Chapter Thirteen
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Darkness surrounded him. He wasn’t sure if he was standing or floating – it wasn’t an important detail, but it interested Harry nonetheless.
“…Haleth mio san…”
A whisper, riding on the wind, although there was no wind in the blackness.
A tunnel suddenly lay before him…
“..aneth colle galnh…”
It was light. Something in him told him to go there, to reach out for the light. It was so dark and the light comforted him. He wanted to escape the darkness—
“…Haleth mio…”
He took a few steps towards the light; it was easy, it felt so right… His steps were light, light enough to make him wonder if he wasn’t flying rather than walking.
“…rane salay venetas…”
The whisper grew more anxious – worried – intense…
Something was wrong; he could feel it, somewhere inside. That voice – that was where he wanted to go. It was kind, loving, warm – far warmer than the light in front of him. Harry took a step backwards, away from the light. It was harder, much harder than walking towards it. His legs felt like lead and suddenly he knew for sure that he was walking rather than flying.
But he could do it.
“…menea haleth mio san…”
Harry took another step backwards. There was something about that voice, that whisper, that was comforting. He wanted to go to it. But the light grew stronger, grasping for him, wanting him—
“No!”
He didn’t know if it was he or the whisper that said the word. A sharp pain accompanied the outburst and suddenly, Harry could back away from the light faster – he turned and he ran back to the darkness, where the soothing voice was—
“…Haleth mio san…”
He opened his eyes slowly. Someone held his hand in a gentle grip. Grey eyes watched him intently.
Draco’s breath hitched in his throat as Harry’s gaze bored into him.
Harry felt tubes up his mouth and nose; he knew he shouldn’t do anything but close his eyes and go to sleep again. But before he did, he squeezed Draco’s hand weakly. Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as Harry once again slipped off to sleep.
The nurses were watching him like hawks, checking up on him every half hour. Visitors were supposedly only allowed in there five minutes per hour so that he wouldn’t get tired. Myra and Darius were following the rules fairly well but Draco managed to sneak in more than once. As he would only sit there, watching Harry, the nurses didn’t mind so much.
Harry slept most of the days away. He was awake long enough to understand that an infection had settled itself on his lungs, which was why he’d had trouble breathing. When he’d moved and upset the burns on his back and legs, his body couldn’t deal and he went into shock, which then turned into cardiac arrest. Quick actions by the doctors had gotten his heart to start beating again, but it had been close – too close. The doctors ordered him to rest, stuffing him with medicines. Harry didn’t mind; he slept soundly and those few hours of the day when he was awake, he was in a drugged haze.
Hermione came to the hospital. She followed the Muggle newspapers as well as the Wizarding ones and Harry had been named since he was a famous writer, so she found out quickly. She was horrified by what had happened, of course, and snuck in to see Harry just like Draco did. Since he mostly slept, she didn’t get much out of her visits, but that didn’t seem to matter to her. She came anyway, like a true friend and started healing him, slowly as to not shock Harry’s body further.
There had been others too, coming by to see him – Pally, who just like Hermione had been horrified, and two of Harry’s acquaintances from the university. Pally told him to rest and get better and to not worry in the least about his book. Harry wanted to laugh at that – the thought of his new book hadn’t so much as crossed his mind – but he was too tired, too drugged, so he just nodded with a distant smile instead.
One week after Harry’s second near-death experience, the nurses had finally taken him off most of the pain relievers and Harry was almost awake.
Draco sat next to him, watching him as always. He had a book in his lap. He’d begun reading sometime during the week – Harry couldn’t tell the days apart so he had no idea when he’d started, but he had – after Harry had been declared out of the risk-of-dying-zone.
Harry had just woken up from one of his many naps.
“How are you feeling?” Draco asked.
“My head’s fuzzy,” Harry said, “but it’s much better now than before. Where’re Myra and Darius?”
“They’re at uni,” Draco said. “Apparently, the ‘my-best-friend-is-in-the-hospital’-excuse didn’t help much.”
“I don’t mind. It’s better that they’re there, learning and all, than sitting here just worrying about me,” Harry said, his eyes closed. He opened them to look at Draco. “Not that I mind.”
Draco just looked at him, face blank and eyes passive.
“What are you reading?” Harry asked.
“’About a boy’ by Nick Hornby,” said Draco, holding the book up to Harry.
“Any good?”
Draco shrugged. “It’s okay. Kind of depressing at times, but it’s better to drown in another’s problems, rather than my own. Not that I have any,” he added quickly.
Harry raised an eyebrow at him, but refrained from saying anything. He was too tired to have a long, involved conversation like one about Draco’s problems would be.
“Harry?”
Harry, who had let his eyes fall shut again, opened them slowly. “Yes?”
“The police would like to talk to you,” Draco said. “Not today, but if you’re up to it tomorrow—”
Harry nodded. “Tomorrow’s fine. Have they found anything?”
Draco put the book on the table next to the bed. “They found some parts they believe to be what’s left of the bomb, but they can’t be sure because everything is so badly burned. There is nothing left of the building at all.”
They hadn’t discussed the fire since Harry woke up a week earlier, because this, the way he was today, was the most awake he’d been in that time. Now Harry was curious – and angry at what had happened.
“The buildings around yours were all sooty and the fire spread to one of them, but the fire fighters managed to keep that fire under control,” Draco continued. “The whole thing could have been much, much worse.”
“Do they have any idea—”
“No, not yet. Although…” Draco trailed off, looking away.
“Although what?”
“They have reason to suspect Mona,” Draco said.
“What?” Harry said, dumbfounded. “Mona? As in the girl I went out with that night? But— no. She’s annoying, but—”
“I’m not sure I believe it either, Harry, but the police told me she’s been in psychiatric care before, for several years,” Draco said. “She’s known for violent behaviour – although of course never anything quite like this.”
“But— why would she do it?” Harry couldn’t believe that the small, dark haired girl would do such a thing.
“They don’t have a motive yet,” Draco said. “But they said that for someone who’s been in psychiatric care and is known for being violent – well, she doesn’t really need a motive.”
Harry frowned at him. “Everyone has motives,” he said. “Everyone has some reason or other for doing things, whether it is a belief that the thing they’re doing is ‘the right thing’, or that something has happened to trigger that response. No one would just go and blow another person’s apartment up, just like that – especially not someone who just asked that person out!”
Draco put a calming hand on Harry’s arm. “Calm down,” he said. “Won’t do you any good to need more pain relievers, will it?”
Harry glared at him, although Draco spoke the truth. His anger was directed towards himself, really; he didn’t want to be so weak.
“I’ll talk to the police tomorrow,” Harry said.
“Good. Now rest.”
Harry let his eyes close again, falling into sleep feeling safe because someone was watching over him. Draco picked up his book again.
Two policemen came to talk to Harry the next morning. Both were male, one in his thirties and one closer to fifty, both serious looking and with notepads and pens in their hands.
“Mr Evans,” the older one greeted him, shaking his hand carefully and sitting down. “I’m Mr Quasim and this is Mr Tully.”
‘Tully’ sounded like something one would name a cat, not a last name, Harry thought and fought a smile. Still high on drugs, he found a lot of things funny. He managed to greet them back instead of laughing.
Draco sat on Harry’s other side; he’d refused to leave and it didn’t matter to the police if he were there.
“We’ll start with what you were doing when the bomb went off,” Mr Quasim said. “Please tell us with as much detail as possible – relevant details, of course.”
“How do I know what’s relevant?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.
“Just tell us everything you remember,” Mr Quasim said.
So Harry did. For closer to ten minutes, he told the two gentlemen about his date with Mona and how he rushed back to the apartment after hearing and feeling the ‘boom’. The policemen took notes and ‘hm’-ed here and there, both asking questions when Harry wasn’t specific enough.
“So Ms D’Razi – Mona – went to the bathroom just when the bomb went off?” Mr Tully asked.
“Er— yes,” Harry said. “Does that matter?”
Mr Quasim looked at Harry over silver rimmed glasses. “We believe that the bomb had a remote rather than a timer, so that someone could set it off whenever they wanted. If Ms D’Razi went to the bathroom just when the bomb went off, she had the perfect opportunity to do it. I am sure that several women can tell us that Ms D’Razi did indeed go into the bathroom and since we don’t have enough left of the bomb and can’t find the remote, there will be no evidence. It will be very hard to prove it was her.”
Harry just stared at them, his tired brain not completely up to managing all that information.
“But it doesn’t have to be, right? It doesn’t have to be her?” Harry asked.
“No, it doesn’t,” Mr Quasim said. “Did you have any visitors in the week before the explosion?”
“Um, well, Mona of course,” Harry said uncertainly. “And Myra and Hermione.”
“Myra as in Myra Pryderi, I assume?” Mr Quasim asked.
Harry nodded. “She’s one of my best friends.”
“And Hermione?”
“Hermione Granger. She’s a long time friend; I know her from school,” Harry said. “I’m sure she would talk to you if you have any questions.”
“That sounds good,” Mr Quasim said.
Harry gave them Hermione’s phone number and address, so that they could call her if they had any questions.
“Was there any sign of a break-in in the week before the explosion?”
Harry shook his head slightly. “No, nothing out of the ordinary at all. Draco was home most of the time; we’ve only both been gone for an hour at the time or so.”
“That is enough to get in there and place the bomb, of course,” Mr Tully said.
“Of course. But there was no sign of any forced entry,” Harry said.
“Does anyone else have a key to the apartment?”
“Myra has a key, but she’s the only one,” Harry said.
The questioning continued for several more minutes, but Harry couldn’t give them any further relevant information, so finally they stood and thanked him for his time.
Just as the two officers were just about to leave, Harry asked, “Have you talked to Mona yet?”
Mr Quasim paused and turned to Harry. “No, Mr Evans, we haven’t.”
Harry frowned. “Why not?”
“Because we have been unable to find Mona since the night of the explosion. Good day, Mr Evans.”
“Oh Harry, I’ve been so worried about you,” Hermione said, hugging him carefully.
“I’m fine, ‘Mione, don’t worry about me,” Harry said, smiling at her.
“Why didn’t you come to St Mungo’s instead, Harry?” Hermione said. “We could have healed you much quicker there. I performed a healing spell for your burns the last time I was here, of course, but like with Malfoy’s back, I couldn’t make it all well since it was a while ago since it happened.”
“’Mione?”
”Yes?”
“Call him Draco, would you?”
Something passed through her eyes, but it was gone before Harry could identify it. Hesitantly, she asked, “Are you sure he’s okay with that?”
“Well,” Harry said with a smile at her, “he calls you Hermione, so…”
“All right,” Hermione said after a second, “I’ll call him Draco. Anyway. If you want to, I’ll do another healing spell on your burns. I also have gentle version of the Pepper Up potion, if you want that.”
“I’ll take the spell, but I’m skipping the potion,” Harry said. With a smile, he added, “The potions remind me too much of the Infirmary – and the stuff that made Draco all weird. Neither is anything I want to be reminded of.”
Hermione smiled understandingly at him. “Of course.”
When Darius and Myra came in fifteen minutes later, pushing Draco in his wheelchair in front of them, Hermione had mostly healed Harry’s burns. Hermione smiled in recognition at Myra, said a nice hello to Draco and greeted Darius warmly. Then she performed a quick memory charm on Myra and Darius, so that they wouldn’t think that Harry’s incredibly fast recovery was anything strange. She promised to do the same with the nurses and doctors.
“Thanks, ‘Mione,” Harry said with a big smile as he could finally stretch out for real without risking the wounds on his back to open.
“You’re welcome – after all, what are friends for?” She hugged him. “I’ve got to go now. Have lots to do in school and then I’m working tonight.”
“Don’t wear yourself out,” Harry said.
“Harry, you’re talking to the girl who did more than the double amount of classes back in school – I think I can handle it. But thanks for caring.”
“Of course I care!” Harry said. “You should come over for dinner some time.”
“When you find a new place to live, I’ll come over for dinner, promise,” said Hermione. “Bye guys!”
The others waved her good bye, even Draco. Harry smiled at him. “See, you can be nice to each other.”
“She’s okay, I’ll admit,” Draco said rolling his eyes.
At Darius’ and Myra’s questioning looks, Harry said, “Draco and Hermione didn’t get along very well back in school, but they’re getting better, as you just saw. You know, children.”
His two friends grinned at him while Draco glared, before Myra became serious. “Harry, where are you going to live?”
Harry opened his mouth, then paused to consider. “I guess we’ll live in a hotel until we find something…” He trailed off, realising something. “Draco, where have you been sleeping these last two weeks?”
“Here,” Draco said simply. “Mostly.”
“Here? In your chair?”
“Well, the first five days I had my own room and bed, but— yeah, mostly in here, in my wheelchair.”
“He slept at Myra’s a few nights too,” Darius said. “She wanted him to get some real sleep, so she put out an extra mattress in her apartment and he got to sleep there. Then she came and raided my wardrobe for clothes.” Darius pretended to be put out.
“Well, they didn’t fit very well anyway,” Myra said, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at Darius.
Harry watched them interestedly. “Well then, thank you, Myra.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, her glare turning into a smile as she met Harry’s eyes. “He’s a wonderful house guest.”
“Er— are we talking about the same Draco here?”
“Hey! I resent that,” Draco exclaimed. “I’m a perfectly lovely house guest.”
“Yes, you just keep on believing that,” Harry said, grinning at Draco, who glared.
Later that afternoon, Harry was released from the hospital after the doctors seemed satisfied with his magically healed back. They told him to still get plenty of rest, but he would be all right. Harry, Draco, Myra and Darius left together, after Myra and Darius decided that Harry and Draco should stay in their separate apartments at least for the night. Harry was supposed to sleep at Darius’ and Draco at Myra’s, but as it turned out, Myra picked up an extra mattress from her apartment and they all slept over at Darius’. He had a huge apartment with a bedroom, a guestroom, a large bathroom with a bathtub that looked very inviting, a messy kitchen and a spacious, combined dining- and living room – and a lift up to the tenth floor, which was lucky since they didn’t know how they would have gotten Draco up otherwise.
Harry and Darius slept in the guestroom, with Harry on the bed and Darius on the extra mattress Myra had brought, as everyone insisted that Harry should have a comfortable night. Draco slept in Darius’ bedroom and Myra slept on the couch. But before anyone went to sleep, they made dinner.
Darius’ kitchen was in no way as organized and well filled as Myra’s was, since Darius often either ate at a friend’s house or just bought takeout. This meant that the first thing Darius and Myra did was go out to shop – Myra went because she knew what they needed, Darius went because he had the credit card.
Harry and Draco were forced to sit on the couch and watch TV.
“You’re supposed to rest,” Myra told Harry in a mothering voice. Harry knew there would be no use in telling her that he wasn’t tired; she would win any discussion. To his surprise, Draco was equally obedient. After Myra left, Harry asked, “I thought you’d put up a fight.”
“Against her? I did that the first night I slept here and I’m not doing that again.” Draco looked like he was suppressing a shudder and Harry couldn’t help but laugh.
They watched TV for nearly an hour, sitting in comfortable silence.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said to Draco. “With the spell finally off, you can move around as you want. Well, okay— not completely as you—”
“I know what you mean, Potter,” Draco said, smiling slightly. “It’s good to at least be able to move the wheelchair around by myself.”
He paused, watched the TV for a few moments before he turned back to Harry. His eyes were half-closed and the light lashes cast shadows down his fine cheekbones. Harry was shocked to find his heart beating harder in his chest as Draco looked up, his expression showing something that Harry couldn’t read. Harry was suddenly acutely aware of just how close they were sitting – his own jeans and Draco’s track pants were the only thing separating them and he could feel Draco’s body heat through the clothes.
“I’m glad you’re okay too,” Draco said shyly. “I was— scared.”
Harry’s breath hitched and he had to force himself to calm down. He was not supposed to react like this to Draco Malfoy of all people.
“I—“
Just at that moment, they heard Darius or Myra push a key into the lock and the moment, whatever it had been, was lost. Draco pulled away and looked up at Myra, who came into the living room as Darius set the two heavy bags of newly bought food in the kitchen.
“Hi boys,” she said happily.
Half an hour later, Harry was making dinner, with Myra helping. Draco had been promised to get to make the dessert, so for now, he and Darius sat by the TV. Another forty-five minutes, found the four friends around the dinner table. The dinner table was large; it could sit eight people without a problem. The apartment was very spacious over all; Darius’ bedroom was huge, with a queen-sized bed, a bookcase with a flat-screen TV, a wardrobe with more clothes than Darius could possibly use. The place reeked of wealth and it was so— so Darius.
They spent the dinner telling stories. Most of them were Darius and Myra telling Draco about things – embarrassing things – Harry had done throughout the four years they’d known each other. Draco told them a few things about what his life and Harry was content just listening to the other three, laughing and having a wonderful time. Draco made warm apples filled with melted chocolate for dessert, serving it with ice cream and cream.
“Draco,” said Darius as he munched on the dessert, “this is absolutely delicious. You are welcome here at any time from now on to make desserts for me.”
Draco smirked.
Harry rolled his eyes and said, “Don’t inflate his ego too much.”
“Admit it,” Draco said, “you like it too.”
“I never said I didn’t,” Harry said, filling his spoon with more apple and ice cream.
“You could start a café business,” Myra suggested. “If you like making desserts, I mean.”
Draco glanced down at his legs and didn’t say anything.
“Oh come on,” said Myra. “Don’t think about that. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
Draco shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “We’ll see.”
They were up late that night, since it was Friday and no one had to get up the next day.
“He’s a cool guy,” Darius said to Harry when they finally made it to bed at closer to three in the morning.
“Draco? Yeah, I guess he is,” Harry said. He didn’t know quite what to think after what had happened that afternoon, but he decided to play it cool. Darius didn’t need to know, not yet. “He’s grown up a lot since we were in school together.”
“He seems to like you too,” Darius said with a smile.
“We get along now,” Harry said, shrugging, but his heart began beating a little faster. Draco liked him? He felt like a teenage girl with a crush.
They were both silent for a few seconds, before Harry asked, “How is it going with Myra?”
Harry could hear Darius’ blush as he mumbled, “Um—”
“You know,” Harry said, “this is the first time I’ve ever seen you blush about a girl.”
“I’m not blushing!”
Harry snorted. “Yeah right, then you don’t mind if I turn the light on?”
“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Darius said. At Harry’s continued laughter, he fumed, “oh, whatever.”
“You need to tell her,” Harry said.
“I need to do nothing,” Darius said. “It’ll go away sooner or later.”
Harry didn’t think that his friend wanted him to argue that ‘it’ would probably not go away sooner or later. He didn’t want to think about his own ‘it’ and what that meant, either, so he kept quiet. Sleep did not come easy for him that night, because he couldn’t get the feeling of Draco’s leg against his own and how uncertain the grey eyes had looked out of his head.
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