Eclipse

Chapter 8

"Just hurry, before I change whatever's left of my mind."

Harry stared at Draco uncertainly. The other boy's pale face was strained with anxiety, and his outstretched hand was shaking. After everything that had happened, there was no real reason for Harry to trust Draco. His behaviour had been bizarre and erratic. One moment they'd almost seemed to understand each other, the next the bastard was using the Cruciatus curse on him. Then apologizing, then sneering. There was nothing consistent for him to measure Draco against now.

Harry took a slow breath, trying to force the room to stay steady as it seemed to rock beneath him. How much blood had he lost? He felt so tired, far too lethargic to make any sense of Draco's strange behaviour. True, Draco seemed sincere; he'd returned Harry's wand, after all, and he'd even healed the gash Voldemort had left on Harry's arm, despite being told that it was unnecessary. He'd apologized. Numerous times. That didn't mean Harry had to trust him, though.

But there were no other options. And there was nothing left to lose...

Slowly, Harry reached up and clasped Draco's hand.

Immediately, Draco hauled Harry to his feet, but almost as quickly Harry's legs gave out underneath him. He felt himself going faint and he pitched forwards. He closed his eyes, expecting to collapse face-down on the floor. But instead, Draco caught him under the arms and held him as he sagged helplessly against Draco's chest.

"Potter!" Draco's voice registered surprise and panic. "Can you stand? We have to get out of here!"

Harry struggled to pull his legs beneath him, but they wouldn't support his weight. It was worse than a Jelly-Legs Jinx, and it was disgustingly embarrassing. He moaned softly against the nauseating rush of blood in his ears.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Draco cried in exasperation.

There was a grunt of effort, and Harry found himself being hoisted up; his left arm was slung across Draco's shoulder, and an arm encircled his waist. He opened his eyes blearily as Draco half-carried him out of the cell and, with surprising gentleness, settled him into the soft quilts on the guard chair. Draco knelt in front of him, before reaching out and pressing the back of his hand against Harry's forehead. He frowned.

"You're all clammy."

Harry ignored the faint urge to make a snide comment about blood loss, Dark Lords, and medical shock. He sunk deeper into the quilts and closed his eyes as another wave of dizziness washed over him, then croaked, "Water."

Draco nodded, glancing around the cell. Biddy had taken all the dishes away earlier. Draco grimaced as he reached into his robes and withdrew a small flask and his wand. Harry had seen Draco drinking from the flask at regular intervals, and he was sure it contained some sort of potion.

"Well, I suppose I don't really need this anymore," Draco muttered. "Facera Aqua."

Harry looked up at him questioningly, then stared suspiciously at the proffered flask.

"Drink up, Potter. It's just water now."

Harry reached out and accepted the flask, almost dropping it in his weakness. He brought it up to his nose to smell it, tentatively. Draco was right; it was just water. Harry managed to place the opening between his lips and upend it without spilling too much. The water felt so good and cool against his parched throat, but it churned in his painfully empty stomach. Finally, he passed the empty flask back to Draco and forced a weak smile. "Thanks."