Chapter six
Awakening
“Hello Harry.”
“Myra? What are you doing here?” Harry asked, shocked and suddenly nervous. It was Saturday; he’d counted on a relaxing day without having to worry about his friends. “You can’t—“
“Can’t what, Harry? Come in?” Myra raised an eyebrow at him. “Is it something dangerous you’re keeping in there?”
“No, no,” Harry said, panicking, through the decimetre wide opening. “No, nothing dangerous, I swear.”
Myra pushed the door open with surprising strength. Now standing in the hallway, she stood with her arms crossed and glared at Harry, who gripped the back of the door uneasily. Myra looked quite pissed and she was not one to cross when she was angry.
“Okay,” she said, “if it’s nothing dangerous, you won’t have anything against me seeing it. Or him.”
“It’s not – I mean—” Finally, Harry gave up and sighed deeply. “All right.”
He walked down the small corridor to his living room, where Malfoy lay on the couch. He had a blanket pulled over his legs, up to his waist, and he was staring blankly in front of him as he had done for two weeks. The television was on, showing a young woman with fake blonde hair and too much make-up.
“Myra, this is Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, this is my friend Myra,” Harry said.
As predicted, Malfoy didn’t move an inch. His eyes stayed on the TV, staring without seeing. Myra stood with her mouth open, looking at Malfoy with wide eyes.
“Malfoy is paralysed from the waist down,” Harry said, motioning towards the wheelchair that stood in the corner of the room. “He is living with me right now, ‘cause he has no place else to go.”
“Why— he’s not moving,” Myra said, a slight frown marring her features.
Harry sighed and studied the floor. “He’s been like that for more than two weeks,” he said. “Doesn’t talk, doesn’t see, doesn’t seem to hear. I don’t know what’s wrong and he is allergic to Mug – I mean, he’s allergic to most medicines.”
“Allergic?” Myra repeated dumbly. She shook her head to clear it. “But what does he do here? And why isn’t he in the hospital instead?”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said? He’s allergic to almost all medicines, so the hospital can’t do anything for him,” Harry said. Frustration apparent in his voice, he continued, “What he does here? He eats when I feed him, sleeps at night, watches the telly when I put him out here, showers when I shower him, and the rest of the time, he stares into the wall.”
He paused to glare at Myra. “Do you understand why I didn’t want you to come now?”
Myra raised her eyes from Malfoy to look at him. “Actually, no, I don’t,” she said. “I still don’t understand why you were hiding this from us. What do you think? That we’d think less of you because you’re helping an old friend? Why would that be bad in any way?”
Her voice didn’t hold so much anger as irritation and something close to curiosity.
“I don’t know,” Harry muttered. “I didn’t know what you’d say and he’s not acting like a sane human being exactly, so I had no idea what you would have thought.”
Myra rolled her eyes and smiled slightly. “Harry, you are so stupid that I want to slap you sometimes. Why in the world would we think less of you for helping your friend? You are so silly.”
Harry smiled back slightly. He decided to not mention that he and Malfoy had never been friends. It seemed irrelevant.
“Why don’t we sit down and have some tea?” Harry asked, leading Myra through the living room to the kitchen. He set a kettle of water on the stove as Myra took a seat by the small table. They were both silent. The only sound was the water as it began to heat up.
Just as Harry was about to pour some for Myra, the doorbell rang.
“Excuse me,” he said.
He left the kitchen and walked down the hallway to the door. He opened it just as Hermione was about to ring the doorbell again.
“Hi,” she smiled. At his startled look, she continued, “Am I interrupting something?”
“What? No, no, not at all,” Harry said. “I was just – surprised.”
“Oh, that’s understandable,” she said. “I think I would have been too.”
He smiled slightly. “Come in,” he said, finding his manners. He helped her off with her jacket and told her she could put her shoes wherever she wanted. She noticed Myra’s jacket, which she had taken off hastily as Harry had led her into the apartment to see Malfoy.
“Company?” Hermione asked.
“A friend came over.” Harry showed her down the corridor to the kitchen. “This is Myra. Myra, this is Hermione Granger. She’s an old friend from school.”
“Nice to meet you,” Myra said, stretching her hand out. Hermione took it with a smile.
“Nice to meet you too,” she replied. “So are you two—”
“No, no, definitely not,” Myra said with a laugh as Harry turned slightly pink. “We’re just friends. Besides, Harry—“
“—doesn’t want a girlfriend at the moment,” Harry interrupted and sent a warning look at Myra, behind Hermione’s back. Myra looked momentarily confused, but then she understood and nodded.
“He wants to stay single,” she said. “Although I keep telling him, with those looks, he could have anyone, any time.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. “You know,” she said, “She’s right. I didn’t get a chance to look at you the last time, but you do look very nice, Harry.”
Harry’s blush deepened. “Thank you, ‘Mione,” he said, studying the floor.
“So where do you two know each other from?” Hermione asked.
“University,” Myra replied. “We go to the same one. We met through a friend of mine.”
“That’s— nice,” Hermione said.
Silence fell and Harry felt the need to break it. “We were just about to have some tea and scones. Would you like some as well?” he asked.
“Sure, if you don’t mind,” Hermione said with a quick look at Myra, who shrugged.
“You’re welcome to stay if you want to, I don’t mind,” Myra said.
“I’m not going to stay that long,” Hermione said. “I need to get back to work – I was really only stopping by to see how you were doing with Malfoy.”
“He’s sleeping on the couch,” Harry said, setting the tray of scones and tea on the table. “Or maybe he’s watching the telly. I don’t know. He’s been sort of— out of it, the last two weeks.”
“He has? That’s strange. I should take a look at him,” Hermione said. Harry found the butter and cheese in the fridge, and placed it next to the scones.
“Feel free – I don’t have a clue what I’m looking for,” Harry said.
“So are you a nurse?” Myra asked.
“No, I’m a Hea – I’m a doctor,” Hermione said, pouring water into her cup and letting the tea sink down into the water.
Myra raised an eyebrow, impressed. “You seem young to be a doctor,” she said.
“Hermione was at the top of our class when we left school,” Harry said, taking a sip of his tea. “She’s the most ambitious person I know.”
“Well, I’m still learning,” Hermione said, blushing slightly. “It will be another year before I’m fully trained. What do you study?” Hermione sounded desperate for a change of topics.
“I study law; I’m going to become a lawyer,” Myra said.
“What kind of lawyer?” Hermione asked. She bit into a scone with butter and cheese. “These are delicious, Harry. Did you make them yourself?”
“Yes, actually, I do,” Harry said, blushing once again.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hermione said, looking at Myra. “I interrupted you. Go on.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m studying family law,” Myra said.
Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds interesting.”
“It is,” Myra said. “There are so many subjects that you can get into…”
As Hermione and Myra became involved in a conversation on family law, Harry stood up with a newly made scone on a plate and some tea. He left the kitchen without the two women noticing at all and walked into the living room instead. The telly now showed a man holding a woman half his age, kissing her and holding what seemed to be a very serious conversation at the same time. Another soap, then.
Harry sat down on the couch next to Malfoy.
“Here’s a scone,” Harry said and held it up to the blond. “Would you like some?”
As expected, Malfoy didn’t reply. Harry sighed softly and broke off a piece. He held it to Malfoy’s mouth and the blond ate.
“Hermione is here,” Harry told him. “And Myra too. I tried to keep Myra away— I don’t know why, but I did.”
He fed Malfoy another piece of scone. The scene was somehow calming to Harry. He could hear Hermione and Myra talk in the kitchen, their voices like a murmur in the background. Outside, the sky was dark red. The sun had disappeared only minutes ago. Malfoy lay on the bed, pale and unseeing. His frame looked small under the blankets, like a child, except for his face. His face wore the marks of war, scars marring the perfect skin and lines, scars that should not have been there on someone so young. His hair wasn’t groomed and slicked back like when they had been in school together. Harry didn’t see the reason why he should gel it when it looked fine without the gel. He reached forward and pushed a wayward strand back.
He gave Malfoy a few more pieces of the scone, wishing that he knew just what was wrong. He found himself wishing, just like he had done a million times the last two weeks, that Malfoy would wake up from whatever stupor he was in.
“How long are you going to do this zombie-thing anyway?” Harry asked. “’Cause you know, it’s not that much fun to watch.”
He hadn’t noticed Hermione and Myra finishing their conversation, so he didn’t realise that they were now standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.
“How is he?”
Harry jumped at the sound of Hermione’s voice. Crumbs left over from the scone fell from the plate in his hand onto the blanket covering Malfoy. Harry turned to his two friends.
“Same as he has been for two weeks. He doesn’t seem to notice that I’m here at all,” Harry said.
“Nothing?” Hermione asked. “That’s strange.”
“He’s been like this since his fever disappeared, four days into his stay here. He is like a robot – he chews and swallows when I give him food, he drinks when I give him water, he pees when I put him in the bathroom— He just doesn’t seem alive anymore. Like it’s only the shell left.”
“How often do you feed him?” Hermione asked him.
“Three meals a day and a fruit in the middle of the afternoon if I’m home,” Harry replied.
“That sounds good,” Hermione said. “But he doesn’t react to things?”
“No, he doesn’t,” Harry said, shaking his head.
“Maybe I should take him back to the hospital with me,” Hermione said. “We’ll run some tests and see if we can find out what’s wrong.”
Harry shook his head again. “No offence, Hermione, but I don’t think that there’s anything your tests could tell us that will fix the problem. I’m guessing it’s all in Malfoy’s head.”
“Still, don’t you think it would be better if I take him? It seems like an awful lot of work for you.”
“Nah, thanks ‘Mione, but I told him he could stay until he got well,” Harry said with a small smile. “I guess he’s not well yet. And besides, I’ve gotten used to having him here.”
Myra had stood silently and followed the conversation so far, but now she spoke up. “I agree with Harry, actually,” she said to Hermione. “I took a course in psychology a few years ago and this seems like something inside Malfoy’s head rather than something you can do tests on. Besides, Harry told me that Malfoy is allergic to medicines anyway.”
Hermione pressed her lips together. “Fine,” she said, sounding much colder than before. “He can stay here. But you know where to find me if he’s too much. Knowing what he was like in school, I’m guessing it won’t be too long before he becomes a real nuisance.”
Harry and Myra both stared at her, although Myra’s stare was less apparent than Harry’s. “Hermione, what’s up with you?”
“With me?” Hermione said, voice warming up again. “Nothing.”
Harry frowned at her. The air was getting thick with tension. Myra was the one to break the silence.
“I should head home now,” Myra said, her voice loud in the quiet room. Malfoy still sat staring in front of him as he had before.
Harry nodded to Myra. “It was – I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said to her. “It just felt— private, I suppose.”
Myra smiled at him, walking through the room and down the corridor with Harry following her. She picked her coat off the hanger and turned to him.
“It’s okay, Harry. Really. I can see a little of why you reasoned as you did,” she said. “Not completely, of course, but then again, I don’t think I’ve ever been able to understand you completely.”
Harry grinned at her. “Colour me complicated, huh?”
“Something like that.” She hugged him and opened the door. “See you tomorrow at Uni?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah. Bye.”
Myra left and Harry walked back to the living room, where Hermione had sat down next to Malfoy and was doing a few spells on him. Harry watched, unable to understand any of what Hermione was doing. Numbers appeared above Hermione and she seemed to know what they meant, so Harry left her at it. Finally, Hermione stood and faced Harry.
“His back is much better now,” she told him. “The spell will have worn off in two weeks, just like I said it would.”
“Should I keep giving him the medicine?” Harry asked.
Hermione nodded and picked out a vial from her bag, which had suddenly appeared next to her. “Here’s some more in case you’re running low,” she said. “Remember, three times a day.”
Harry nodded. “I haven’t forgotten it so far,” he said, smiling at her.
Hermione smiled back and then looked at her watch. “Well, I have to leave too – I told you I couldn’t stay that long.”
She walked over and hugged him. “It was nice seeing you again,” Harry said. “Perhaps next time, we can have lunch or something and, you know, talk some more.”
She smiled again. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Oh, Hermione?” Harry asked, just as she was about to leave.
“Yes?”
“How did you know where I live?”
She smiled. “I looked you up under Harry Evans in the telephone book. I heard the nurse call you ‘Evans’ rather than ‘Potter’.”
“Oh, okay.” Harry gave her a small smile back in understanding.
“Here, Harry,” she said and handed him a note. “My address and phone number. If you’d like to talk or see me.
“Thanks, ‘Mione.”
“You’re welcome. Bye, Harry.”
“Bye, ‘Mione.”
Then she too had left Harry’s apartment and Harry was once again alone with Malfoy.
He walked back into the living room to clean up the scone crumbs that had fallen on the blanket earlier. He bent down and scooped them up in his hand, straightening out the blanket at the same time.
“So, Malfoy, now you’ve met Myra too. Not that you noticed, but…” He trailed off, watching the blond on the couch with an expression that was probably sad to an onlooker. Harry wasn’t sad, not really. He was more like a bit depressed, more so with every day that passed without Malfoy getting any better. Taking care of him was taking its toll on Harry as well. It was a fulltime commitment, more so since Malfoy had become unable to speak and act. Maybe he should have let Hermione take him? But then again, that somehow seemed wrong; a gut feeling telling him that Malfoy should stay here, in Harry’s care. He didn’t know why, but he trusted the feeling.
For every day that passed, though, the frustration with Malfoy’s un-responsiveness grew within. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he knew that one of the reasons why he wanted Malfoy to go back to his normal, annoying self was that Harry had, somewhere along the line, started to care.
He sank down to his knees next to Malfoy.
“Just wake up for God’s sakes,” Harry cried. He slapped Malfoy lightly over the cheek. Then he realised what he’d done and he felt bad, crawling up on the sofa to sit by Malfoy’s head. “Sorry,” he mumbled to the blond, who, of course, took no notice. Harry raked his hand through his hair, leaning back into the cushions, wanting to sink further into them until he disappeared.
He sat there, listening to the sounds outside the window; the birds chirping happily, the soft wind rustling the leaves. He let his mind wander and worry about the book came forth. It was a worry he hadn’t let himself think about, but the truth was that Pally was right – he’d never had a problem writing any of his previous books. This one, though— it just didn’t want to be written. The words didn’t flow from his hands like they had before and Harry missed the feeling. He loved writing; he’d loved it for years. Even back at the Dursleys’, Harry had been writing, although nothing serious and involved like his books had later been.
Harry allowed himself a brief moment to recall his time at Hogwarts. There had been a lot of writing, but not anything in the way of novels and shorter stories. There, it had all been academic – and Hermione was always the one to shine in that part of life.
Half way through seventh year, Harry had begun keeping a diary. He didn’t write in it every night like he knew Hermione did; instead, he wrote when he had something to tell.
“Writing again, Harry? What about?”
Ron.
It hurt to think of his best friend, but it was a good memory, and Harry let it continue.
“Snape,” Harry said.
Ron made a face. “I hope it’s nothing positive about the git.”
“But Ron,” Harry said, “don’t you know I’ve been secretly in love with the tall, dark and oh-so-handsome Potions Professor of ours for years?”
Ron threw a pillow at him. “You’re giving me nightmares.”
“Tall, dark and oh-so-evil, instead?”
“’s much more like it,” Ron said. “Handsome and Snape in the same sentence…” He shuddered. “There should be a law against that.”
Harry smiled and finished his entry in the book before putting it and the quill away. “Want to beat me in chess again?”
“Always.”
Ron had beaten him. He always beat Harry in chess. And ever since Ron’s death, Harry hadn’t touched a chessboard.
It was partially due to Ron that he had begun to write seriously. It was after he’d left the Wizarding world, after it had become too much, that he’d needed an outlet for his feelings. His first book had been written in less than three months and the words had just flowed, sentences bringing a story together and drawing the reader in. Pally had been the first to read it, the first to love it. After her came thousands of readers – the readers that were now eagerly awaiting his new book, which, despite its unfinished status, had been set for release in the fall.
He wondered if that was the problem – he had to write. He’d never had to write before. He’d written his second book before the first one had gained any publicity and his third one while the world was still enjoying his second. Now it had been almost two years since his last book.
“As it is, the company expects your next book within three months – and they want a rough draft in two weeks.”
A rough draft in two weeks. Harry wanted to tell them to go do something anatomically impossible to themselves.
Harry shot a look out the window – and was surprised to see that darkness had fallen. He hadn’t realised how long he’d been sitting there, unconsciously petting Malfoy’s hair and thinking about his book and— Hogwarts. Sighing, Harry made to get up from the couch.
Just then, a soft sigh was heard. Harry wouldn’t have noticed it at all if it wasn’t for the fact that Malfoy hadn’t made any sound at all in two weeks.
“Malfoy?”
Harry turned so that he could see Malfoy’s face and eyes. He frowned; in Malfoy’s eyes, there was still no recognition or energy. He was still staring emptily in front of him, unknowingly and unseeingly. Thinking it was his imagination – and hopes – running wild, Harry was just about to stand and leave again, when Malfoy did something else that he hadn’t done since he’d gone into his living coma.
He slowly let his eyelids fall shut in a slow blink.
When Malfoy’s eyes had opened again, Harry could tell that they were no longer staring blindly at the wall in front of him.
“Malfoy?” Harry repeated quietly.
Malfoy blinked again, but didn’t say anything. Still, this response was more than Harry had seen in two weeks, so he was overjoyed with it. It felt strange to feel so happy over something that Malfoy had done, but Harry refused to dwell on it.
Malfoy’s eyes went up to look at Harry. He seemed confused and tired. Soon, he closed his eyes again, this time to sleep. Sinking back into the couch again, Harry decided that he didn’t need to get up at all. Instead, he sat next to Malfoy for several hours afterwards, continuing to unconsciously pet Malfoy’s hair every few minutes in a calming motion.
He felt strangely peaceful.
Chapters
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26