Shattered Glass

Shattered Glass

Day 6:

Draco was writing down notes haphazardly on a roll of parchment when Hermione dropped her things next to him. He didn't even acknowledge her presence but kept writing. She looked at the paper over his shoulder, more for a need to know then for any real curiosity. Draco had cured her of that very quickly.

"What are you doing now?" she asked, not understanding what his clear, cursive writing was indicating.

"Since I can't find a cure in any books I'm looking up the cures for other similar poisons. The problem is there are absolutely no potions that work in the same way and most of the ones that are even close kill you so quickly that there's no time to work a cure, even if you gulped then down at the same time." Hermione thought about this and found it very logical.

"What can I do to help?"

"Dumbledore gave you permission?"

"Yes."

"Fine then." Without even looking up he shoved a pile of books at her. "Look through these for any mention of Soul's Fire or any similar ones. Tell me if you do." Grumbling silently she got to work. She wanted to start up a conversation but she knew Draco would have no part in it; he was too intent on his work. And a cure for Harry was more important that a stupid question.

"Why are you staring at me, Granger?" Draco finally asked, exasperated, as he dropped down his quill. Hermione jumped, startled out of her reverie.

"What?"

"You've been staring at me for the last fifteen minutes and you aren't getting any work done. This is Harry's life, you know."

"Yes, I know. It's just that something Harry said has been bothering me." Ouch, very tactful. But at least she had his attention. And he actually seemed interested, for once.

"And what would that be?"

"He said you two had a conversation and you told him that you stopped hating him during the second task during the tournament. I was wondering why. I mean, what changed all of a sudden?" Draco's face darkened. He started muttering about having a word with Harry about telling people about private conversations.

"And why do I have to tell you anything?" he asked darkly.

"You don't. I was just wondering." Smooth, Hermione, really smooth. You've gotten him ticked off and you haven't got any answers yet. She wasn't very good at this subtle interrogation thing. There was silence in which Draco just sat there, quill in hand, staring at the parchment without doing anything.

"I lied," he finally said softly.

"What?" He looked up, glaring at her defiantly.

"You heard me. I didn't hate him before that, I just pretended to. That was when I admitted to myself that he was even half of what everybody thought he was. And when I first started to regret what happened on the first day of school." Hermione was flabbergasted. That was definitely not what she'd expected to hear. "Oh, I did hate him for a while, if you want to call it that. Petty and childish, that's what I choose to call it. And just plain stupid. But that passed and I was left to pretending."

"Why did you bother?"

"My father, my honor, my housemates," he waved his hand vaguely in the air. "For everyone and everything but myself. Now, if you're quite done with this subject." His tone just dared her to continue. She didn't really want to know what his reaction would be if she continued to pry. She didn't and quietly got back to work. A few minutes later Draco looked back up at her.

"Oh, and tell Harry that next time he wants to ask me a question, please do it himself." His grey eyes flashed with amusement at her bewildered expression. "You would make a horrible spy." Hermione colored at this comment.

"Oh, and why is that?" His amusement only increased, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"Because you have no control of your emotions; you wear them all over your face. You should work on that. Control is a marvelous thing. Even when it's only an illusion."

An illusion like all emotions; love, hate, fear. All creations of a fevered mind. And he refused to be sucked down into that mess. He refused to live the illusion. But what if his façade was the only illusion, keeping everything real away? Was there really something out there? Was this real, this feeling inside of him, tugging at his heart? Could it be real? Or had he created it in desperation? Did it even matter? Yes, yes it did, because it affected him so much.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked. Draco had been staring off into space, his face wistful in a painful sort of way. She was almost sorry to snap him back into reality. He picked up his quill and began writing industriously.

"I'm fine," he answered in a slightly strangled tone, not meeting her eyes. He didn't want her to see what he knew was in them.

* * * *

Ginny caught her brother's arm as he went to leave the common room that morning. Her face was set in determination, her red curls adding an angry look to her normally sweet complexion. Ron gulped when he saw the look on her face. He wasn't getting out of this one easily.

"Ron you will tell me what's wrong with Harry or so help me god..." She stopped, her glare showing that whatever she was going to do to him was too horrible to speak aloud. He looked around nervously, glad, for once, that he'd slept in late that morning. There was nobody around.

"Look Ginny, I don't want to talk about it."

"I don't care what you want to talk about. You will tell me. I know something's wrong. He's been in the hospital wing for five days. People are talking about him dying." Her lower lip began to tremble. "What's wrong with him? Tell me." Ron looked down at her sympathetically.

"All right. You'd better sit down," he replied with a defeated sigh. Still watching him like he was going to try and make a run for it, she sat down on the nearest red couch. Ron sat next to her.

"Well?"

"Right." He took a deep breath. "Harry's been poisoned." Ginny gasped. "It was an accident. But him and Malfoy were both poisoned. Since it was made for Harry, which for some reason affects it, Malfoy got better but Harry...Harry's dying. There's no cure. We're all looking for one, even Malfoy is. He feels responsible. He and Harry made up and are now on speaking terms, if you want to call it that." Ginny didn't look like she'd absorbed anything past the knowledge that Harry was dying.

"He's dying?" she asked faintly. Ron grasped her hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Yes. We're trying to find a cure but we can't... I mean... there might not be one."

"Oh god, Ron, say it isn't true." The tears were pouring down her face, which she buried in Ron's chest. "Please don't let it be true."

"I wish I could." His throat was constricting painfully and he kept having to blink his eyes. This was just too much.

"You have to save him. We have to do something," Ginny cried, pounding uselessly at his chest. Ron clutched her to him, murmuring comfortingly to her.

"It's all right, Ginny, we'll find something. Malfoy spends everyday down in the library and Hermione's helping him now. The teachers are trying, too. We'll find something."

"Malfoy?" She pulled away from him, an angry light now in her eyes, replacing the tears. "What has he got to do with anything?"

"I told you, he got poisoned too. Now he's looking for a cure for Harry," Ron said patiently.

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he feels responsible," Ron repeated. Ginny's eyes narrowed.

"What did he do? I swear, if that bastard did anything to hurt him, I'll..."

"No, Ginny, stop. It wasn't his fault. Stop!" He grabbed her hands, which she had been swinging around angrily. "Malfoy's helping him now. They're almost like friends." Ginny stared at him like he'd grown another head that resembled a blast-ended skrewt.

"Are you defending him? Draco Malfoy?"

"Yeah, I guess I am." There was silence. Ginny made a disgusted noise, turning away from her brother.

"He'd better find a cure or he won't live much longer than Harry will."

"And I'm sure he agrees with you on that. That's basically the point."

* * * *

The students that wandered into the library that day found a sight that completely baffled them and caused the divination students to run off and check their books for signs of the apocalypse. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger... sitting at the same table... not killing each other... and holding a conversation. It gave people the chills, seeing them there; it went against all natural laws that they'd come to accept.

"No!" Draco complained, pulling a book away from the Gryffindor. "I was reading that. Go get some more. Here, you can put those back." He shoved a few books at her. Hermione glared at him.

"What, am I your servant or something?"

"Are you offering?" He raised an eyebrow mockingly.

"No," she snapped. "And since when were you in charge of this? He's my friend you know." Draco opened his mouth to say something and then thought better of it.

"But I'm the one who has to save him, supposedly. So I'm in charge. And I know more about potions so I know what I'm doing."

"Fine," she said angrily, sweeping the books off the table and into her arms in one, practiced, gesture. "I'll be right back then, Your Majesty."

"That's more like it." But it seemed to be more of a joke then their normal attitude to each other. This was just plain bickering.

Hermione walked off to find Madam Pince so she could get back into the restricted section. Draco turned right back to the complicated chart in front of him. He traced his quill down the column, muttering something under his breath. He flung his quill down in frustration; this was useless, there was nothing here.

"Draco?" The boy cursed silently. There was only one person in the whole school who could manage to sound that stupid, well, two actually. He turned around and was faced with Crabbe and Goyle, still as large, ugly and stupid as ever.

"What?" he snapped, wanting to get back to his work.

"We were just wondering what was wrong with you. You haven't talked to us in days and you haven't been staying in our rooms at night and you're never in the common room." They must have put their minds together, which really only equaled about half of the intelligence of a normal person, and thought about that one for a long time.

"I've been sick," he said slowly so they could understand him. He really hated having to pretend to be friends with these idiots. "And now I'm doing some work for Madame Pomfrey."

"With the Mudblood? Why?" Draco gritted his teeth.

"Because I have to. Now go away. I have a headache and I still have a lot of work to do."

"When are you coming back to the dorms?"

"I don't know."

They exchanged looks. "All right. Bye Draco." They lumbered off.

"So I'm still the Mudblood then?" Hermione queried as she sat back down at the table, dropping her fresh load of books. Her attitude towards him had become much colder.

"No," he muttered down at his paper. "I wouldn't give a damn if your parents were blast-ended skrewts. I'm just supposed to. And if I pretend it keeps them quiet."

"Do you really mean that or are you just pretending because of Harry?" Draco glared up at her.

"Look, you know nothing about me. You have no idea why I've done the things I've done. You don't even know what my real feelings towards anything are. And Harry is no reason to start changing the way I live my life. There is no way he has that sort of power over me." That last part sounded oddly like a denial, even to him. Hermione seemed quite interested with this news.

"Really?" Now she was the one with the mocking tone. "But he's already changed it. Just look at you." Draco paused, struck by the truth of this comment. He had changed over the last week or so. His outlook on life had altered and now he had... a purpose. He felt needed and wanted. And it felt good. And it was because of Harry. All because of Harry. Harry had changed him.

The work went on but Draco's mind was elsewhere. When he thought Hermione wasn't paying attention he reached into his bag and pulled out a magically wrapped container. He held it up, looking at the beauty of its contents. They looked so much like his eyes.

"What's that?" Hermione asked sharply. Draco went to hide it but she staid his hand, grabbing his wrist. He would have pulled free but for fear of dropping his burden. "Is that the poison?" He nodded, pulling his hand away gently. He held the broken jar that contained the last drops of the Soul's Fire poison that had changed his life so much, almost cuddling it against his chest.

"You kept it?"

"Yes."

"May I see it?" Draco reluctantly handed it to her, watching her closely to make sure she didn't drop it. For some reason it was important to him. It reminded him of Harry and what he had to do to return that beauty to his eyes that the poison had stolen. That life that sparkled in its murderous midst. She inspected it closely before raising her eyes up to Draco.

"It's emerald, the same color as Harry's eyes," she commented. His face shuttered abruptly.

"I know." But Hermione had seen something in his eyes, something pure and untainted, something that she already suspected but now suddenly knew it had to be true. And they didn't even know. She handed it back silently and he placed it gently before him. As they worked over the next few hours his eyes would stray to it. And it would remind him of what he had to do and why. He had to save Harry.

* * * *

Harry had found that sleep momentarily erased the troubles from his mind. The more he slept the less time he had to stare at the ceiling and contemplate his death, trying to fight off the evil whispers that he could no longer distinguish from reality. His nightmares were much more insubstantial and much less frightening then the sheer, stark truth that he was faced with in his moments of lucidity. So he slept.

It was a nightmare, another one to haunt him. He was standing in a room filled with shadows. A slow, eerie mist crept around his feet, chilling him. He was alone. He was always alone in his nightmares. He looked up from his silent contemplation of the floor to see another figure, wreathed in shadow, standing before him. He peered through the gloom, trying to distinguish anything that would give a clue as to who it was. He needn't have bothered.

"Hello Harry." The voice was cool, collected, mocking. It was Draco. Relief coursed through him. He had been fearing Death, maybe, come to finally take him, or Voldemort or some other horrible thing. But Draco wasn't something to be scared of. But he should have known, should have realized what the poison was doing to him.

"Draco!" he cried. He went to go to the boy but found himself too weak to move. He collapsed silently to the floor, his arms outstretched as if to reach for the Slytherin. His head was bowed but he could hear slow, measured footsteps coming towards him, matching his heartbeat. He looked up to see Draco of the past, sneering at him disdainfully.

"Why don't you just die and get it over with?" Harry's heart stopped painfully. He let out a small whimper. Draco kicked at him and he fell over onto his back. Draco glared down at him, hatred reeking from him. "You're so much trouble, you know. And I have to keep pretending I care. But we both know it's all a lie. I would never find a cure for you. So just die and stop tormenting everybody around you." Tears poured silently down Harry's face.

"Draco?" he whispered softly, pain washing through him.

"I hate you. I always have and I always will. Everything else is a lie." And the world exploded in that pain.

* * * *

Draco slipped quietly into the hospital wing and was beckoned into the nurse's office. He cast a worried glance at the sleeping Harry but did as he was told. Madame Pomfrey sat down behind her desk, filtering through some papers. He cleared his throat.

"Ah, yes, Draco Malfoy. I believe that you have recovered sufficiently to leave the hospital wing and return to your own dorms. Tonight will be the last night you will spend here. You may continue on your personal research and are still exempt from classes, as long as this time is spent for that purpose. That is all." Draco nodded and walked out, feeling slightly numb.

Well, it had to happen sooner or later. He had just been trying to ignore that. He'd still be able to check up on Harry, see how he was doing. But it would be different. He wouldn't be able to look over at him before he fell asleep to make sure he was okay and as soon as he woke up to make sure he had survived the night. But that was that.

He sat down on the chair next to Harry, his usual spot. He gazed down at him almost fondly, but also sadly. He was getting so much worse. Face sunken, almost cadaverous, eyes almost bulging from their sockets, hair limp and unwashed. His face crinkled up, almost as if in pain.

"Draco?" he whispered, his voice ragged with fear, surprise and deep, gut wrenching pain. Draco reached gently for his hands but they were pulled away. He felt hurt for a moment but this passed as he watched the sleeping boy worriedly. He must be having a nightmare.

Draco settled down at his side, intent on relieving some of the pain if he could. And all through the night as nightmares tormented the frail young man there was someone there to comfort him until sleep overcame him once more. These moments of almost wakefulness were only remembered as dim shadows that bordered on dreams. But they happened. One small candle burned by the bed, casting an odd pallor on the surroundings, adding to the dreamlike quality. But Draco never left him. And just then, nothing else mattered.