Recovery

Draco stared at the thin, white lines that marred what had been perfect forearms. Dammit, but that was appropriate. Everything had been perfect, before. Friends, family, looks... But that was all down the drain, wasn't it? The scars bothered Draco more than he cared to admit, when he really ought to be fretting about the big things. Like how his father was in prison, and the Lord only knew what was happening to his mother. Draco snorted. Lord. Not that stupid expression the Mudbloods still used. No, the real Lord. He was probably torturing her right now. Draco rolled over and buried his face in the thin little pillow someone had left at the top of his cot. It wouldn't do to have tears all over his face if someone came in.

Draco snorted when the door banged open. Of course someone would come now. They'd saved his face, no scars there at least, but crying shot his coloring all to hell. Well, whoever it was could go bugger himself. Any Slytherin who couldn't feign sleep by the second week of school wasn't worthy of the name.

Regular breathing? Check. Part opened mouth? Check. One restless head motion to seal the deal and...

"HOLY BUGERRING..." Draco screamed. No wonder he'd got caught, if he couldn't catch someone sneaking up on him when he'd damn well known someone was in the room. Another failure to add to the seventeen-volume catalogue of Things Draco Malfoy Has Fucked Up and Lived to Regret.

Draco rolled over to face his assailant, twisting himself up in the scratchy little blanket on his cot. At least, he thought, there was no sense worrying about his coloring anymore. You could hardly be blotchy when you'd gone chalk pale.

Not that he was frightened. Well, maybe a little. But it only made sense to be frightened of Potter. The last time Draco had seen him face to face he's wound up sliced open yet again. Potter hadn't even had the decency to finish him off. Oh, no. He'd just left him there, bleeding and scared until some goddamn Hufflepuff nurse had taken him to the hospital hell that he currently inhabited.

But Draco would die before he so much as flinched. Maybe Potter had finally come to finish the job. All the better, then. No more watered-down pumpkin juice and dry toast. "Potter," Draco said, proud of how neutral his voice came out. No quaver, and nothing that might provoke the unstable git into slicing him up instead of killing him yet again.

"Malfoy," Potter said, and the kicked-puppy look in his freaky green eyes made Draco sick to his stomach. He should have known better than to credit Potter with a revenge instinct. Potter was going to apologize. Potter was trying to make himself feel better. Well, good on you, Potter. I'm still covered in hideous scares for the rest of my life and probably going to prison.

Potter paused, prodded his glasses farther up his nose with his index finger. Stupid git couldn't even get glasses that fit him properly. He should be the one all cut up. After all, it took a scar to add interest to his utterly dull face. Why not his utterly dull body?

"It's just... I didn't mean it." Potter bit his lip and the kicked-puppy effect was even more obvious. "I just... I saw you, I panicked, the first thing that popped into my head was sectumsempra..."

Another mark in the Big Book of Failures. Flinching in front of Potter might even make the first page. But for the love of Malfoy, to hear that curse in that voice AGAIN, after feeling himself ripped to ribbons by it TWICE... Bastard was probably enjoying this. Worse, he wasn't. He was sitting there, stewing in his stupid Gryffindor holier-than-thou shit instead of enjoying his triumph like any normal person would. But noooo, Potter had to strip him of even that. Couldn't be the loathed and vanquished foe of the Boy Who Lived, oh, no. Nothing but the little prick's latest pity party, stripped of even the dubious honor of being someone who was worth reckoning with.

Potter, true to form, looked more distressed than ever and unless Draco was mistaken, at any moment his eyes were going to go from "shiny" to "teary." Fucking git. Maybe he'd get the hell out of Draco's room once he cried himself out.

"It just... it's what I think of when I see you... I couldn't get it out of my head, and when I saw you I just did it again without thinking and... and..."

Potter's tears, right on cue. Draco struggled to look solemn as water dripped from those big, green apologetic eyes. Made for this sort of thing, really. Made to grovel.

Potter set his jaw, pressing on despite his blubbering. Draco was a bit surprised. Harry "Self-Indulgent Git" Potter, what has become of you? "I don't want to be a person who would use that curse," Potter said, eyes locked on Draco's. "I am sorry that I used it on you when something else would have done."

Fat lot of good that does me, Draco thought, envisioning the livid slashes that marred his back and always would. "Apology accepted, Potter," he ground out, sounding as sincere as he could. Maybe the git would clear out if he thought his sodding apology had a receptive audience...

"Funny," Potter said, eyes still locked on Draco's. "I didn't think you'd say that. I guess I didn't think it through too much at all... I guess... when I look at you I still can't not think about sec..." Draco's lips pressed together involuntarily, and Potter looked stricken. "About that curse. I didn't mean it, really, but I did it anyway...." He lowered his eyes, and shook his head a little. "Anyway, that's not what I came in here to tell you. I just wanted to let you know... We found your mother, this morning, and she's kind of sick but the doctors say she'll be all right in no time."

Draco fought to keep his face neutral. Not dead... no permanent damage... He hadn't been that optimistic even when they'd dosed him up on Pepperup after the operation.

"I guess... Well, no one knows I'm here, so I'd better dodge out before someone comes along. It's just..." Potter colored a little and looked at his shoes. "I owe you one. Or a couple. Or something. I just didn't want to say sorry, because why would you believe me? So I guess I wanted to do something, a little, to prove it or something... Oh, I don't know. It made a lot more sense in my head." Potter scrubbed at his nose with a skinny wrist. "Anyway, I'll try to convince the Aurors to bring her by, you know, tell 'em you might give information or something. I'll work it out."

"Potter..." This was not anything resembling pleading, Draco thought. No... It was healthy self-preservation, that's all. "I'm not sure if plotting is really your strength. Maybe I could tell you what to say to the Aurors..."

Footsteps, a light rap on the doorknob. "Lunchtime, Mr. Malfoy." The bitch even had a starched voice.

Potter bit his lip, looked even shiftier than usual, then just... disappeared. Malfoy gaped at the spot where he had been. "Listen... Malfoy... I'll come back. You can tell..."

The door opened and invisi-Potter fell silent. Draco took a steadying breath. Malfoys were not frightened. Not even when their greatest enemies could apparently work invisibility spells without saying them out loud. He started when something brushed his hand.

The nurse looked at him, concern stamped all over her thick, peasant, Hufflepuff features. "Everything allright?"

"Yes, thank you," said Draco in his best Ice Prince voice. "I had an unpleasant dream."

Draco heard a distinct snicker from the vicinity of the door, which was closing much more slowly than it ought to. Fucking git. Couldn't even be invisible properly.