Shattered Glass

Shattered Glass

Day 4:

When Draco woke the next morning his first reaction was to see how Harry was doing. He rolled over, brushing his pale blonde hair out of his eyes and gasped. Harry wasn't there. He sat up, looking wildly around the dim room. He could see the sun just rising over the tops of the trees through the windows. And silhouetted against its light was Harry, looking out at what promised to be a beautiful morning. Draco gave a sigh of relief, slipping out of the bed to join him.

"Good morning," he said as he sat next to him on the window seat. "How are you feeling?" Harry looked up at him, his green eyes without their normal vibrant life.

"Morning. Not too good. It took me a half an hour to get over here. I'm having a hard time breathing." Draco nodded, looking at his sunken eyes and pale face with concern.

"So why did you bother?" Harry looked back out the window.

"It was so beautiful. And the way I figure, this'll be one of the last times I see the sun rise. I thought it was worth the effort."

"Don't talk like that!" Draco said fiercely, even as he remembered what he had overheard. Harry was probably right. And the thought scared him. Harry didn't respond. "You have to keep trying, Harry. You have to hope."

"For what? Some impossible cure? No, I'm sick of hoping for things that never happen. I'm sick of pretending. I'll just give in now, nice as you please. You can go on hoping for me."

"I swear, if you keep talking like that I'm going to have to beat some sense into you."

"I'm not sure, but I don't think that would help, Mr. Malfoy." Draco turned around, face red, to see Professor Dumbledore watching them from the doorway with a bemused smile in his face, his eyes twinkling merrily. "Though do feel free to try. Whatever works. So how are the two of you feeling this morning?"

"Fine, thank you Professor," Draco said politely.

"And you Harry?"

"Horrible, not that you care," Harry muttered. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. He walked over and stood right next to them, his hands folded up into his sleeves.

"And what gave you that idea?" he asked amiably. Harry looked up at him, his eyes still lifeless.

"Well it's not like you're even trying to find a cure. How can all the teachers at the best school for magic in the country not find a cure for one dumb poison unless they aren't trying? You probably sit and laugh about how I'm sitting here hoping you'll actually find a cure. 'How dumb he is!' you probably all think." Dumbledore looked at him sadly.

"I'm sorry, Harry. But we are trying. Good day to you then, I'd better be going."

"Professor, wait!" Draco called, standing up. Dumbledore turned and Draco didn't know what to say; had no idea why he'd even called him back. But he had to do something. If he just sat here like this he was going to go insane.

"Yes Draco?"

"Is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all?" Dumbledore regarded him gravely, becoming serious all of a sudden.

"How serious are you in this offer?" Draco thought about this for a moment. "What do you want to do?"

"Anything," Draco answered firmly. "I'll do whatever I can to help." He stopped, looking up at the headmaster. There was no betraying glimmer in his eyes to show that he was going to let him do anything. "Please, let me help. I can't let him die." His tone was pleading and he knew that; didn't care that he was showing weakness in front of this man.

"Of course not, considering how much you owe him." Draco's brow furrowed in confusion but the headmaster didn't elaborate. "I am going to put a grave responsibility on your shoulders. If you misuse it in any way the punishment will be dire. You will have full access to all of the books in the library, even in the restricted section, in order to help find a cure. You are not to use the books in the restricted section for anything else. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly. Thank you so much. I won't let you down."

"Good. I will inform Madam Pince of this. I really do have to be going, though. Good luck, both of you." Harry muttered something that, though it wasn't very clear, didn't sound nice at all. Dumbledore chose to ignore it and swept regally out of the room.

Madam Pomfrey came in a few minutes later with breakfast and spent a good ten minutes scolding Harry, who completely ignored her. As soon as he was done eating Draco got changed (his things had been kindly brought up from his room) and set off to the library. Harry glared after him, obviously thinking that this was some excuse to abandon him. Not that he cared, though.

When Draco arrived at the library Madam Pince immediately descended on him like a vulture. Not a pleasant thought. Anyway, she showed him to the restricted section and stood behind him, hovering menacingly, so that he wouldn't look at books that had nothing to do with his task at hand. He picked out a few promising books and then took them outside to a table to look them over. He quickly realized why these books were in the restricted section and read them through with a look of horror on his face. Someone with a weaker stomach or less experience with dark magic might have been sick. But he kept at it, for Harry.

He was there all through the day, missing lunch without even noticing it. Students gave him odd looks, noticing the sunken eyes and haggard appearance, also aware of the rumors. It surprised them that he was still alive. You know how rumors spread. One student, a Slytherin of course, made the mistake of approaching him. The fourth year looked him up and down and an evil grin came over his face.

"So are what they saying true? Did you kill Harry Potter?" Draco looked up at him coldly, trying to stay his anger. "Because if you did, well, he had what was coming to him and all. Just wish you'd gotten to it sooner. But we were all wondering what you used to kill the little bastard." His anger couldn't be contained any longer. With a feral growl he lashed out at the boy, grabbing the front of his robes and pulling upwards, almost strangling him.

"I didn't kill Potter," he hissed in a dangerous tone. "Nor have I ever intended to. So shut your fat mouth and don't talk about what you don't understand." He shoved him away, thoroughly disgusted. "Now get the hell out of my sight." The boy took off at a run, looking back over his shoulder as he went, his eyes alight with fear.

Draco glared around at the crowd of people, their eyes wide as saucers. "What the hell are you all staring at?" They suddenly became busy, realizing they had an urgent appointment elsewhere, anywhere at all. All except for one Gryffindor with bushy brown hair and intelligent eyes who was staring at Draco in wonder. As the Slytherin turned back to the large stack of books she approached him.

"I see you're feeling better," she said quietly behind him. He flipped around, unpleasantly surprised, his eyes narrowing. The few people that hadn't run to the hills were giving them odd looks.

"Yes," he said shortly, "Was there anything you wanted?"

"How's Harry doing?" To Draco's displeasure she sat down in the vacant chair next to him. He indicated this with glares but she remained oblivious.

"Not good. Which I'm trying to remedy, if you'd just leave me alone." Hermione still refused to take the hint and looked down at the book in interest, but immediately recoiled in horror at the graphic pictures of mutilated bodies.

"That book belongs in the restricted section," she declared, averting her eyes in disgust.

"Yes, it does," he said, looking down at said book. "And as soon as I'm done it's going back there along with all of these." He gestured expansively at the table.

"How did you get access?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"I'm looking for a cure." He shrugged, picking the book up to block the annoying girl from view. "So if you want Harry to die, please do keep bothering me."

"You're helping Harry? Why?" This was just too much and Draco suddenly exploded at her.

"Why? Why? You're actually asking me that?" He didn't notice everyone watching them in interest. "Why do you think? You actually think I'd just let him die?" He ran his hand absently through his hair. "And it's my fault. So I get better and it's all fine? I can just leave him to die? Just like that? You people disgust me. You don't understand anything." He made a disgusted noise, glaring at her, before turning away. "Just- just go away. Go up to the hospital wing for yourself and see how he's doing. Maybe then you'll understand. But don't say I didn't warn you. He's going to hate you."

"What?" Hermione said, catching onto the last words, the only ones that really made any sense when put together with her mental picture of Draco. "What are you talking about?"

"The psychological affects of the poison." Draco looked up at her meaningfully "They're staring to kick in. He's probably hating everybody by now. So you can go visit him now and leave me alone to do something useful." Hermione stared at him a moment, horrified at this news before bolting out of the room. Draco turned dutifully back to his books. The gossips had quite a bit more tantalizing knowledge to sink their teeth into.

* * * *

Harry glared at Hermione as she entered the room. She was slightly out of breath and her face was a bit red from physical exertions. She looked up at him hopefully then shrunk back at his baleful look.

'What is she trying to do, flaunt her health in front of me?' Harry thought angrily to himself. 'She doesn't care at all.'

"Hello Harry. How are you doing?" she asked timidly as she approached him.

"Oh, just fine," he hissed sarcastically. "I'm only dying. Why do you all ask me that? It's not like you even care. You don't even listen to the response."

"We ask because each time we're hoping that the answer might be positive, that you might be getting better." Hermione's brain at work.

The poison's voice faltered for a moment but regained control quickly. Harry sneered at her. "Yeah, right. So where's Ron? Couldn't talk him into pretending he's my friend anymore? He's probably thinking, 'what does it matter? He's dying. Good thing too. Don't know how much longer I could have gone without cursing him to hell.' Is that why he isn't here? Why he never comes at all?"

Hermione's eyes filled with tears seeing her friend like this. "No Harry," she said gently. "He's scared. He can't stand seeing you like this; it tears him apart. He cried for you last night. He didn't know anyone was awake, but I heard him. He's so scared, Harry. He can't stand the thought of losing you." The thought of Ron banished the little voice momentarily and reason flooded back into Harry's mind.

"Oh god," he gasped," I'm so sorry. It's the poison. I- I can't help it. Please, don't tell Ron."

Hermione nodded, the tears spilling down her cheeks. With a sob she gave Harry a large hug, almost strangling him. "Keep fighting it Harry. We can't lose you. I can't imagine life without you."

"If I tried I'd be imagining myself dead, you've saved my life so much. But you'd better go, before I lose my head again." Hermione pulled back reluctantly, brushing her tears away. "Tell Ron I was asking for him. And if you see Draco tell him I'm sorry for this morning." Hermione stared at him, startled. Then she remembered the bitter look in the Slytherin's eyes.

"It's all right, he knows. He's looking for a cure right now. It surprises me, but he really does care."

"I know," Harry said softly. Then he shooed her away. "Go on, you probably have tons of homework to do." She smiled weakly at him, gave him one last hug and hurried away before she broke down completely.

* * * *

Draco returned a few minutes before dinner, loaded down with as many books as he could carry. He looked over at Harry, who was laying in bed staring at him, his large sunken eyes unnerving. He dropped the books with a resounding thud and stretched, sore from the large load and a whole day of being bent forward. He felt a little dizzy and was only slightly out of breath. But then he had walked very slowly. He wasn't completely better yet.

"You talked to Hermione today," Harry said, his voice sounding oddly detached. Draco looked up sharply, wondering how much Harry knew.

"Yes," he said slowly, deciding that that was the safest root. "What of it?"

"What did you talk about? How horrible I am?" Draco sighed wearily and almost collapsed onto his bed.

"I think that was offered up as a topic of discussion but we never really got around it. We were too stuck on what an insufferable git this poison is making you. Not that I really know what you were like before." This brought a flicker of life to Harry's eyes.

"I knew it, you all hate me." He sounded quite satisfied with this assumption. Draco shrugged, putting up an air of nonchalance.

"If that's what you want to think then go ahead, I won't stop you. Just leave me alone so I can find a cure to this poison." He reached over the side of his bed and picked up a slim, rather dusty, red covered book and settled it on his knees. Harry looked at him in some astonishment.

"If you hate me then why are you still looking for a cure? Why even bother?"

"Good question. But I'll leave it to you to answer since you seem to know so much. Now shut up and let me concentrate." But he didn't even get to read the first page as Madam Pomfrey arrived just then with their dinner. Draco put the book on the little table on the opposite side of his bed from the large, haphazard pile on the floor, promptly forgetting its existence.

"I trust you're feeling better, Malfoy," the nurse said as she placed the tray on the table between the two boys. Harry glanced over at it but quickly looked away in disgust.

"Yes, though I'm still not completely better."

"Hmm, well I think a few more days in here should do you good. We can't take any chances with something this deadly. You're exempt from classes for the time being, not only because of your recent recovery but because Dumbledore said you had some personal research to do." She looked over at Harry. "It's for him, isn't it?" The last part was in an exaggerated whisper that Harry heard but chose to ignore. Draco nodded. She became businesslike once more. "You two eat up." She clapped her hands together sharply and walked off.

"She's really annoying," Harry grumbled from his bed.

"Shut up," Draco said evenly as he brought his food closer. "She's healed you more times than I can count. And you heard her, eat."

"I'd rather not." Harry looked over at the food distastefully. "Just looking at it makes me want to puke all over the place."

"Thank you for that interesting piece of information. If you are going to do so, please aim that way." He gestured away from him. Harry grinned wickedly.

"Right, of course I will." But the nasty look in his eyes made Draco feel very uncomfortable.

"You know, I never thought I'd say this, but I miss the real you, the way you used to be." Draco was staring down at his food when he said this and didn't notice the return of life, along with surprise and a faint happiness, to Harry's emerald eyes. For minutes later Harry lay there watching Draco with something bordering on warmth in his eyes. But Draco didn't see.

* * * *

Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, widely accepted to be the greatest wizard of their time, felt completely helpless. He was sitting in his dark office, his chin resting on his steepled hands, his blue eyes devoid of their twinkle. Fawkes made a small, reassuring chirp from his perch. But one of his students was dying; nothing could reassure him now.

'If only phoenix tears could work on poisons,' he thought, for what felt like the millionth time. But their tears only worked on external wounds, internal ones tended to need a more subtle answer. And anyway, Soul's Fire depended too much on sad and evil thoughts to be defeated by tears. Happiness, happiness had to be the key. But how?

He had found nothing, absolutely nothing, to help him. A student was dying. And he was helpless. He had sent letters to all the greatest minds in the country, some even across the globe. None had had an answer. The owls returned, exhausted, all bearing the same grim news. 'We are sorry; we can do nothing to help you. There is no cure.' But he couldn't just let his student die like this. Too much depended on this one boy, this innocent boy who had faced so much only to be defeated by a potion, an emerald poison that matched his eyes.

But he couldn't give up, he just couldn't. An idea had occurred to him but he had no way of implementing it. If only he could make Harry throw off the psychological affects, if only he could make him so happy that no tainted thought could survive. But there was no way to do this. No way. Maybe Draco would find a way. Maybe he had a chance, a new take, a new way of looking at this problem. Maybe there was something his tired old eyes weren't seeing. He was getting too old for this. He'd seen too many things, learned too much, to be defeated by this one little thing.

The memory of the last headmaster, Dippet, on his deathbed came to him in a rush. The old man reaching out feebly for the Transfiguration teacher, telling him that he was dying. There was no cure. He must take over the school. He'd been unable to do anything then. But it was different now; he was older, wiser. He should be able to save him. But some things, it seemed, never changed. He was still helpless. He was still hoping that some miracle would happen. One hadn't come last time. He could only hope. And dread the end of those ten days when he would have to admit defeat. One of his students was going to die. And he couldn't help him.

Dumbledore stared into the darkness, his eyes bright with tears. He was shaking.

* * * *

Ron lay in bed, staring blindly at the coverings around his bed. He wiped a tear from the side of his nose, trying to repress the sob that was building within him. Harry was dying.

His best friend was dying and he was expected to go to classes like it was any other normal day. Like nothing was happening. And Harry was dying. He thought he was going to go insane.

His mind ran over all the times they'd spent together, whether it was a peaceful evening in front of the fire discussing Quidditch or some battle against an evil force. He remembered Harry when he smiled, how his emerald eyes seemed to light up the room. He remembered when Harry cried, when he bled, when he was angry, and so many other things. He remembered the pain in his eyes when they fought and the happiness when they made up. All that, all that time, their friendship, it all came down to nothing. Harry was going to die. And he could do nothing.

A memory came to him, unbidden. The third task of the tournament last year, when Harry had disappeared. The whispers had run through the crowd like a wildfire. Cedric and Harry were missing. The fear that had filled him then was like no other. He and Hermione had stared at each other, horrified. And there was nothing they could do. Their best friend might be dying at the moment, he might already be dead, and they were helpless. And when he'd come back and they'd seen him and Cedric there had been that heart stopping moment when they were sure he was dead. And then he had moved, that one slight twitch allaying their momentary fears. But he could have died. And there were helpless. Like now.

That helplessness scared Ron more now than spiders did. Not having the ability to do anything but wait for your best friend to die. Another sob racked his body as he rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. The three other boys in the room were in their own sorrow-filled world, their thoughts resting on the dying boy in the hospital wing. There was nothing they could do.

AN: Okay, that last part was sort of pathetic but I felt it needed to be put in. I felt that Dumbledore had to be brought down from his pedestal for this story to work. And Ron is just Ron. And yes, that little red book will be reappearing, so keep an eye on it.