Misery and Grief

Harry was a lot of things, especially in the eyes of others. Most of those things he did not want to be but no one really has a choice in those type of matters. However, there was certainly one thing that Harry Potter was not.

Harry was not a trusting sort of individual.

His mother and father had been betrayed, and therefore killed. He grew up with a muggle cousin that would pull tricks on him, and an aunt and uncle that would agree with the child that was ruining his life. When he was eleven he found out that a world he didn't know existed, in fact existed, and he was famous within it. Since he went to Hogwarts, he learned that Voldemort was after him and teacher after teacher ended up being something they are not. Quirrell was attached to Voldemort himself, Lockhart was a big fake, Lupin was a werewolf, Moody wasn't even Moody but someone working for his enemy. The supposed betrayer of his parents was not but a loving godfather, and a pet rat turned out to be the true betrayer all along. The very government that owed him for the safety of the people from Lord Voldemort, even if temporarily, betrayed him and punished him when he said that the dark lord had returned. His entire life had been lie after lie, unexpected news after miserable unexpected news.

Indeed, Harry James Potter had a very difficult time just taking things for what they seemed.

So when the black haired boy opened his door to find the very broken and very naked Draco Malfoy in his hallway, where no one should be that had never been here before, it was no wonder that his first instinct was to pull out his wand and spin around a few times. After deciding no one was about to jump him, it was then that he dared to take some steps toward the boy, circling him with the wand pointing directly at him the entire time. Ready for the young Death Eater in the making to attack at any time, he studied the situation.

No wand visible, both hands out where he could see them. It was only then that Harry allowed pity to wash over him. He was not yet ready not take down his paranoia, various things didn't fit. After all, it was visible this entire time that Draco was a Death Eater in the making. Groaning at his own weakness, he knelt to one knee, shakily striking his hand out to check the pulse of the boy. Faint, but Harry had known he was alive by the light raspy breathing. No one was with him now, and he wasn't expecting anyone for many hours.

What was he to do? Draco had already gotten there was no way that he could possibly change that. Harry glanced over the boy, closer now, and saw some sort of dried white clear stuff plastered to him. With that, Harry jumped back, his back hitting the wall quite forcefully with a dull thud. Everything about the situation now seemed painfully obvious. Even Snape getting him here somehow seemed to make perfect sense. And while he didn't let his guard down entirely, Harry was sold that he had to help the blonde. Sighing with self disappointment, he pulled Draco up, who stayed limp with dead weight and was apparently unconscious entirely, and threw him over his shoulder, magic somehow skipped over in his mind.

Draco was light, weighing no more than Hermione who was quite a bit shorter than him. Harry, however, only carried him to the first floor and into the bedroom. Harry tried to lower him gently, but despite the pale boy's weight being less than average, his height made lowering him awkard and the landing wasn't as soft as Harry had hoped. Draco didn't seem to notice, however, and Harry was now unsure what to do. There was no question that no matter what he did at this point, it would be either awkward or irresponsible.

Harry pulled out his wand. "Scourgify" he cast and it seemed to clean off Draco. Harry, however, didn't know what to do about the scratches and bruises. They were minor, and though perhaps Draco had lost a bit of blood, as evident from the carpet in the hall, nothing seemed to be any real damage. He was relieved, unsure if he actually cared for the well being of the childhood rival or grateful that it meant he didn't have to touch him again. Now that he was safe and clean, he was wondering if he should bandage the more major of the injuries or not, even though they had stopped bleeding it seemed like they should be treated. However, this was Draco, and he was sure that the blonde wouldn't respond well to knowing he had been touched all over the place while he was asleep, especially given what had happened what Harry assumed to be the night before.

Harry couldn't help but feel confused, trying to not stare at Draco but at the same time trying to decide what he should do through analyzing the boy. Draco was supposed to be his enemy. Granted, not to the extent of Voldemort, or really most of his enemies, but Draco had been a horrible person all along. There was something adamantly wrong with helping him like this and yet something even worse with refusing to save him. So, against his better judgement, as if one choice could be any better than the other in this situation, he covered the boy with the comforter, left out some clothes on a chair next to the bed, and went downstairs. The fact of the matter is as it was right now, there was certainly no way he could dress the boy and bandage the boy. He'd simply have to wake up his fellow schoolmate later and help him then. After all, he was Harry Potter, and that was most likely the last person that Draco would want to see him like this. Harry was not known for his empathy but anyone could figure that much out.

"Damn Malfoy, showing up at my house unconscious. Couldn't help but make my life harder, could he." He kicked something before putting his palm to his forehead and leaning against the wall. His head was reeling. Why was it that nothing in his life would stay still for more than a moment? It seemed like every turn, every chance, something went in a crazy, impossible direction. Running a hand lazily through his messy hair, he considered who to owl about all this but no one came to mind. Everyone was busy, everyone would misunderstand, and everyone was even more paranoid than he was. They'd worry about him more than the one that needed the help. He was starting to understand how Sirius felt, stuck in one place and without anyone to turn to without feeling guilty. And so it was that he contacted no one about this and instead went to the kitchen to make something for the Slytherin to eat before trying to wake him up.

And Harry knew, without his scar to tell him so, that this was going to be a disaster. The oncoming pain and frustration hovered over him like a cloud.

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I was so inspired by the mass amount of adds and favorites and the few reviews I got that I wrote this as soon as I had time on the computer, and the next chapter will be up before the night ends. Tonight has nothing but dedication to Harry Potter movies and fics!