping now."

Draco swallowed. "I really never meant for him to get hurt," he whispered.

"I know," Severus said, almost as quietly. He gestured to the boy's bed. "May I sit down?"

"Yes, sir." Draco scooted along the bed till his back was against the wall, and watched Severus sit with a mixture of surprise and dread still playing across his face. Such openness would fade in the coming years, he knew. Lucius would not allow his son's emotions to be read so easily.

"You and I need to have a frank discussion about what happened today," he started, but at a worried look from Draco, he continued, "But I think that will wait until Harry is able to take part as well. He is responsible for his own actions, after all, and I would be remiss in not addressing his lack of judgment as well as yours."

Noting the widening of his godson's eyes, he nodded. "Harry is capable of making his own choices and could have chosen not to go with you." Even as he said the words, he wasn't altogether sure they were true, after what the boy had been through with those Muggles. But if Harry wasn't able to stand up for himself now, he would be, as soon as Severus could do anything about it.

"However," he continued, "he has been through a great deal, and as a result, he may sometimes go along with activities he would normally be adverse to, because he doesn't want to lose you as a friend. And because, I believe, he admires you and wants you to think well of him. So I must ask you, Draco, if he appears especially reluctant of something – such as flying above a large body of water – to please respect that and not push him unduly." He held the boy's gaze, and hoped he was doing the right thing. "Do you understand?"

After a long moment, Draco nodded. "Yes, Uncle Sev." He looked down at his hands, then up again quickly. "He was scared, but I . . . I thought it was because he really didn't know how to fly or something." He drew a deep breath, and the look that came over his face was filled with more grownup understanding than any other child he'd ever seen . . . except perhaps for Harry. "It was bad, wasn't it? Where he was before you got him."

Severus studied the boy for a long time before answering. Finally, he realized that, no matter his faults, Draco was not his father, and he had willingly offered Harry his friendship. Being honest now would not damage whatever lay between them. "Yes, Draco. It was bad."

---

Harry woke slowly to the familiar smell of disinfectant, like his cupboard sometimes, after opening a new bottle of cleaner. For a moment, he panicked – He was back there! Father had sent him back! – until he opened his eyes and, even through the fuzzy haze of no glasses, saw sunlight streaming through high windows. He gulped a breath and made himself let it out slow. He was in a bed. In the infirmary. At Hogwarts.

Not the cupboard.

Then he remembered the rest, the deep water and darkness and screaming while water filled his mouth and nose, just like baths when Aunt Petunia tore him apart with her eyes as she held him under and he tried and tried to claw his way out. . . .

He had to get up, and get away from here, and find Father, and Draco! Frantic, he pushed up on his elbows, but pain shot through his chest, and he gasped for breath. It hurt a little, going in, but he clamped his teeth together and breathed through his nose instead, slowly.

Madam Pomfrey, a large blur in white, was by his bed in the next second. She leaned over and smiled at him. "Harry, dear. Good to see you're awake. Don't move around now, your ribs don't need that." Plumping up his pillows, she managed to get him to a sitting up position without it hardly hurting at all.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, and his voice sounded funny. Rough, like he'd been eating sand.

"Oh, there now, dear," she said and patted him lightly on the cheek. He flinched, unable to help it, and she moved her hand away. "How are you feeling?" she asked. "Does your chest hurt at all?"

"No, ma'am," Harry said, 'cause he could let Father know when he was hurt. But school nurses were right out. He knew that .

"Your shoulder?" Madam Pomfrey pressed, and held her stick – her wand – up by his arm and swished it around a bit.

"No, ma'am." He wanted desperately to ask where his father was, and if Draco was all right, but questions were right out, too. He could ask Hagrid questions, because Father had told him about Hagrid and how he liked to talk. But not Madam Pomfrey.

"Let me get you something for your throat, Harry. You swallowed a lot of water, and it's bound to be scratchy."

"It's fine, ma'am. I'm okay, thanks." He scooted over again, ready to get up and make a run for it, but the woman stepped in front of him at the side of the bed and put her hands on her hips.

"And where do you think you're going, young man?" she asked, but her voice as still kind, so Harry only flinched a little. "Your shoulder is still healing, as well as your ribs. You'll rest right there through the night, if I have anything to say about it, and you can go back home in the morning."

Harry's mouth dried out. There was his answer, then, for where his father was. He'd been really bad, probably gotten Draco hurt, too, and Father was sending him away. But he wasn't even going to say so, himself. Suddenly having no where to go, he nodded at Madam Pomfrey and slid his legs back on the bed. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away, quick. Tears weren't allowed. He knew that. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good boy. Get some rest," she said, and left him alone.

A horribly deep hole opened up beneath him and his stomach was first to fall into it, followed by his chest, and then the rest of him. He was alone again, and there was no use crawling out of the hole any more.

---

The first thing Severus noticed when he entered the infirmary, this time with Draco in tow, was that Harry was awake. The second thing he noted, when he strode closer to the boy, was that he had not seen such a blank look on Harry's face since he'd had first taken him from the Dursleys. He frowned as he stopped next to the bed, and Harry did not turn to look at him. Well, his glasses were missing, perhaps that was it.