True Love\'s Kiss

Prologue

Ten days have passed since the
defeat of the Dark Lord. The celebration and the revelry would have already
been underway if not for the fact that the savior of the wizarding world was
still lying unconscious in the Hogwarts infirmary.

Harry Potter was currently lying on
one of the uncomfortable looking infirmary beds, his hair its usual messy
style. Without the ugly thick frames on, it was easier to see the delicate
features of his angelic face. The moonlight streaming in from the window at the
head of the bed made his pale skin glow. His face looked absolutely relaxed, as
if he was only peacefully slumbering for the night instead of experiencing a
sort of enchanted sleep brought on by supposed magical exhaustion from the
final battle.

Every other bed in the room was
devoid of patients and there was no sign of the infirmary’s resident mediwitch
or Harry’s concerned friends and allies anywhere. The only things keeping the
boy company were the small tokens of gratitude from countless admirers and
well-wishers. There were numerous pots of magical flowers on each side table
beside the bed. At the foot of the bed there were boxes of chocolate frogs,
bags of Bertie Botts’ Every Flavor Beans, some licorice wands, and all manner
of sweet treats one could find in Honeyduke’s. There were even some of the
previous headmaster’s favorite lemon drops. To the right and on top of the
other bed next to Harry’s were some of the more peculiar gifts. One wizard sent
Harry a miniature ‘Harry Potter’ statue holding the Elder wand, which shot
green and red sparks from the tip every few seconds. A witch gave him a magic
mirror that told the user whatever he or she needed to hear. Other gifts like
glowing dress robes, talking shrunken heads, and a mask adorned with diamonds
and emeralds were part of the ever-growing pile. But even with all the presents
surrounding him, the wizarding world’s savior did not even stir in his sleep.

A muggle watch lying among the
flower pots showed that the time was around midnight. As Harry’s enchanted rest
continued, he did not notice the infirmary door opening slightly and a lone
figure slipping in. The person stayed close to the shadowed walls while moving
toward Harry’s bed. The individual’s face stayed hidden in shadow but a hand even
paler than Harry’s reached out and caressed the unconscious boy’s cheek. Then
the hand grasped one of Harry’s and squeezed slightly.

A small, raspy voice came out of
the shadows and whispered to the sleeping boy on the bed. “Please, Potter, wake
up. You’re stronger than this. Wake up! Please!”

The pale hand squeezed Harry’s one
more time. And out of the shadows came the face of Draco Malfoy. But the blonde
boy looked nothing like his usual pristine self. It was almost as if he was
reliving his sixth year with the disheveled hair and robes and the obvious
faded gray bags under his eyes. Yet even as unkempt as Draco looked, he did not
seem to care for or even take notice of his appearance. His silver-grey eyes
solely focused on the unconscious boy on the bed. Other than Draco’s obvious
lapse in personal care, however, something else seemed different about the
Slytherin Prince. Ignoring the absence of the usually well-groomed Malfoy heir,
Draco appeared to have grown quite a bit. Not only was the young man now
standing half a foot taller, his shoulders have also grown broader and even
fully covered by loose, billowing robes his body appeared to have gained some
more muscle. But these changes seemed insignificant when one looked into his
eyes and saw that the spoiled and cruel boy was gone and has been replaced by a
young man who knew the pain of loss and was struggling not to break. Yet amid
the torrential emotions in those haunted eyes, there was an unnamed feeling
lying dormant. Draco eventually raised Harry’s hand to his lips and kissed the
back of it. As he laid Harry’s hand gently back on the bed, he whispered,
“Please wake up soon.” He then went back into the shadows and headed for the
infirmary door.