Shattered Glass

Day 8:

When Draco woke the next morning he was very disoriented. He looked over to his right, expecting to see Harry, and instead saw something that no one should have to be tortured with. Goyle's rear end. He made a disgusted noise and rolled back over. Harry was a much better sight, even when he was sick and delirious. And this gave Draco an interesting thought to chew on.

He missed Harry. A lot.

Shaking off this feeling he dressed quickly, grabbed his bag and the red book and hurried up to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey hadn't yet stationed herself at the door; in fact she was nowhere to be seen. Harry was still asleep. Draco settled down in the chair next to his bed, settling the book and his notes in his lap. He sat watching the boy sleeping for a while, deep in thought.

And another who to love you've taught. What did it mean? Could it possibly be... that to heal the person you had to love them? And he was the only one who could help him.

'Oh god.' He buried his face in his hands. 'I don't; I can't. He's Harry for god's sake.' He pushed the thought aside. He wasn't going to think about that, not now.

He pored over the complicated charts he'd made on cures during the previous few days, trying to find a hint from them. Madam Pomfrey saw him sitting there, gave him a look, and then left him alone. But Harry woke soon, stretching and rubbing at his eyes. He coughed deeply, sounding like he was hacking up a lung. He smiled weakly at Draco when he saw him but Draco couldn't bring himself to return it.

"Hi," Harry whispered hoarsely, his eyes bright with a fever that was quickly dulling his mind. "What are you doing here?" He managed to get this out before breaking out into coughing once more. Draco waited until he had stopped, gasping for breath, before he answered.

"I wanted to see how you were doing. And I wanted to know if this meant anything to you." He recited the poem for him, watching him closely for a reaction.

Harry nodded slightly, turning his face away from him. "Emerald fire... it burns. It's... in me," he gasped painfully. "Happy thoughts... push it away... let me breathe... think... be. Thoughts... of you... help. Love..." He coughed again. "Is a happy thought." He said the last part so quietly that Draco had to strain to hear it.

"What about the sacrifice?" Draco asked urgently.

"Someone... has to burn... in the flames. A sacrifice... for someone else... if you love them enough."

"How? How do I do it?" He grabbed Harry's hands, trying to get him to look at him.

"Don't know." Harry pulled his hands away gently, resting his cheek on them as he rolled onto his side. Draco couldn't see his face anymore but he knew that his eyes were closed wearily and he would speak no more. He slipped peacefully into slumber.

A hand rested gently on Draco's shoulder and he looked up, startled, to see Cho Chang, her almond eyes bright with tears. He had no idea how long she had been standing there or what she had over head. Then he remembered something she had said. When mixed with what Harry had said... Tell him the truth. One perfect thought.

The truth was... he loved him. That was his one perfect, pure thought.

He stood up suddenly. Cho smiled at him reassuringly and nodded. He barely noticed as he finally began to understand, to accept, what he was feeling.

"Do what you have to do to save him," Cho said to him. "Save him with your love."

"I... I love him," he whispered, awed.

"I know."

"But..." She grabbed his hands.

"Feel inside of you, feel what is there. Is this not true? Is it not pure and good?" Draco closed his eyes, bringing to mind emerald eyes shining with happiness. He nodded, overcome with the surge of emotions coursing through him.

"But it's impossible. He'll... he'll never..."

"Love you?" Draco nodded. "How do you know? How could you possibly find out until you return him to health, until you banish the pain and darkness with your love? And does he need to love you to deserve your love?"

"No," he said softly, remembering the desperate pain in Harry's eyes, the relief upon seeing the pale Slytherin beside his bed. "I can't ask him for anything, least of all his love." He turned away. "But I'll give him mine."

"No one is more worthy of that love."

"No." He smiled suddenly. "Nobody deserves happiness more than he does. I just hope I can give him that."

"You will." She batted him toward the door. "Go, go find a way to help him." He glanced down at the sleeping form. "I'll stay with him." He nodded and hurried to the door. He checked himself, glancing back at her.

"Thank you," he said before disappearing down the corridor.

* * * *

Draco was curled up in a window seat in the library, his work spread out in his lap. He was staring at it blindly, lost in thoughts that all centered around a boy that was currently asleep two floors above him and in the next wing. So far away and yet right there beside him, residing in his mind.

He suddenly remembered a particular day the previous year. He had known that something was going to happen, had felt it in his blood. He felt itchy, almost. That was a sure sign of dark magic. The stars were just beginning to appear, the sun setting in its blood-red glory, when the call had gone up. Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory were missing. They were gone. Cold fear had filled him. Weasley and Granger were frantic; he could see the fear and anxiety on their faces. The crowd around him stirred uncomfortably, all filled with an unnamable dread. He felt it too.

And then there he was. For a moment Draco thought he was dead and had froze, staring at him in horror. And then he had moved weakly, a small twitch of his hand and then a movement of his head. Draco had breathed a sigh of relief; for some unknown reason he actually cared what happened to him. He had pushed roughly through the crowd, trying to see what was happening, if Harry was all right. But Harry's damn friends, Thomas and Finnegan, had seen him. They stopped him with grim expressions on their faces. Thomas pushed him roughly out of the crowd of people. He fell against the edge of the metal support, cutting his cheek. He struggled upright

"You aren't going to bother him," Finnegan said angrily, grabbing his arm to make him stay put. "We're going to see to that."

They thought he was trying to hurt Harry when he was down! How preposterous. Like he would ever do that to anyone. He wasn't completely heartless.

He tried to open his mouth to tell them this but Thomas punched him hard across the face. He collapsed back against the wall, blood flowing from his mouth. Blackness threatened him, trying to pull him into unconsciousness.

He could see Harry, his head down, staring at the ground, as Mad-Eye Moody led him away. His body was drooping, his eyes glazed. Blood and dirt were caked on his face. He had been through hell. And Draco thought he knew what that felt like. He'd been there. Except his place of torment was his father's dungeon.

He tried to call out to Harry, wanted to catch his eyes, tell him it was all right. To do so would have been folly, and part of him knew that, but it didn't matter at the moment. It was probably just as well for his health that he was being held back by two angry Gryffindors. His father would not have been pleased. He wasn't going to be pleased now, far from it.

'But who cares what my father thinks?' Draco declared silently. 'I love him.'

It was becoming easier to say, to think; it no longer seemed to stick uncomfortably like it didn't want to be said. He loved Harry Potter. It felt oddly right; it had been waiting long enough. And everyone had seen except him. He was so blind. But it wasn't too late. He could help Harry, could save him, if only he could figure out this damn riddle!

"Malfoy?" Damn, it was Granger. He looked up at her. "You've found something; I can tell." Her smile was forced, an attempt at hope that had long since fled.

"I've found nothing," he growled. "Nothing but riddles I can't solve and lots of twisted language."

"Let me see; maybe I can make heads or tails of it." She held her hand out expectantly and he grudgingly handed the slim, red book to her. Her eyes widened as she read, soaking up the words like parched soil, absorbing it all. But when she came to the poem her brow crinkled in confusion. She finished the section and then reread it, slower this time. She settled down in a near-by chair and read it again. Draco began fidgeting. She finally looked up at him, her eyes distant, not really seeing him as her mind whirled.

"Where did you find this?"

"I took it out of the restricted section. I left it on the table next to my bed one night and forgot about it. I found it yesterday when I was leaving. Do you understand what it means?"

"A little, I think. What are you willing to do for Harry? What are your feelings toward him?"

His eyes narrowed. "You know that answer just as well as I."

"I want to hear you say it."

He nodded, gasping the edges of this new emotion, feeling it wash through him. "I would do anything. I love him." Hermione made a satisfied little noise, a smile spreading across her face.

"I knew it!" she cried triumphantly.

"You don't have to be so smug about it." He glared at her, but this soon faded into light laughter at the look on Hermione's face. She seemed confused on whether she should be happy, disgusted or indifferent and was switching between all three. She finally seemed to decide on happy.

"When did you admit it?"

"This morning," he grumbled, finding her amusement at him offensive. "So you think that's important?" She became grave.

"Of course. And another who to love you've taught. Someone who loves you, obviously, and that would be you. With his sacrifice of love and life. I'm guessing..." She paused. "It might mean that you have to die in his place, sacrifice your life." Draco paled slightly but he held firm to his resolve.

"And how would I die in a way that would help him?" he asked. Hermione bit at her bottom lip.

"I have no idea. I'm guessing that just dying wouldn't do anything. How would that help Harry anyway? There has to be some sort of ritual or something." She looked up at him. "Are you sure you'd be willing to die for him?"

"I made up my mind a long time ago. I'd do anything, anything at all. Dying isn't the worst thing I could have had to do. I'd ask the Dark Lord himself for a cure if I had to." He held onto the memory of Harry crying out in torment during the night, nightmares consuming him. Then he held up the memory of Harry before all this had happened, life and happiness in his eyes, a special spring to his step, exuding vibrancy and health. To restore him to that... He would do anything.

Hermione didn't seem convinced. "Well," she began uncertainly. "We'd better try to find anything that could help." He nodded, glancing down at his notes.

"Let's get to work then." He paused as he realized something. "Today's the eighth day."

Hermione looked up at him, horrified. "Is it really?" He nodded. "So we only have..."

"Two more days." That got them working, fast.

* * * *

Sirius Black gently unfolded the letter, throwing a treat to the long distance great grey owl that had delivered the letter. He looked around the hideout, a small room dug into the ground, a secret meeting place of the Magical Armed Resistance Corps, run by Albus Dumbledore. And, to his surprise, that was who had written this letter. Dumbledore sent fairly little mail to the group, letting them run themselves mostly while he worked on the outside world. Something must have been urgent indeed for him to write.

Sirius read the letter, a horrified expression coming onto his face as he did so. Certain words stuck out of the page: "Harry" "Soul's Fire" "poisoned" "dying". Without a word to the other "soldiers" in the headquarters he grabbed a broom and apparated out. He was going to Hogwarts. His godson was in danger. No one tried to stop him.

* * * *

Madam Pince approached the duo that afternoon, a pinched expression on her face. They didn't notice her, didn't look up from the sheets and sheets of parchment spread out before them. She cleared her throat.

"Malfoy, Dumbledore wants to speak with you. Come with me." Giving the librarian a despairing look he complied, slipping some papers into his pocket in case he was kept waiting. He wasn't going to waste even a moment. He paused for a moment before grabbing the journal too. He couldn't lie to Dumbledore, and he might want to see it.

It didn't take very long before they arrived at the statue marking the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Madam Pince gave the password ('crunchy frogs', a new creation of the Weasley twins'), and left him to go up by himself. He opened the door slowly, peering cautiously around the edge of it.

"Come in, Draco, come in," the headmaster called jovially from his seat on the other end of the room. Draco complied, slipping in and standing before the aged man.

"You wanted to speak with me?" he said quietly, subserviently, wanting to get this over with as fast as possible. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at his tone but made no comment.

"How is your research doing? Have you found anything noteworthy?"

"Yes sir. I found Sir Martin Pichard's journal. It has a cure in it but I don't understand..."

Dumbledore cut him off, confusion and dismay on his face. "What? There is no such book. I would have known if there was one in existence, never mind right in our own library."

"But I have it right here, sir." He raised up the book. The headmaster quickly snatched it out of his hands, reading it eagerly.

"Amazing," he kept muttering, "Marvelous." He looked up at Draco, giving a small sigh of relief. "At least I know now that there was nothing I could have done."

"Do you understand what I have to do?"
"I'm afraid I don't. It sounds, though I could be mistaken, but to me it sounds as if you must take the potion into yourself, ridding Harry of its curse. You must understand I would never ask this of you. Neither I nor the rest of the teachers would ever expect you to do this, and I quite understand if you aren't willing."

"But I am. How would I be able to?" Dumbledore regarded him gravely.

"One of the chief weapons of this poison is its immunity to most medicines and charms. There has to be some way that is part of the framework of the poison but I see no way... There has to be something." He paused as an idea occurred to him. "You are one of only a handful of people that have survived this poison, do you realize that?"

"Yes."

"You may have a natural immunity to it. It is possible. Though that doesn't mean you would survive it if it were meant for you, but for another... That is a thought to mull over."

"Sir?"

"Nothing, never mind, just the ramblings of an old fool. I would like this book when you are done with it. I must find where it came from." He shook his head. "You may go." Draco took back the book and strode out of the room.

* * * *

Harry didn't recognize him. Ron stared down at his best friend's bewildered face, so different from what it looked like a week ago.

"Do I know you?" Harry asked politely, though quietly, through his sore throat.

"You don't recognize me?" Harry gave him a puzzled smile.

"You look like someone I once knew, but he's gone. He left me."

"What was he like?" Ron sat down in the chair next to the bed but Harry glared at him.

"You can't sit there. That's not your seat." He began to cough and gestured widely to another seat. "Sit there." Ron went and dragged the chair over.

"So what was this friend of yours like?" Harry thought about this one for a while.

"Well, I thought he liked me. We went through a lot together. But he was just pretending." A frown like a threatening storm cloud came over his face. "He was good at pretending. I actually thought he liked me."

"And how do you know he really doesn't?"

Harry gave him a look that seemed to say, 'Duh, isn't it obvious?'

"When he found out I was dying he went away. He didn't care at all. But I don't want to talk about him."

"So what do you want to talk about?" This one took him a while.

"Um." Then he stopped, his eyes widening in horror as he stared at a far away point. "Oh no," he breathed. Ron whirled around but saw nothing.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked wildly.

"He's here to take me!" Harry cried, burying his head under the sheets. He whimpered pitifully from his hiding place. "Don't let him get me."

"I won't, it's all right."

"Not you!" Harry cried, his face peering out from the sheets. He looked disgusted at the thought. "You can't do anything; you can't make Him go away. He's not scared of you."

"Who is He? And who do you want to help you?" Ron was despairing. He was beginning to think that Harry had gone completely insane.

"Death, he's coming to get me. Can't you see his eyes?" He burrowed deeper down. "And he only goes away for..." He paused, thinking. "I can't remember his name. But he makes the shadows go away. And his eyes... he cares. Grey eyes."

"Do you want me to get him for you? To scare... Death away?" Ron's heart was sinking. Malfoy? Malfoy was the one Harry was asking for?

"Could you?" Harry was looking at him with new respect, a raw fear circling in his eyes. "You know him? Is he an angel?"

"No, Harry, he's not an angel. I'll go get him now. You just hold in there." Harry nodded and disappeared once more. Ron got up and left with a heavy heart.

Draco could only be in one place, the library. He hurried quickly through the hallways, almost running. When he finally arrived at the library he was out of breath. He stopped, panting next to Draco, who had stood up when he saw him, knowing something was wrong.

"What happened? What's wrong with Harry?" he asked sharply, an odd note of fear in his voice.

"He's asking for you. He says you can keep... Death away." Draco was off as soon as the words had left his mouth.

When he arrived at the hospital wing he didn't see Harry for a moment and a wave of fear swept over him. And then he saw the quavering bump wrapped up in sheets. He hurried over and sat next to him. He gently touched him through the sheets. Harry froze, giving a despairing wail.

"No Harry, it's all right," Draco soothed, pulling the sheets back from him. Harry looked up at him blankly for a moment and then he recognized his "angel". He burrowed against him like a puppy expecting to be protected by its master.

"You'll make him go away," he sighed against him. Draco held him close to him.

"Of course, I'll protect you. It's all right. There's nothing to be scared of." He sat there for a few minutes, murmuring comfortingly to Harry, glad for this excuse to be able to hold him. Ron, with Hermione behind him, watched from the door.

"He asked for Malfoy," Ron said disgustedly. "He thinks I abandoned him and he asks for Malfoy. Why?" Hermione glared at him.

"Because they love each other, you idiot." Ron stared at her, shock giving way to amusement.

"No really."

"Yes really. They do." Ron stopped laughing. He looked back at the two boys sitting, wrapped in each other's arms.

"But they can't, I mean, Harry's not... he's not even gay!"

"You're not very observant, are you? All the girls know not to go after Harry anymore. Even if he didn't realize it, we did. And love goes beyond those things. This is deeper." She too looked over at the boys and a smile spread over her face. "When you think about it, they really are perfect for each other."

Ron did not agree.

* * * *

A small candle was shining on the table, spreading its feeble light over the notes in Draco's hands. Harry made a small noise in his sleep, rolling over uneasily. Draco caressed his face gently, soothing him back into peaceful slumber. He'd sneaked back in after Madam Pomfrey had gone to bed, unable to let Harry sleep fitfully all alone when he could be there to comfort him. He wanted to be there beside him more than anything else. And the fact that he had asked for him out of everyone... It made him fill with warmth, the kind that spread from his heart and seemed to suffuse his whole body, making him tingle comfortably.

But Harry only had one day, two at most, before the poison took its final, deadly toll. And he was still so far from a cure. He needed one or two more vital links before he could do anything. He couldn't let Harry die, not when he was just beginning to find out so much about him, when he was beginning to love him. And then he realized something.

He was going to have to give his life so Harry would live. Just when life had become worth living, with Harry, he was going to have to give it up. He remembered his suicidal notions before that night in the forest and shuddered. Now all he wanted was to be with Harry, forever and ever. But that wasn't to be. But no matter, he would do all he had to. Living without Harry was worse, unbearably worse, then dying, then giving his life for a good cause. To let Harry live.

He brushed his hand gently down his love's face, watching him sleep. The poison had driven away the normal peaceful look that sleep often gave him but even so he looked immeasurably calmer, saner, when he was asleep. And Draco began to imagine just what he would say to him when he was better if given the chance. Could he tell him he loved him? Did he dare? Did it even matter? But yes, it did. He would tell him.

Happiness is its only bane. Maybe the thought that Draco loved him would be a happy one, happy enough to do... something. Maybe. He was willing to give it a try. He was willing to do anything if it might help Harry.