The Potions Tutor

Chapter 6

Harry plopped down onto the uncomfortable chair next to the small hospital bed with the plain, snow white sheets with a tired, dejected sigh.

Sirius looked the same now as he had last week and the week before than and the week before that: pale, weak, and incredibly fragile in the hospital bed.

Harry took Sirius’ hand and pressed his godfather’s palm against his cheek.

“Hey, Padfoot,” he whispered to the comatose man. “How’re you? Things at Hogwarts are good. No one’s tried to kill me yet, so I guess that’s a plus. Professor Slughorn assigned me a tutor in Potions, though. You’ll never guess who it is either. Draco Malfoy. Yeah, I know. I couldn’t believe it, either. I mean, it’s kinda common knowledge that Draco and I hate each other. Or—” Harry smiled softly. “—or we used to hate each other. He asked me to be his friend the other day, you know? I was about to leave after our first tutoring session and he stopped me. He seemed nervous when he was asking too, you know? Like he thought I was gonna say no. And then today we ran into each other in the hallway—literally. He helped me up and then he just… held my hand, and he wouldn’t let it go. But it didn’t feel weird. It was warm and… nice and it sent tingles throughout my arm, as cliché as that sounds. And… and I think I might like him. Like… like, like him. I’ve known for a while now that I was gay, and Draco’s always been attractive to me, but I guess I’ve never really thought about it until recently. He was just suddenly so nice to me, you know? And it was like I was seeing him for the first time.”

Harry sighed, the soft smile that had been gracing his face throughout his speech falling. “And sometimes,” he continued, more to himself than to his comatose godfather. “Sometimes I fell like I’m going mad. I mean, here I am, telling my godfather, who’s in a coma, something that I would never have the guts to tell him if he were awake. Before I know it, I’ll be thinking he’s talking back.”

“You should keep talking to him,” said a new voice behind him, startling Harry immensely. “He may be able to hear you. If he hears you, he may find the willpower to live, and then he may actually be able to talk back to you.”

Harry turned to see Sirius’ Healer, Healer Johnson, standing in the doorway, smiling kindly at him. Healer Johnson was an elderly man in his mid sixties with graying hair and kind hazel eyes who had obviously seen his fair share of battles. Scars lined his arms and what little Harry could see of the man’s chest. A long, jagged, white scar ran from his right temple to his jaw line and when caught off guard, his eyes held a certain haunted quality in them that Harry saw in all the war veterans’ eyes that walked the halls of St. Mungos. But despite that, he was still one of the nicest people Harry had met here.

Harry gave a slightly bitter chuckle, “Wasn’t it you that told me that those chances were slim?”