Dragon He Saved

The hours passed in a slow haze for Harry that day. After breakfast, Draco
hadn't had enough energy to do more than give Harry a meager "thank you" before
rolling over and slipping back into an exhausted sleep even before his head hit
the pillow. Something of which Harry was more than thankful for.

Not that he was averse to Draco's company but the blonde desperately needed
the sleep. Even with the potions that Harry had forced on the boy and the
woundwort he had applied after Draco fell asleep, he wasn't healing
as well as Harry had hoped he would.

Being a quidditch player, more specifically a seeker, Harry wasn't a stranger
to injuries nor the remedies to cure them. Muggle or otherwise. But none of
these were doing the job he knew they were capable of. They just weren't
working.

//I knew I should have stocked up on more supplies before I left!// Harry
fumed as he stared at the sheet just beneath Draco's fingers. //Half of what I
had was probably spoiled. God I can be such a prat sometimes!//

Harry sighed. This wasn't good. This definitely wasn't good. If he didn't get
Draco the proper help that he needed then who knew what could
happen...Infections were tricky things for wizards. Complications always arose
when normal muggle medicine couldn't do the trick.

For muggles, an infection was a simple matter of going to the doctors and
getting the right amount of medicine to fight it. If that didn't work then
further measures could be taken. Not so for a wizard.

Due to the magic abilities that every witch and wizard had from birth,
regular muggle remedies weren't enough. They weren't strong enough, that is. Of
course, they could be used if need be. The sick wizard or witch would have to
take more than triple the amount than a normal muggle child but they could still
work effectively if taken right.

However, everything held a certain amount of danger. Every cut, every scrap,
that went untreated for a wizard could mean death for not only the wizard but
for others. As strange as it was, wizard’s, Harry had found, had a backlash law
to them.

An example of this was the times that Harry’s emotions took control and made
him do magical things without realizing it; which was why it was so important
for every magically gifted child to go to Hogwarts or some such school. They
taught you how to harness the magic and control it from day to day.

The law held true even when a wizard was sick, which meant that if Harry
didn’t help Draco in some way, the boy’s magic could backlash on them both.
Causing them either to die (an unlikely possibility since they had both survived
through an unforgivable curse) or leave them as shells of their former self;
magic vegetables that may never be able to come back.

//I’m going to have to write Dumbledore. I have no other choice.// Harry
thought, pressing his back against the back of his desk chair. //It’s too
dangerous for us both if I don’t write him, I need to write him…// But with
every repetition of that in Harry’s mind, he couldn’t bring himself to pull out
his quill, ink and parchment.

After all, what would Dumbledore do other than take away Draco from Harry…

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want to think about that. It may have
only been forty-eight hours since Draco had come into his life so vulnerable but
the thought of giving him up to anyone, even Dumbledore, was too much.

//He came to me, no one else. If he wanted their help he would have went to
them or at least told me…//

A sliver of uncertainty settled in the pit of Harry’s stomach though. It
hadn’t exactly been Draco’s choice where he ended up, as far as Harry knew. And
he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about asking Draco if he wanted him to
contact to anyone…

//Bloody hell.// Harry thought solemnly. He hadn’t even put a thought to
contacting someone for Draco. What if there was some relative Harry didn’t know
about worrying about if Draco was dead or alive?

That resolved Harry. He would write Dumbledore and tell him what happened.
The wise old wizard would know what to do…

Pulling out quill, ink and parchment, Harry set to writing.

//This is for the best. Even if Professor Dumbledore takes him away…// A pang
ran straight through Harry’s heart causing him to look over at Draco’s sleeping
form. His cheeks were rosy pink in sleep as he made small contented noises in
his chest as he sucked his thumb.

//I can’t let them take him away from me. Not yet.// He thought, throwing his
quill down onto the desk, disgusted with his indecisiveness. //They won’t take
care of him like I can. Who would be there when he’s scared? Who would
understand?//

But Harry already knew that answer. No one. No one at Hogwart’s, aside from
Harry himself, knew what it was like to be alone and different. They didn’t know
what it was like to have people stare at you as if you were some kind of potions
project or, worse yet, some kind of miracle. They didn’t know what it was like
to have your every step watched; to have to look over your shoulder every time
you had to use the loo.

But Harry knew. He knew exactly how it was and how sick of it you could get
in such a short time.

//I can’t just abandon him. No matter what I have to face, I’ll do it. I’ll
stay by his side.//