White Lies // Drarry

Chapter 13: Coming Clean

If Harry didn't know better, he'd think that Madame Pomfrey actually liked kicking people out of the infirmary.

After McGonagall had given them a stern lecture about why they should 'mercifully keep your mouths shut lest you prefer me to charm it shut for you' while they ate the lunch that the house elves had brought them, Madame Pomfrey had been adamant that they get their rest and sleep.

"But it's one in the afternoon!" Ron had exclaimed, aghast.

Madame Pomfrey had raised an eyebrow in his direction, as if asking him a very short 'So?'. Ron had wisely shut himself up.

So it was with grumbles that the six students all retreated to their beds – Ron and Hermione in the Gryffindor Tower, Blaise and Pansy in the dungeons, and Harry and Draco to their respective beds inside the Hospital Wing. ("I assure you that I will know if any one of you is found up and awake so don't even try.") However, they thanked Madame Pomfrey fifteen minutes later when they were all lying down on their mattresses, heads on their soft pillows and encased in their warm blankets because they hadn't realized just how tired they had become with all the excitement.

All thoughts of the sun still high in the sky fled from their heads as they easily drifted off to sleep.

Harry dreamt of evil, scepter-wielding Bishops made of stone.

And Draco.

He dreamt of Draco.

But instead of the bishop driving his scepter into the neck of Draco's horse, Harry dreamt of the bishop driving his scepter, the sharp point glinting ominously from the torchlight, through Draco's chest, and the sound of flesh being torn apart made him sick, but he couldn't look away, even when Draco fell to the floor with a sickening thud that echoed loudly in his ears.

And in his dream, as Draco bled and stained the floor with a dark, mocking red, all Harry did was stand and stare, not doing anything, until unknown hands hauled him away and shoved him in a cupboard.

When Harry awoke, it was seven hours later. The sun had already gone down and Madame Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen – which was for the best because Harry did not know what she would do if she found him suddenly awake, eyes wide and trembling violently. His hands clutched at the sheets as his panicked eyes sought familiarity in the withering darkness of the infirmary, trying to erase the blinding red behind his eyelids.

He gasped, trying to get air in his lungs, and he willed himself to relax.

Shifting slightly, he let out a soft groan, both at the soreness of his muscles and at the memory of the dream.

His heart was still beating wildly in his chest and he craned his head to look through blurry eyes at the bed next to his – and released the breath that he didn't know he had been holding.

Draco was still there, still sleeping peacefully in the darkness of the infirmary.

As he tried to calm his heart, Harry just let himself lie there, staring at Draco's sleeping face and seeking comfort at the way his chest rhythmically moved up and down with each soft breath. No bishops, no scepters, no blood... just... Draco.

Groaning softly again, Harry raised his hands to rub at his face.

Dinner. That's what he needed. Comfort food and a bath too, to get rid of all these unwanted tension.

He'd go to the Gryffindor Tower to take a much needed bath, and then drop by the kitchens.

But first...

Harry glanced at Draco on the other bed, just watching him sleep. He quietly moved off the bed and, hesitating for just a brief moment, slowly walked towards the other boy.