(no subject)
Fic: What To Do When
Draco should have known when he woke up that morning that something was going to go wrong. He should have known, because it was Friday, and bad things happened on Fridays. Daniel had broken up with him the first time on a Friday. His father had found out he was gay on a Friday. His father had been Kissed on a Friday. Mother had killed herself on a Friday. Friday's were bad, horrible, foul days. So when Harry woke up that morning with only a half hour to get ready for his practice mission, Draco should have stopped him. He should have delayed him with another kiss or a quick fondle or fuck, something. Because this? This was unacceptable.
"Gone?" he demanded, hands shaking as he clenched them at his sides. "What do you mean gone? It was just a practice run, there wasn't supposed to be any real danger. How could you lose the sodding Boy Who Lived?!" His voice grew in pitch and volume with every word, until he was screeching in Kelly's face, chest tight with anxiety.
"Calm down, Draco," she told him firmly. "We're doing everything we can. Potter will be found. For now, return to your quarters."
Draco shook his head. "No. I want to help. I need to find him," he told her, taking a step forward.
"Stand down, Malfoy," she snapped. "That was an order." Her tone softened slightly, and she reached out to squeeze Draco's arm. He shied away only slightly. "I know you're worried. But rest assured that we're doing everything we can. I need you to pull yourself together and go back to your room. You're dismissed from classes for the rest of the day. We'll find him."
Draco shook on the inside. His insides clenched and his head spun and he nodded numbly, turning to leave. How he made his way back to the cabin, he had no idea, because as soon as he stepped through the door, his stomach churned, and he had to run to avoid being sick all over the floor. He clung to the toilet as he vomited, throwing up everything he’d eaten today, until everything was gone and all he could do was dry heave. Harry was gone. Gone, disappeared somewhere while he was out on his training mission. His training mission that was supposed to be perfectly controlled and absolutely safe. Gone. Draco heaved again, moaning weakly as he slowly pushed himself up. He flushed the toilet and splashed water from the sink onto his face, swishing a bit around in his mouth to get rid of the taste. Gone.
He stumbled into the main room, peeling off his training uniform, stripping down to his boxers and crawling into Harry's bed, turning his face into the pillow. Gone. Fuck. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen. Ever. His eyes burned as he curled into a ball, breathing in the scent of Harry on the pillow, in the blankets, all around him. They had to find him. His shoulders trembled, and he sucked in a harsh breath. He dragged the blankets up around him, rolling until he was wrapped in a tight cocoon. He could almost pretend, if he closed his eyes, that Harry was holding him so tightly, squeezing the life out of him. A watery sob burst out of his throat, which he promptly ignored. He wasn't crying. Absolutely not. The tears in his eyes? Dust. He turned his face into the pillow to escape the dust, trembling and taking shuddering breaths and not crying until he fell into a fitful sleep.
****
Hurt. Injured. That was all they'd told him. They'd left out that he'd nearly died, that he'd already stopped breathing twice. Draco shook violently as he watched the Medi-witches crowd around Harry's prone body through the window of the infirmary building, blocking him from view, making Draco want to scream and cry and curse until they moved, until he could see Harry's face again. This wasn't right. This wasn't right, and he shouldn't be lying there on that bloody bed, he should be awake and being a stupid arse, like he always was, and making Draco smile and making that spot in his belly do flips like it tended to do when Harry touched him.
"Stupid sod," Draco whispered, digging into his pockets. "Fucking Scarhead, get up." His hands trembled so violently that he could barely light his cigarette. He was supposed to be safe. It was a bloody practice mission. Who the fuck nearly died on a practice mission? "Bloody attention seeker." Shit, his stomach hurt.
There was a flurry of movement inside and Draco lifted his head, gazing in Harry's direction hopefully. Movement? Was that a glimpse of Harry's messy hair? He barely blinked, taking a drag off his fag. The Medi-witches parted suddenly and relief flooded Draco’s body as Harry leaned over the side of the bed and heaved violently. He was alive. He was vomiting, all over the Medi-witches shoes, looked like, but he was…alive. Alive and…vomiting blood. Red, red, all over. Draco's heart stopped beating. Harry fell back on the bed again and the Medi-witches swarmed around him. A howling reached his ears, and it took Draco a few minutes to realize it was him, he was howling, in pain, agony, horror, pounding on the window, trying to break in, break down the door, break the window, something, anything, to get in there, to get to Harry's side. It felt like someone was squeezing him, squeezing him so tightly he couldn’t breathe. All he could to was shake and cry and pound on the glass.
With a horrified sob caught in his throat, Draco sat up straight in bed. He panted, choking back his tears, untangling himself from his blankets. …Fuck. He squeezed his eyes closed and flopped back down, pressing his face back into the pillow. "No more sleep," he whispered to himself, rolling onto his back after a moment, and staring up at the ceiling. No. No more sleep.
Draco should have known when he woke up that morning that something was going to go wrong. He should have known, because it was Friday, and bad things happened on Fridays. Daniel had broken up with him the first time on a Friday. His father had found out he was gay on a Friday. His father had been Kissed on a Friday. Mother had killed herself on a Friday. Friday's were bad, horrible, foul days. So when Harry woke up that morning with only a half hour to get ready for his practice mission, Draco should have stopped him. He should have delayed him with another kiss or a quick fondle or fuck, something. Because this? This was unacceptable.
"Gone?" he demanded, hands shaking as he clenched them at his sides. "What do you mean gone? It was just a practice run, there wasn't supposed to be any real danger. How could you lose the sodding Boy Who Lived?!" His voice grew in pitch and volume with every word, until he was screeching in Kelly's face, chest tight with anxiety.
"Calm down, Draco," she told him firmly. "We're doing everything we can. Potter will be found. For now, return to your quarters."
Draco shook his head. "No. I want to help. I need to find him," he told her, taking a step forward.
"Stand down, Malfoy," she snapped. "That was an order." Her tone softened slightly, and she reached out to squeeze Draco's arm. He shied away only slightly. "I know you're worried. But rest assured that we're doing everything we can. I need you to pull yourself together and go back to your room. You're dismissed from classes for the rest of the day. We'll find him."
Draco shook on the inside. His insides clenched and his head spun and he nodded numbly, turning to leave. How he made his way back to the cabin, he had no idea, because as soon as he stepped through the door, his stomach churned, and he had to run to avoid being sick all over the floor. He clung to the toilet as he vomited, throwing up everything he’d eaten today, until everything was gone and all he could do was dry heave. Harry was gone. Gone, disappeared somewhere while he was out on his training mission. His training mission that was supposed to be perfectly controlled and absolutely safe. Gone. Draco heaved again, moaning weakly as he slowly pushed himself up. He flushed the toilet and splashed water from the sink onto his face, swishing a bit around in his mouth to get rid of the taste. Gone.
He stumbled into the main room, peeling off his training uniform, stripping down to his boxers and crawling into Harry's bed, turning his face into the pillow. Gone. Fuck. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen. Ever. His eyes burned as he curled into a ball, breathing in the scent of Harry on the pillow, in the blankets, all around him. They had to find him. His shoulders trembled, and he sucked in a harsh breath. He dragged the blankets up around him, rolling until he was wrapped in a tight cocoon. He could almost pretend, if he closed his eyes, that Harry was holding him so tightly, squeezing the life out of him. A watery sob burst out of his throat, which he promptly ignored. He wasn't crying. Absolutely not. The tears in his eyes? Dust. He turned his face into the pillow to escape the dust, trembling and taking shuddering breaths and not crying until he fell into a fitful sleep.
****
Hurt. Injured. That was all they'd told him. They'd left out that he'd nearly died, that he'd already stopped breathing twice. Draco shook violently as he watched the Medi-witches crowd around Harry's prone body through the window of the infirmary building, blocking him from view, making Draco want to scream and cry and curse until they moved, until he could see Harry's face again. This wasn't right. This wasn't right, and he shouldn't be lying there on that bloody bed, he should be awake and being a stupid arse, like he always was, and making Draco smile and making that spot in his belly do flips like it tended to do when Harry touched him.
"Stupid sod," Draco whispered, digging into his pockets. "Fucking Scarhead, get up." His hands trembled so violently that he could barely light his cigarette. He was supposed to be safe. It was a bloody practice mission. Who the fuck nearly died on a practice mission? "Bloody attention seeker." Shit, his stomach hurt.
There was a flurry of movement inside and Draco lifted his head, gazing in Harry's direction hopefully. Movement? Was that a glimpse of Harry's messy hair? He barely blinked, taking a drag off his fag. The Medi-witches parted suddenly and relief flooded Draco’s body as Harry leaned over the side of the bed and heaved violently. He was alive. He was vomiting, all over the Medi-witches shoes, looked like, but he was…alive. Alive and…vomiting blood. Red, red, all over. Draco's heart stopped beating. Harry fell back on the bed again and the Medi-witches swarmed around him. A howling reached his ears, and it took Draco a few minutes to realize it was him, he was howling, in pain, agony, horror, pounding on the window, trying to break in, break down the door, break the window, something, anything, to get in there, to get to Harry's side. It felt like someone was squeezing him, squeezing him so tightly he couldn’t breathe. All he could to was shake and cry and pound on the glass.
With a horrified sob caught in his throat, Draco sat up straight in bed. He panted, choking back his tears, untangling himself from his blankets. …Fuck. He squeezed his eyes closed and flopped back down, pressing his face back into the pillow. "No more sleep," he whispered to himself, rolling onto his back after a moment, and staring up at the ceiling. No. No more sleep.