19 Years (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 42: Scars

Saturday, December 16, 2017

I knew I was going to regret this. Draco stared resentfully at Harry, who, as usual, just looked confused.

He'd been avoiding him - mostly successfully - since he'd been conned into helping him back to his room after the disastrous Gryffindor-Slytherin brawl.

Draco scowled. He'd still not gotten satisfactory answers from any of his house about what on earth had started it - only that it had involved Harry's eldest troublemaker son. At least Al seemed like a decent kid. If Scorpius had taken up with someone like James...

Draco massaged his temples wearily. No, James seemed to be something of an anomaly in the Potter family, much as he was loath to admit it. He liked Al. The boy was a perfect match for Scorpius - even he could admit that. And he liked Ginny well enough - except when she and Astoria ganged up on him, like they'd done the other day. Hell, he even liked Harry - which was, of course, the problem.

He'd tried to leave Harry at his door that night. It was only logical - he'd taken Pomfrey's potion and been dismissed from the hospital wing - surely he could make it to his bed on his own? Apparently not.

Oh, he'd tried, the idiot. Luckily, Draco's key had stuck and he hadn't made it into his rooms when Harry pitched forward through his door. Draco, fool that he was, had lunged forward to catch the idiot, straining a muscles in his left thigh, then had been forced to half-carry him to his bed. Of course Harry had injuries he'd not told Madam Pomfrey about. Because he "didn't want to bother her."

Draco snorted, drawing confused glances from the others, busily arguing about the best way to carry out this farce. He rolled his eyes and waved them off. He certainly wasn't going to tell them what he was thinking about. Damn Potter and his infernal inferiority complex. He tried to focus on the heated conversation across the room, Astoria's photographs on the wall in front of him, anything but that night...

—

Friday, December 1, 2017

"Thanks," Harry said sheepishly, once Draco had heaved him onto his bed. "I, uh, guess I'm not quite as strong as I thought."

Draco glared at him. "Apparently. Where are they, Potter?"

"Where are what?" Harry asked innocently, eyes flicking nervously away from his face.

Draco sighed. "Don't mistake me for a fool, Potter. Where are the injuries you hid from Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry flushed guiltily. "I didn't hide them. Just... forgot to mention them."

Draco stared at him incredulously. Harry held his gaze for several seconds, then looked away. "They're nothing, really. There was no need to bother Pomfrey about them, not when she had so many injuries to deal with. I've got some salve here - I can take care of them."

Draco snorted. "Oh, yes. Just like you took care of getting safely into your room?"

"I -"

"Just tell me where the damn salve is, Potter, so I can go to bed and forget about this disaster of a day."

Harry deflated. "Fine. It's in the bathroom." He pointed to a small door Draco hadn't noticed. "In the medicine cabinet. Second shelf."

Draco fetched it, then stared menacingly down at him, channeling his memories of Snape and attempting to loom as much as possible. "Well?"

"Just give it here." Harry's hand shot out to take the jar, and he glared when Draco pulled it out of his reach.

"No. You. Are. Injured. Do I need to put a full body-bind on you and drag you back to the hospital wing? I will, you know."