Fall

"Here, take his left side," Lupin's voice was urgent.

"He's bleeding pretty badly, Professor. Can you do a healing spell for him?" Weasley's voice, deeper than he remembered.

"It doesn't seem to be working," Lupin answered. Draco felt himself being picked up by two people with bony elbows. "Let's get him to the house."

The familiar sensation of being portkey overwhelmed him and his stomach churned. He tried to remember which side Weasley was on to throw up on him, but he didn't have enough control of his muscles to direct his head. He threw up on someone, but he had no idea who because neither people said anything about it.

"Get some water," Lupin said. He was being lowered to a lumpy bed.

"Is he going to die?" Weasley sounded like he might be concerned. Draco wanted to snort, but the sound he did make sounded more like a gasp for air.

"Not if I can help it--"

~~~

There was a cool towel on his brow. Tentatively, Draco tried to open his eyes. He only managed slits. It felt as if his eyes were swollen shut. His vision was so blurred he could not discern where he was. The room was bathed in gray darkness except for a fire that danced at the edge of his vision.

Faintly he heard voices. He turned his head towards it with effort, as sharp pain shot up his neck. There were two people sitting by the fireplace. Despite the fuzziness of his

vision, Draco could make out fiery red hair. Weasley. The two people were talking, and Draco focused on their hushed voices.

"...I wish we could get him to St. Mungo's," Weasley said.

"It's too dangerous. They are watching St. Mungo for him," Lupin was talking. "His presence there would endanger the injured."

"You know, I've fantasized about this," Weasley laughed mirthlessly. "Reality doesn't live up to fantasy. I almost feel guilty to have ever wished this upon him."

"Reality of suffering is never satisfying," Lupin said. A pause. "Ron... do you want to go back to St. Mungo's? I'm sure Cho or one of the others would switch places with you."

"No, Professor, Ginny can take care of Fred," Weasley answered. "I'm aright, really. I had prepared myself for this."

"Ron..."

"This is where I'm needed. Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have assigned me here otherwise," Weasley's voice dropped slightly. "Though if someone had told me a year ago that I'd be here protecting Malfoy, I'd told them to get their head checked."

"War makes strange bedfellows."

Something beeped somewhere, but Draco could not tell where the sound came from. Weasley got up and approached him. Draco quickly closed his eyes.

He felt Weasley's hands on him with more gentleness than he would have expected. Weasley removed the towel, then slowly and carefully, Weasley turned him to his side facing away from the fireplace. It was surprisingly painless. A hand was placed on his brow.

"I think he's fever is going down," Weasley said.

The hand left him and he could feel Weasley walking away.

"How are things holding up at Hogwarts?" Weasley asked.

"Still being attacked from both sides, but Harry is gaining an edge."

A loud sigh. "I wish I was there with him."

"We still have not been able to break the lines of the dementors and send enforcements to them," said Lupin.

"Merlin knows how many are injured." A dull sound of a fist striking the wall. "If I hadn't been at St. Mungo's when the attacks started, I'd be there with them. With Harry."

"It isn't your fault, Ron."

Silence. A long moment passed.

"You better get going, Professor," Weasley said. "They need you back at Ministry. I'll be all right. I'll keep Malfoy safe until he wakes up. And when he does wake up... well, I reckon I will shut him up with a sleeping draught."

Lupin laughed softly. "How about a game of chess before I go, Ron?"

"Are you sure you have the time?"

Draco did not hear Lupin's answer, but there was a long silence broken only by chess pieces knocking each other off every so often.

In the silence, the memories that flooded back to him in pieces: the flash of light from his wand; avada kedavra; the way Snape's shook though Draco could only see his back; and the choice he made.

Draco bit his lips. The choice he made.

~~~

Draco didn't remember sliding back into unconsciousness, but when he came to again the room was filled with light and he found that he could open his eyes a little more.

Weasley was asleep on the ground next to him. His long lanky body covered flimsily by a blanket.

He tested to see if he could move by slowly lifting his hand. His hand shook uncontrollably, but he was able to flex his fingers.

"You are awake," dark blue eyes looked up at him.

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but his voice refused to come out.

"Don't try to talk. You screamed your voice raw," Weasley scrambled to get up.

Draco stared at Weasley.

Great, Draco moaned inwardly, an opportunity for Weasley to be as insulting as he wanted to be without being able defend myself.

"I wouldn't insult you when you can't retaliate, Malfoy. I'm not a Slytherin," Weasley chuckled.

He had the urge to snort at Weasley. Blasted Gryffindors and their pathetic sense of honor.

"You could do to learn to fight fair, Malfoy," Weasley said.

Draco's eyes widened slightly. It was as if Weasley was reading his mind.

"I am," Weasley answered, "so you better mind your thoughts."

Draco blinked in surprise.

"I'm not reading it all the time," Weasley continued. "I'd shut it off right now but I imagine you have some question."

Go to hell, Weasley.

"You first, Malfoy," Weasley replied, but the lanky Gryffindor wasn't even looking at him, and there was no venom in his voice. He pities me, Draco realized. Anger spiked through Draco, and his mind uttered a string of curses at Weasley. But appearantly Weasley was no longer listening. Instead, Weasley was rekindling the fire.

Where are we? Draco asked after a long silence.

Weasley did not respond. Draco let his left hand raise and fall on the bed, and Weasley turned immediately to him.

"Done feeling sorry for yourself, Malfoy?" Weasley asked. And the words stung more than any half assed insults Weasley had tossed in his direction in years.

Where in bloody hell are we?

"Somewhere in Wales I think. I'm not exactly sure where actually. I've only Portkey in and out of here," Weasley said. He loomed over Draco.

Why am I here? Why are you here, Weasley?

"You are here because there are a few hundred dementors and Deatheaters looking for you," Weasley's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm here because someone needs to make sure all the charms on this house stays in place. And since you can't talk for a while, they figured that I'm the best candidate for the job."

I didn't know you were a mind reader, Weasley.

"Thankfully there are lots of things you don't know about me, Malfoy," Weasley smiled.

Weasley's words sparked a memory so quickly that he could not stop them before the images formed in his head. There are lots of things that you do not know about me, Mr. Malfoy.

"I'm sorry..."

Fuck off, Weasley, leave my head be.

"Fine," Weasley responded, and left Draco's bedside again.