What Happens After Dark - Drarry

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New word count: 1.6k
Date (re)published: November 2nd, 2020
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— Friday - The Hospital Wing -11:39 pm —

Bright lights were the first thing that Harry saw when his eyes peeked open for the first time that night. They blinded him momentarily, making him wince at the surge of white that he saw. It was an unfortunate instance that lasted for barely a few seconds, before Harry was finally able to open his eyes again. Gone was the red fleshy colour of light shining through his eyelids, and there was the white ceiling tiles of the Hospital Wing.

He groaned, lifting his right arm to rub his eyes. It felt sore, but it didn't feel broken anymore. Harry sat up, leaning against the headboard of his stiff bed. The sheets were crinkly and rough against Harry's skin as he ran his palm along it. He peered around the room. There was a curtain around half of his bed, and a small table with a few different remedies on it on the other side. There was only one bed between his and the wall, so there was no need for another curtain.

Harry couldn't see a window, and that told him that he was on the further side of the Hospital Wing, nearest to Madam Pomfrey's quarters. She probably wasn't in there, because the light was off and the door was hanging open just a hair. He sighed. Harry hated that he couldn't see the rest of the room, and he hated that he knew the layout well enough to know where he was.

Waking up in the Hospital Wing wasn't new to Harry. Harry saw more white ceilings upon awakening than the blood-red canopy over his bed these days. Hermione liked to lecture Harry about his usual attendance in the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfrey liked to blame Harry for her having one less bed almost constantly. Harry had spent the first four nights of school that year in this very same bed, the scratchy sheeted, thick mattress-ed, intolerable bed of the fucking Infirmary.

However, it was new for Harry to hear someone else stirring there as well. There was the sound of a shaky breath that lasted too few moment to be from a health person's lungs. There was a small cough, and another one, and then silence. There was another shaky breath, and then another, and then silence.

Harry shifted slightly in the bed. His arm was feeling better by the moment, and he wondered if Madam Pomfrey would be about soon to release him. With a sigh, Harry swung his legs over to the side of the bed, stepping carefully onto the ground. He stretched a bit, allowing his legs to get used to the feeling of standing again.

Harry took a few tentative steps to the edge of his small corral. Harry stuck a hand out against the curtain, finding the break that acted as a doorway. He pushed through and pulled the curtain out of the way. Harry stepped through, closing the curtains shut behind him. He peered around himself, seeing the different empty beds. He couldn't see anyone from his angle, but when Harry took yet another step out, he was able to see more.

There was a bright light—or at least Harry thought there was—around the corner. After his vision adjusted to the shock of light colour, Harry was able to see that it was actually the hair of a person, instead of a bright light. Harry only knew one person with that colour hair.

"Malfoy?" he whispered mostly to himself. However, it caught the attention of blond before him.

"Potter," the man coughed, giving Harry a glance that was questioning in the sense that he seemed unable to comprehend the intentions of Harry's visit. "Finally woken up, have you?"

Harry growled lowly, but didn't speak. Instead, he examined Malfoy. The man was weak looking, more weak than he had been just a few days ago. His skin was more pale, his hair less gelled, his body less composed. He was bent over slightly, and his breathing was ragged. Harry wasn't sure why, but it hurt his heart to see Malfoy like this.