fanfiction | harry potter : repercussions - 4. unconscious
title: repercussions
snippet: unconscious
genre: comfort
character(s): harry ;; draco
word count: 413
rating: pg
The first thing he acknowledges when he comes to is just how much the whiteness of the place hurts his eyes. There’s a murmur to his side, right, or left, he doesn’t know, but it sounds like shouting now, screaming in his ears.
A blur of brown-black, off-white moves into his vision, but that’s all it is. A blur.
His arm feels dead, whatever dead is supposed to feel like; he supposes it’s this explosion that’s spreading to his shoulder, his neck, but he doesn’t know, because his back suddenly burns and his head pounds like ten Hippogriffs have just stamped all over it, or maybe it’s actually a Niffler, but it’s definitely not Fluffy, because… Well, because Fluffy is meant to be fluffy. Right?
No-one answers him. Or maybe they did. But he can’t hear, because those shouting have disappeared, and his ears feel numb, and now it’s turning black.
---
It’s the screams which jolt Draco from the slumber he fell into half an hour ago. He jumps from his seat, instantly shunted to the side as Healers rush into the room and attempt to calm Harry down. He watches from the side, grey eyes narrowed in concern he wouldn’t have felt before the war but is now saturated in as the man - no, boy (because they never had a chance to grow up like normal people) thrashes and attempts to fight off the Healers.
Five minutes pass, and the Healers still haven’t sedated him, scared that they will hit him in the wrong place, and then what will they do? Even though the public haven’t seen him in months, he’s still their Saviour, their Golden Boy; he’s still The Boy Who Lived (Draco nearly snorts, because he’s not doing much living, is he?)
Ten minutes pass, and Draco slowly approaches, grabbing onto the bedframe to steady himself (his leg hasn’t been the same since the fire, and it would never be the same). The Healers nearly stop in their attempts to calm him down as they watch the blonde haired man tentatively touch the bed, fingers inching nearer to the thrashing lump.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing, approaching his childhood enemy, but he pays no mind to the stares he gets from the Healers around him, gently laying a hand on the shoulder of the black haired man.
Harry lets out a sigh and, as if he hadn’t been kicking everyone away a second ago, a small smile graces his lips.
a/n: i really don't know what this is... i'm not sure what the thought behind this is... is there supposed to be some drarry...? i don't know... incoherency at its best... :/
snippet: unconscious
genre: comfort
character(s): harry ;; draco
word count: 413
rating: pg
The first thing he acknowledges when he comes to is just how much the whiteness of the place hurts his eyes. There’s a murmur to his side, right, or left, he doesn’t know, but it sounds like shouting now, screaming in his ears.
A blur of brown-black, off-white moves into his vision, but that’s all it is. A blur.
His arm feels dead, whatever dead is supposed to feel like; he supposes it’s this explosion that’s spreading to his shoulder, his neck, but he doesn’t know, because his back suddenly burns and his head pounds like ten Hippogriffs have just stamped all over it, or maybe it’s actually a Niffler, but it’s definitely not Fluffy, because… Well, because Fluffy is meant to be fluffy. Right?
No-one answers him. Or maybe they did. But he can’t hear, because those shouting have disappeared, and his ears feel numb, and now it’s turning black.
---
It’s the screams which jolt Draco from the slumber he fell into half an hour ago. He jumps from his seat, instantly shunted to the side as Healers rush into the room and attempt to calm Harry down. He watches from the side, grey eyes narrowed in concern he wouldn’t have felt before the war but is now saturated in as the man - no, boy (because they never had a chance to grow up like normal people) thrashes and attempts to fight off the Healers.
Five minutes pass, and the Healers still haven’t sedated him, scared that they will hit him in the wrong place, and then what will they do? Even though the public haven’t seen him in months, he’s still their Saviour, their Golden Boy; he’s still The Boy Who Lived (Draco nearly snorts, because he’s not doing much living, is he?)
Ten minutes pass, and Draco slowly approaches, grabbing onto the bedframe to steady himself (his leg hasn’t been the same since the fire, and it would never be the same). The Healers nearly stop in their attempts to calm him down as they watch the blonde haired man tentatively touch the bed, fingers inching nearer to the thrashing lump.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing, approaching his childhood enemy, but he pays no mind to the stares he gets from the Healers around him, gently laying a hand on the shoulder of the black haired man.
Harry lets out a sigh and, as if he hadn’t been kicking everyone away a second ago, a small smile graces his lips.
a/n: i really don't know what this is... i'm not sure what the thought behind this is... is there supposed to be some drarry...? i don't know... incoherency at its best... :/