Shattered Glass

AN: I'm so sorry. I've become one of those people I hate, who just leave their works in progress for months. But my online decided that the one time I really have time to use it, the summer, that was when it would refuse to work, no matter what I, my family, or the extremely unhelpful people at AOL did. So, since this story is done and has been done for months (since last March, actually), the rest of the posting should be really quick. I was done way before OotP came out, so, sadly enough, Sirius is still in it. . And all that other pre-OotP crap is too. I hope you enjoy, and thank you to all the kind people who reviewed.

Shattered Glass

Day 3:

It was dark, very dark, with only a few candles lighting the huge room. Harry blinked groggily, wondering what had woken him. Then he heard it again, the violent, dry hacking noise from behind him. He rolled over to see Draco sitting up in bed, pressing a piece of cloth to his mouth as he gasped for breath through the coughing. Madam Pomfrey was hovering next to him, looking completely useless and feeling it too. Draco finally stopped, his whole body shaking.

"I'm all right," he gasped out as the nurse murmured something to him.

"No, you're not," she said, without her normal authority. "Here, drink this. It only works for a little while but it should help with the cough and give you some more sleep." He gulped it down. The noise stopped and Harry slipped back into slumber, barely noticing the change himself. He woke up at least three more times during the night to Draco coughing.

It was morning now and the sun was shining brightly into the room. The pale boy was sleeping now but not very peacefully. Harry looked up from the large potion book in front of him to look at Draco. There was a bloody handkerchief clutched in his hand with a small red spot on his lips, sticking out hideously on his otherwise almost white face. His eyes had circles around them giving him the appearance of two black eyes. He was curled up in a fetal position on his side, which had the affect of making him look young and vulnerable.

Harry sighed, his eyes flickering to his watch before turning back to the job in front of him. It was about 10 am. Hermione and Ron should be in Care of Magical Creatures right now, with Hagrid. Harry wanted to be there with them more than anything else in the world at the moment. But he could barely even walk, as he'd found out that morning when he'd tried to walk over to Draco. He'd gotten so dizzy he'd had to sit down and had been out of breath even over that small exertion. It was a failed experiment. And now he was feeling the affects of the poison almost constantly. He still had random little fits but those had spread out over longer periods of time and could barely be distinguished from the general ill health.

Souls' fire, said the book that Harry was reading, is a very deadly poison. There have only been three recorded instance where someone has survived it. All three of these people accidentally consumed the poison when it was meant for someone else. After extreme sickness they quickly recovered. On the other hand those who the poison was meant for never survive. The poison works slowly through their body, destroying its defenses and manipulating their emotional weaknesses. They eventually die thinking they've been abandoned and are unloved. One hypothesis as to this affect on different people is that the psychological aspect of the poison is tailored to each person and fails to work when applied to someone else. Therefore they keep their will to live and ability to think clearly, keeping them out of the control of the poison's most deadly aspect. It has been thought that if one was just able to stop this degeneration of the mind and fill it once more with happy thoughts then a cure might be possible. No proof of this has ever been found and no instances are recorded where this was used to any affect. Thankfully the use of this poison has all but died out and the knowledge of how to make it has been systematically destroyed by the Ministry. The last recorded case was a Professor Dippet, a Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He died in the allotted ten days and the poisoner was never found.

Professor Dippet, why did that name sound so familiar? Then memories filtered up through his mind. A diary, a monster, Tom Riddle and the Headmaster not letting him stay in Hogwarts. Dippet was the man who had been the Headmaster when Tom Riddle, a.k.a. Lord Voldemort, went to school. He must have killed him.
'Even the Headmaster couldn't find a cure for himself. What makes me think I have any chance?' Harry asked himself. Then he looked over at Draco's pale face and knew the answer to that. 'Because I have to. I have to find a cure. We aren't going to die; I can't let that happen.'

"Harry?" Hermione called softly as she stopped near his bed. "Are you all right?"

"Hi Hermione. Not really but I'm doing better than he is." He gestured towards the other occupied bed. "So did you find anything?"

She sat down next to him with a weary sigh. "Not much. You?" He turned the book around for her to see and she read the page quickly.

"Well that bit about an attempted cure and what happened to Professor Dippet I didn't know but I saw the rest. Maddening, really, I can't believe they've never bothered finding a cure for this."

"They thought no one knew how to make it anymore. They wouldn't have bothered."

"But still." She looked up worriedly at Harry. "How are you feeling?" He shrugged.

"Dizzy, out of breath, faintly nauseous and very weak. But other than that, just peachy."

"You'll see, we'll find a cure."

He nodded, looking over at Draco. "We have to," he said softly. Hermione reached out and grabbed his hand reassuringly.

"I have to go," she said reluctantly. "Professor Vector will have my head if I'm late. But don't worry, we're doing all we can. Almost everybody in Gryffindor is putting in time to look for something. If all of us together can't find something, well, then..."

"There's nothing to find," he finished for her. "You go on, I'll be fine." She flashed him a smile before hurrying out of the room, shooting one last glance over her shoulder.

"Do you have to be so loud when you talk?" Draco complained hoarsely from his bed. Harry looked up, startled. Draco's eyes, bright with fever, were only half lidded and he was glaring at him.

"I'm sorry," he said automatically. "You wouldn't wake up for anything before. How are you feeling?"

"Do you even have to ask?" He coughed weakly, raising the handkerchief to his lips.

"I think you're going to live," Harry put in. Draco looked up at him, a faint light of hope coming into his eyes.

"Really? Why?" He sounded slightly desperate but almost like he was trying not to hope, not to begin to think that he might survive only to find it in vain.

"This book says that some people have survived when the poison wasn't meant for them. And they all had a sudden, vicious illness before they got better quickly. And that's what's happening with you."

The light of hope disappeared. "And what about you? What happens to the person the poison was meant for?"

"They always die. There's no cure."

A horrified look came onto the Slytherin's face and he opened his mouth to speak but began coughing instead. When it had finally stopped all he could manage to say was, "Shit." He then collapsed back onto the bed. Madam Pomfrey came running in, alerted by the coughing that Draco was awake. "Double shit."

"Malfoy, you're awake."

"Really? I thought I was hallucinating." Madam Pomfrey paused then saw that he was joking and her lips pursed disapprovingly.

"You must be feeling better if you're up to making comments like that. Now stay still while I run a few tests."

"Do I have any other choice?"

"Absolutely not." She pulled her wand out, pressing it into his arm. After a few tests that, by the look on the nurse's face, had an odd result, she pulled out a weird metal thing from her other pocket. She seemed to be running some more tests with this contraption, viewing the results on its little screen. By the time she was done she looked very happily puzzled.

"Well, Malfoy, I must say this for you, your recovery is remarkable. Already over half of the poison has been removed from your system and your body is starting to recover. Amazing." She walked off muttering to herself, leaving Harry smiling happily at Draco, who was staring blindly at the wall.

"See, I told you," Harry said to him. Draco turned his eyes to Harry, refocusing them. He gave him a weak smile.

"Yes, you did." He lay back down. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm very tired. I'm going back to sleep."

"All right," Harry said uncertainly, an odd feeling in his stomach. What was wrong with Draco all of a sudden?

* * * *

Draco knew he was getting better, he could feel the poison retreating now. It wasn't so hard to breathe anymore and coughing wasn't his permanent state of being. But he knew that even as his health improved Harry's was declining.

Harry was coughing lightly, turning away from the ancient, dusty tome that was laid out in front of him. He was getting worse. And there was nothing he could do about it.

'Why?' Draco asked himself bitterly. 'Why did it have to be him? I wanted to die and I'm going to survive and he wants to live and he's dying. It's so unfair. He has so much to do. He's the hero of the world; I'm nothing.' He looked over at Harry and realized something, something very odd that he'd never have suspected. 'I'd give my life for him to survive this. I literally would. If only I could.'

* * * *

Lunch had come some time ago and Draco's stomach was eagerly waiting for dinner to arrive. It had finally settled down and was loudly complaining that food was necessary, no matter what he might think to the contrary. At least it was no longer refusing food as a foreign invader that must be kept out at all costs. It must have had a discussion with his lungs, which had almost simultaneously decided that breathing was something that it did like to do and would proceed to do without interference. His fever had reacted to this and had almost disappeared but he wasn't feeling even nearly back to normal. It appeared that the previous night had been the worst of it and he was recovering nicely.

He'd spent about an hour talking to Harry about nothing and everything and had found he quite enjoyed it. He found himself wishing that he hadn't been such an obnoxious little prick when he was younger. It would have saved him a lot of aggravation. But Harry had fallen asleep a little while ago, looking utterly exhausted. Draco felt a little guilty for waking him up so many times during the night but he knew he couldn't help it. And anyway, the way Harry was going, he'd be able to have his revenge soon.

Dumbledore arrived then for what seemed to be becoming his nightly visits. His light blue eyes focused on Draco, who was pretending he was asleep and then the sleeping Harry. Madam Pomfrey came out to greet him, an urgent expression on her face.

"Poppy, how are they doing?" Dumbledore asked.

"Malfoy is getting better. I can only suppose that the poison wasn't meant for him. But he must have some strong reason to live or I don't think he'd have made it." Draco could feel Dumbledore's eyes on his back, boring into him.

"He does, Poppy. A very good, strong reason to live. What about Harry?" Madam Pomfrey gave a small sigh.

"Oh I just don't know, Albus. Potter's been getting worse but so slowly. I don't think he really has much of a chance. He just isn't fighting it."

"That would be the poison's affect on his mind," Dumbledore mussed.

"Yes. The only time he looks happy at all lately are when his friends visit or when he's talking to Malfoy. Otherwise he looks completely depressed. I don't think Malfoy's noticed yet but he will."

"Hopefully he will be able to talk some sense into the poor boy."

"I hope so. I don't think he's going to make it and I can't stand it. I can't do anything." She sounded completely frustrated.

"Don't worry, Poppy, we're trying. We'll find something."

"I just hope you're fast enough. He doesn't have that much time left."

"I know. Do all you can."

"Of course I will." Draco could hear the headmaster walking away and leaving the room. He rolled over onto his back, staring unseeing at the ceiling.

'He's dying.' The thought slipped into his mind. 'He's going to die and I'm going to live. It's not fair.'

* * * *

Harry woke some time after dusk to muffled sobs. He was briefly disoriented and for a moment thought that it was Ron. But then the dull ache throughout his body, especially in his chest, reminded him of his predicament. It also made him realize who was crying.

"Draco?" he called softly. The sobs stopped, with only a small sniff to show that he really was still in tears. Draco felt embarrassed to be caught like this and tried to cover it up.

"What?" he asked, almost harshly, his voice sounding ragged. Harry sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He didn't even try to get up; he knew he couldn't and he was already dizzy.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." But his breath hitched into another sob and Harry knew that something was very wrong.

"What happened? I thought you were getting better." Cold fear filled him. Was this some trick of the poison? Was he going to die anyway?

"I am." His grief didn't lessen with these words and Harry became confused.

"Then what's wrong?"

Draco sobbed again, the words coming out in a rush. "Oh god Harry, I'm so sorry. This never should have happened. I should be the one dying; it's not fair. You don't deserve this. Why couldn't it have been me?"

"What?" Harry asked, stunned at the terror and pain in the other boy's voice. "What are you talking about?" He coughed slightly, but it was still nothing compared to what Draco had gone through. But the sound seemed to freeze Draco and his eyes widened with fear. Even through the darkness Harry could see his grey eyes and the expression in them scared him.

"I'm so sorry Harry," Draco whispered again.

"They aren't going to find a cure, are they?" Harry asked evenly. He could feel the pain growing in his chest; the cold feeling and the tightening that always accompanied a lack of air. Draco's only response was another sob as he turned away from the Gryffindor boy.

Harry felt like he was looking at his body from outside of it; he felt detached. The fear and pain seemed so removed from his mind; only dim thoughts on the edge of recollection. He was going to die and that was that. And it wasn't going to be with his wand in hand and eyes blazing but instead sick and unable to move in a hospital bed.

'And your friends don't care, do they?' the nasty little voice commented. It was only the second time it had done so. 'They go around like nothing's happening and try to forget that you're dying. It shouldn't be too hard; they don't really care anyway. They're lying to you, saying they're trying to find a cure, but you know they're not. They would have found something by now. So they're going to let you lay here and die. They've abandoned you.'

Harry, remembering what he'd been told about this poison, realized what was happening. "No," he cried, covering his ears futilely with his hands. "I'm not listening."

Draco looked up at him, surprised. "Harry?" But Harry couldn't hear him. His face was skewed up in a painful grimace as he tried to block the hissing of this little voice inside of him that had been awakened by the poison. Draco's heart thudded to a halt as he realized what must be happening. He shot up out of bed, without a thought to his own passing illness. He almost fell on Harry's bed, calling his name.

"Harry stop. Listen to me." He grabbed his hands, pulling them off his ears and shaking him. "Don't listen to what the poison's telling you." Harry looked up at him, his eyes vacant orbs.

"Why? Nobody cares. They don't care at all."

"No Harry, they do care. They're trying to save you, they really are."

"No." Harry shook his head. "Nobody cares."

"I care." Harry looked up at him, a faint spark of light returning to his eyes.

"Do you really? Or are you just saying that like all the others?"

"No Harry, I do care. And you have to fight this and you have to get better. You can't give in. Promise me. Promise me!" He was shaking Harry viciously, scared of losing that light.

Harry stared at him, slowly regaining his toehold on sanity. "Stop shaking me first." Draco, a slight blush on his cheeks, did so, pulling back. "I'll try." He sighed, bringing his knees up under his chin, wrapping his arms around them. "It's so hard. It takes all your fears and turns them back on you so you already half believe them or you have at one point or another."

"You can fight it. I mean, if I can get better then you ought to be able to beat it single handedly. You're much stronger than I am, in more ways than just physically." Draco pulled back more, balanced on the edge of the bed like he was just about to get up. Harry cocked his head to one side.

"I do believe that's a first. You just complimented me." Draco gave him a wry grin.

"Well don't get used to it; I don't use those often. Only when they're desperately needed." He gave Harry a worried look. "Now you get some sleep. You need it."

"All right." Draco got up, settling back into his own bed. "Good night. Oh, and Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

AN: The plot thickens... dum dum dum. What will happen to Harry? Is a cure possible? And will they ever stop being so pathetic. (Not likely.) Nothing was ever said about what happened to the previous headmaster, so I just filled in a horrid little story. Poor guy, getting pulled into my angsty story. I prefer to think that Tom Riddle killed him as some sort of revenge and has now taught Lucius how to make the poison. Hmm...