Shattered Glass

Shattered Glass

Day 9:

"Malfoy, wake up! What are you doing here?" Madam Pomfrey's voice broke through the thin veil of sleep, cutting the threads of his dream with ease. Reality flooded back as the vague world of sleep faded and he opened his eyes. The nurse was standing over him, glaring down at him as he lay there blinking at her from the chair beside Harry's bed.

"Wha-?" he said, only half-coherent. Then he groaned, closing his eyes once more. He'd done it again. He'd fallen asleep next to Harry, trying to ease the torment of his lonely, poison-driven mind. His head was resting uncomfortably on the arm of the chair, half draped over it; Harry's head was resting in the crook of Draco's arm, holding onto it like a lifeline to a drowning man. Harry's forehead was crinkled unhappily, like a child who has just had a bad thought occur to them; he looked very young and helpless.

"You aren't supposed to be here! How many times do I have to tell you?" The nurse didn't seem very mad, just exasperated and... concerned.

"Sorry," he said sleepily, moving his arm gently from behind Harry's head. The sick boy whimpered and a cloud seemed to come over his face. Draco stroked his cheek gently and the moment passed. He stood up stiffly and stretched. Madam Pomfrey watched him closely.

"You're going to find a cure," she said suddenly, her expression unchanged. "If anyone can, you will." Their eyes caught and Draco saw a hidden pain lurking within them. He nodded silently. "I just wish I'd been able to find one twenty years ago for my husband."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She brushed aside his concerns and once more became the efficient nurse whose only thought was for her patients. "You'd better get going. The cure won't find itself." Draco knew she was right but he couldn't bring himself to leave Harry like this. He looked down at the sleeping boy and the nurse's eyes softened.

"But Harry..."

"I'll watch him. He won't wake up for another hour at least. You can come back later. One more thing; you can't sleep here anymore. I'll get in trouble. And if someone should have walked in and seen you two... Well, it would not have been pretty, for either of us. Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am." He gave her a false salute and a large smile before twirling around and swiftly exiting the room. He had woken today with a new burst of energy that was just itching to be used. He was going to need it.

As soon as Draco was gone from sight Harry's nightmares came back. Death was grinning as it stalked closer, whispering evil words. Harry reached out an arm, expecting the soothing presence that was so often there for him, but found only empty space and fading warmth beside him.

'He's left you too. You didn't think you could keep him near you, did you? He's finally seen you for what you are. He doesn't care anymore. He's disgusted with you. See? He's gone and he's not coming back.' Harry tried to shrink away from it but there was nowhere to go anymore; Death and darkness had consumed his mind almost completely. The only bright patch left was two grey eyes, filled with concern... and love. Love?

'Love? Ha! Absolute rubbish, as if anyone could ever love you! He hates you, despises you. Your little angel could never love something like you. Oh yes, I know what you are. You're a murderer!'

'No!' he cried, trying to block out the thought that had tormented him for months on end, making him lay awake at night for long hours, staring blindly at the ceiling. And when he did sleep it would stalk him through his dreams, making him wake in fear, sweating, his heart beating with horror, shame... and guilt.

'Yes, I know your secret. You let him die. You could have saved him, could have given your life for his, could have done something. But you were weak and useless. And you murdered him. They all know and they despise you for it. They know what you are so they've abandoned you to your fate. You're just getting what you deserve. You deserve to die for what you did to Cedric Diggory.'

And what made this such a horrible weapon was that he believed it. He believed it was his fault and that he had to pay for it. Because the voice was a part of him that we, to the most part, try to push away and ignore. All of our bad qualities rolled up into one, bringing all those traits back to haunt us. That was what Harry was faced with. That was what made this such a power to be reckoned with. And without those grey eyes soothing him he fell further into the darkness of his own soul.

* * * *

It's amazing really. You think you know yourself. I mean, who could know you better then you? And then life throws something like this at you and your whole view of life changes. Everything is turned upside down. And then you see something about yourself that is completely foreign to you. Something in you that you never knew existed. And everything changes, just like that. The life you've created for yourself topples in an instant and you're left with this new part of you buzzing in your ears, demanding to be heard. Where once were walls and ideas inside your mind now there is dust and ruins. Nothing makes sense. You have to reorder everything, make new walls and furnish this new "home" properly. You look at the world with new eyes and they see new colors, sometimes forgetting old ones.

But no, you aren't understanding most of this, are you? To get to the point, Draco felt like his whole world had changed in a day and he was having a hard time coping. Everything seemed brighter, though not necessarily in a good way. Things were moving in his peripheral vision that most definitely do not move. And he became taken with staring off into space with a small half smile on his lips, his thoughts resting on Harry. But these moments never lasted long, as sooner or later he would remember that one horrible fact, one more day, and back to work he would go. In short, everything was different. He just didn't know if it was a good thing or not.

Love and Life; The Odd Affects Love has on Magic was open in front of him. He had expected it to be sappy and had chosen it for a much-needed change from the morbid tomes that he had been reading for the last week or so. But he had found the exact opposite. He had just finished reading a rather horrid chapter on how love was only an illusion except in our minds. But there it has power if we believe in it. So that was the whole basis, belief, and through that we could do whatever we wished. Just remember, love isn't real.

Draco closed his eyes, bringing to mind Harry. No, he decided, love was real, it had to be. There was no other explanation for this warmth that flooded through him at even the thought of Harry; this tingling that spread through his body.

So he dropped the book on the table, picking up some bloody, disgusting dark arts book that, at the moment, he much preferred. Hermione glanced over and saw the title of the discarded book. An evil smirk came over her face. Seeing it, Draco glared at her.

"Not a word," he said darkly. "Not one."

She smiled sweetly at him. "I wouldn't dream of it. What were you looking up, tips?"

He actually blushed faintly at this one, his glare becoming murderous. He decided that the direct approach (in other words, blowing up in her face) wasn't going to do anything but prove her point so he decided that sarcasm was better. "Oh, of course. Won't much help though, when he gets better and realizes whom that person was who was sitting next to his bed when he was delirious. I can just see his face when he finds out it was me." It came out sounding more serious then he had meant it to. Hermione's almost flippant mood disappeared.

"He'll be thankful for you helping him..." She paused, then plowed on recklessly. "And realize he has feelings for you too."

Draco snorted. "Yeah, the day the Chudley Cannons win a match."

Hermione smiled, cocking her head to one side. "Actually, they won one yesterday. It was in the newspaper."

He stared at her. "I didn't mean that literally."

"Of course not," she said airily. She stopped, averting her eyes as she mulled over a new thought. "But who did he call for when things got bad? Who did he want, did he need, to comfort him? You, and only you. And it hurts," her voice almost cracked, getting oddly high-pitched momentarily. "It hurts to think that his feelings for us, his best friends, aren't strong enough to fight this off. But you who he's hated for so long, you who have given him nothing but grief, you can bring the life back to his eyes. You're the one he calls for even as he turns us away with contempt. It hurts. And if that isn't proof enough of what he must feel for you then you don't deserve any proof. You don't deserve him." Draco was shocked at this sudden show of emotions. And he felt sorry for her.

"I know I don't. I could never... give him anything that he doesn't already have. I've never possessed the honorable traits that make him what he is. I've never been self-less or boundlessly kind. Actually, I can probably count the good deeds I've done on one hand. There's nothing about me that could earn his love... or even his friendship. Nothing about me that doesn't deserve complete and absolute contempt. But all I want is to try and deserve the right to even look at him, to even be honored by his presence. To be able to show him that there's more to me then there seems, that I'm not what I was born and bred for. That I am capable of love. That I love him." He stopped. Hermione grasped his hands gently, reassuringly.

"I may think you don't deserve him, and maybe you don't, but that's really for him to decide. If he... if he loves you then that's his choice, not mine. But if you hurt him, if you do anything..."

"I could sooner kill myself," he interrupted. "And I would have, was going to. Even before I realized what I felt for him."

"Just make him happy," she whispered.

"I'll do everything in my power to. We just have to save him first." She nodded, turning back to her book. There was a faint puffiness to her eyes that hinted at tears, the threat of which she had just avoided. Draco didn't comment on this.

Almost an hour passed before either spoke another word. But Hermione came across something and started, well, squealing. She held up the book, an excited expression on her face as she babbled to Draco, who was catching maybe one word in ten.

"Okay, slow down. What did you find?" Hermione showed him the page then immediately pulled it away and began reading from it.

"It says here that when someone is poisoned with this poison, King's Bright, they can only be cured when someone takes the poison into themselves. They will it to switch into them. This only works when they are willing to die for this person and it has to be done willingly. Mostly used for people in love." She looked up at Draco. "That could work. With his sacrifice of love and life."

Draco nodded, his eyes going slightly distant, deep in thought. "So all I have to do is will it to come into me instead? Why does that sound too easy? Don't you think someone would have thought of that by now?"

Hermione bit at her lower lip. "Maybe. I don't know. But it's worth a try, isn't it?"

"Of course." He picked up his bag. "I'll go try it now. Keep looking, just in case."

'Just when life was getting to be worth living,' he thought bitterly as he hurried up to the Hospital Wing. 'Just when I thought maybe... but no. It never would have worked anyway. It's better this way. Now I don't have to worry about refusal. And maybe his last memory of me will be a happy one.'

When Madam Pomfrey saw him she knew that something had happened. Without a word she nodded at him and went into her back office, leaving him alone with Harry. He sat down beside the sleeping boy, brushing his hair gently off of his face.

Harry was now pale to the point of being translucent, his hair was limp and lank and looked somehow darker than normal, a stark contrast between the two that was startling and horrid as it seemed to show his sickness in ways that weren't apparent before. There was a small spot of blood on the sheet that was clutched in his hand, pressed close to his mouth, which was gaped open to allow for the most air to enter. He was wheezing horribly and his breath kept hitching in his chest with an odd grinding noise. There were thin beads of sweat on his face and his sheets were tossed haphazardly around him, marks of a recently departed nightmare.

Draco took the limp hands in his own and closed his eyes. He brought to mind everything he loved about Harry, everything that was good about him and deserved preserving. When this was firmly planted in his mind he thought about this poison and what it was doing to Harry. He wanted it, no needed it, to stop. He needed Harry to get better. Then he tried to pull the poison into himself, imagining it flowing into him and out of Harry, leaving the boy to get better and live. But nothing happened. It was like there was a wall around Harry that refused to allow him to enter.

He refused to give up. He brought to mind emerald eyes dancing with amusement as he brushed wild black hair from in front of them. Harry in a dive, hair streaming back, his face contorted with concentration, his broom seemingly part of him. A hand rising high in the air, shaking it triumphantly, the snitch clutched tightly. Laughing with his friends, laughing at him, happy about anything, anything at all, just happy. He had to bring that back. He had to.

'Please,' he begged silently, 'Please let me heal him.' He pushed again, trying to bring the poison out of the sleeping boy. Again he was refused. He could vaguely feel what Harry must have, the evil consciousness of this poison, malevolently refusing him that which he most desired. If he had been placed in front of the Mirror of Erised at that moment he would have seen Harry, laughing gaily, healthy once more.

He sat there for a very long time, bent over slightly, fighting with this thing that was killing the one he loved. Madam Pomfrey brought him back to reality, handing him a glass of water. Her dark eyes were unreadable as she watched him drink greedily. He wiped off the sweat that had accumulated on his brow, looking down as he did so. There was no change in Harry's condition.

"You're not doing him any good, wasting your energy when you know it isn't working," Madam Pomfrey said calmly. "You need more information before you try things like this."

"But we don't have enough time," he said urgently, settling himself once more.

"Go through the words of the poem with what you know. Think about each half clue you've been given. Figure out exactly what you're being told. But you can't go on like this. You're like a blind man trying to read."

"People who are blind can read. It's called Braille."

She glared at him. "And how long does it take to learn Braille?"

"A long time?" he guessed.

"Time you don't have. Now get out of here and come back when you've found something."

Draco looked down once more. "Can't I stay?" he asked quietly.

The nurse sighed. She looked between him and Harry, her heart softening for the two. "Fine, but only for a little while."

He beamed at her happily. "Thank you so much." He pulled out his notes, settling down next to Harry. With another sigh the nurse left. Draco's notes were normally neat and concise but these were a bit haphazard with ideas scrawled all over the place.

When filled with emerald fire's pain. Well, he at least knew what that meant. It was referring to being poisoned; Soul's Fire was often spoken of as emerald fire. Draco thought it must be because the poison itself was emerald, but where the fire part came from he had no idea.

Know that happiness is its only bane. Only happy thoughts could temporarily stop the affects. But what if he could make it more than temporary? What if that was the key?

Life continues with only the purest thought. He had no idea what that meant. Maybe it had to do with the last part, about happy thoughts. Maybe it had to do with love. That was, to his mind, the purest thought he possessed.

And another who to love you've taught. Well that was obvious. Only someone who loved you could heal you.

With his sacrifice of love and life. That person has to die for you. That's got to be what it means.

No more will you feel this poison's knife. And you're healed. But how? What had he missed? What was in there that he could use? Love, the purest thought, what was it?

Happiness is it's only bane and life continues with only the purest thought. He paused. What if the purest thought was love? And if it was a happy thought... Could that break down the walls that the poison had built up? Could he use that to heal him?

He got up and hurried out of the room, going to find Hermione. Only when he did so did he realize how late it was. Very few students were left in the halls and those that were, were going up to their rooms, yawning and dragging their feet sleepily. His heart fell as he entered the dark room and realized that Hermione must be in bed. He wouldn't be able to talk to her about his idea until tomorrow. And that was the last day.

He almost ran back up to the Hospital Wing but found the door closed and locked. He couldn't get in there either. He couldn't bring himself to go to the Slytherin Common room, surrounded by all those people gloating over the fact that Harry was dying. So he went back to the library. With some books next to him and a fresh sheet of parchment for writing down ideas, he settled into a seat by the window, resting his head against the cold stone wall. He never knew when he slipped into slumber.

* * * *

Sirius sat next to his godson, staring at his emaciated form in shock. Professor Dumbledore was standing behind him and Madam Pomfrey was standing guard at the door. There were a few dim candles spaced throughout the room casting flickering shadows across the floor. He heard footsteps running up to the door and stop there. He looked up in alarm but the person retreated, going much slower than before. Harry moaned slightly, moving his head towards Sirius.

"Who are you?" Harry asked blankly, then coughed before his godfather could respond. Dumbledore had warned him about this but it still came as a shock.

'Oh James,' he wailed silently. 'I've failed you. He's dying and I can't do anything to help. I can't lose him too. I haven't even begun to make things up to him.'

When the coughing died he spoke. "I'm a good friend of your father's and I wanted to make sure you were okay. I owe him a great debt."

A frown creased his face. "Go away," he said darkly. "I don't want you here. I'm not a thing. I don't need your pity. Leave me alone."

"But..."

"No, you don't care about me at all. You're just trying to make yourself feel better. Go away."

Sirius stood silently, leaving his godson coughing on his bed. Dumbledore led him away gently. How could this be happening?