Authors notes: I want to thank my BETAs Koorime and ChibiBecca. I would also like to appologise if people start craving cookies oo; Oh, and this Fic is set in Bath, Wiltshire, my hometown, so sorry if it sounds like a travel brochure at times ^^


Chapter Six

By Whisper


The boy swirled through black mist, feeling light and airy, not remembering where he was, who he was. He was simply a pair of eyes, taking in the comforting void around him, feeling warm and content. The mist wrapped round his unseen body like a warm duvet, he felt the slight pressure on his limbs, but still could not see anything other than the void.

He eventually saw a light above him, and his eyes fixed on it as the only thing to watch. He slowly began to feel drawn to it, irrevocably, as if his invisible body was being pulled by a string.

The light was stark, almost clinical in his view, a bright white colour that held no comfort, he didn’t know what it was, but he felt apprehensive at his approach. He struggled, trying to fight it, but he was only a pair of eyes, he couldn’t fight, anymore than he could fight the helpless feelings of distress that overwhelmed him.


Draco slowly came to consciousness, still wrapped in the feelings of helplessness. He didn’t open his eyes, fearing what he would see if he did, instead squeezing them tightly as his memory began to return to him, his brow wrinkled as the last few moment before he blanked out passed behind his eyelids.


He heard his name whispered, just loud enough for someone listening closely to hear. He stirred slightly, but kept his eyes closed, still not wanting to see where he was.

“Malfoy? D – Draco?”

He noticed a pause between his two names, the person whispering to him stammering the word ‘Draco’ as if it was unfamiliar. It was strange to hear, no one ever spoke his name like that.

He opened his eyes. They resisted and he was groggy, but he opened them and blinked, looking around.  His vision was blurred, he couldn’t see much at all – if he had been in any mind to think about it, he would have wondered if this was how Potter saw without his glasses on.

There was a pale pink blob topped by a raven one a few feet away.


He closed his eyes again and when he reopened them he could see properly. He realised the blob was Potter, kneeling on the floor a few feet away with a worried expression on his face, in his dark green eyes.

“Potter?” He croaked, his throat feeling clogged, “What the hell?”

He realised he was lying in a bed, a not uncomfortable, slightly too soft, bed. He quickly glanced around the room and realised where he must be.

He sat up and immediately wished he hadn’t. He groaned and clutched at his throbbing head as pain shot through it, blinking lights flashing before his closed eyes.

“Here, Malfoy, take these.”

He opened his eyes again, taking note of the fact that Potter had returned to his surname when addressing him. He was holding out a glass of water and two dusty looking white pills. He let his hands fall into his lap and looked at them suspiciously, one eyebrow raised, “What are they?”

Potter sighed, “Just take them; they’ll help with the headache.”

Draco reluctantly took the glass and pills, he looked at Potter again. Catching on, the other boy explained with another sigh, “They’re muggle headache remedies, and actually work very well before you complain.”

When he hesitated, he saw Potter roll his eyes at the ceiling. Defiantly, he swallowed them and gulped down the rest of the water, feeling parched, then handing the empty glass back to the Gryffindor.

He watched as the other boy moved away, taking the glass with him, to what must have been the bathroom. He lay back when Potter vanished from sight, and looked at the ceiling, listening as the boy moved about in the bathroom, turning the tap on. He listened to the water as it rushed into the sink.

He could see vague shadows on the ceiling from people walking past in the street outside, and he could hear muggles playing some sport or other, possibly on the far side of the building, shouts and high pitched whistling could definitely be heard.

When the water stopped running and Potter came back in he looked over at him.

“Why muggle pills, and how did I get here?” he asked the questions quietly as his head was still throbbing.

“Because we can’t use magic and I carried you.” Potter put the newly filled glass on the bed side table and sat down with his back to the wall under the window.


A long while later, after Draco’s headache had begun to subside, he pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked over at the raven-haired boy who appeared to be dozing, his head leant back against the wall, eyes closed and pointing to the ceiling.

“What the hell am I doing in your bed, Potter?”

The boys eyes remained closed as he quietly answered, “Had to take you somewhere after the group beating. I didn’t want to risk the long walk to a muggle hospital.”

Draco raised an eyebrow again and looked around the room properly, taking it all in. It was indeed as small as Potter had said, much smaller than his own, and decorated in a very out of fashion style. Besides the bedside table there was only one wardrobe and a chair.

He glanced at the chair, wondering why Potter was sitting on the floor instead of it and blinked. As well as there being a very torn jumper hanging over the back, the one Potter had been wearing during their argument; his clothes were neatly folded on the seat.

He lifted the duvet and glanced under.

Thank god he was still wearing his underwear.

He looked over at the dozing boy again, “Potter. Why are my clothes on that chair, instead of about my person, where they belong?”

Potter grinned, his eyes still closed as if he meant to doze his way through the entire conversation. Still annoyed about their earlier argument, Draco was becoming infuriated by the behaviour.

“You were a lot beaten up, so I had to remove them to get at you. They’re ruined by the way; you’ll have to borrow some of mine.”

Draco scowled, that had been one of his favourite tops, it made girls swoon as he passed them, as well as men drool. He made a mental note to hunt down those muggles who had accosted him.

He blinked, suddenly noticing something. Potter had a black eye. He hadn’t noticed until now as his glasses were effectively obscuring it. He thought for a moment.

“Just exactly, how, did you get me back here? Last thing I remember is having my arms nearly broken.” He rubbed his arms now, ruefully. They were still tender, which made him notice the other aches over his body.

From the feel of it, he also had a mild black eye, as well as various other bruises and scrapes over his chest, shoulders and legs. Touching a finger to his lip, he realised it had been torn, but was now healing well.

He heard Potter stir, and looking over, saw that his emerald eyes were now looking at him with concern.

“I – had to fight them off you. When I first found you they were going through your pockets, one of them nearly found your wand before I hit him.  It was a short fight really, the other two, who had been holding you up, dropped you and ran for it. Left me to beat seven colours of shit out of the other guy.”

He saw Potter grin a little at the look on his face. He immediately tried to make his face impassive once again.

“Then I half carried and half walked you here. The guy at reception just thought we were drunk, even helped me get you into the bed.”

Draco snorted slightly. Potter, beating the shit out of someone? When, and more importantly, how, had he learned to fight? He looked down at the boy again and asked him.

His eyes still open, Potter grinned as he replied, “My cousin Dudley. He never was a fair fighter. Taught me every trick in the book. Pretty sure he never meant to though.”

“This cousin of yours sounds like a lot of fun.” He muttered, looking at the taller boy sternly. He had closed his eyes again and just smiled in response.

Draco shook his head, slightly frustrated, and swung his legs off the bed, sitting up properly. He ran a hand through his hair then looked at it. There was still a little blood drying in the fine strands.

“Yeah, I got as much off as I could, to get at your wounds mind, but I think you’ll need a shower.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at the boy sitting on the floor, wondering why, after their argument, he had even bothered.


Draco found the bathroom almost intolerably small, but remarkably neat. It seemed Potter had a thing about his possessions, the toiletries were neatly lined along the shelf above the sink – including a strange looking thing that startled him, when he accidentally turned it on, by buzzing loudly. He reckoned it was some sort of shaving device – the towels and flannels were neatly folded onto the rails.

Inside he noted the same care and attention; the shampoo, conditioner and shower gel had all been placed neatly in the hanging shelf, along with a strange net like sponge thing. He shook his head with a small smile, thinking all the neatness must have something to do with Potters being almost blind without his glasses on.

He locked the door and dropped his expensive boxers on the edge of the sink, his smooth skin gleaming slightly in the harsh unnatural electrical light. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and pursed his lips.. His normally perfect skin was blemished with a large yellowing bruise over his left shoulder, reaching down the left side of his chest.

He looked away again and reached into the shower, trying to set it on warm, it gave him a few minutes of trouble as he wasn’t entirely used to muggle contraptions, but when he had it he stepped gracefully and gratefully into the stream – closing the glass door behind him.

He stood for a while, hands resting on the wall either side of the temperature gage. He bowed his head, just letting the water rush over his body, caressing his sore skin and aching joints, various grazes and cuts stinging slightly, reminding him that he was alive.

He ran a hand over his bruised shoulder, trailing the fingers down over his chest. It was sore and very tender after the warm water had heated it. He suddenly pushed himself back from the wall. No longer leaning on his hand, he stepped back, looking up and letting the water run over his face.

After a moment he began checking his body over, slowly realising a lot of care had been taken in cleaning his cuts and grazes, it was almost as if Potter had known exactly how to do it, had had practice doing it even.

 It brought images to his mind of a younger version of the boy sitting in the dark under the stairs, fighting back tears as he treated his own wounds after a beating from Dudley.

He closed his eyes for a moment and then grabbed the shower gel, trying not to think about it.


When he was clean and had stood under the water for a long time, he shut the shower off with one quick movement and stepped out of the cubicle. He grabbed a small towel and stood rubbing his hair, getting as much of the water out of it as he could while still being gentle with the sore areas at the back of his head. He mused over the fact that he would need to use his salve when he got back.

He briefly rubbed himself down and then wrapped the towel round his middle, unlocking the door a second later. Stepping back into the main room the colder air tingled and raised goose bumps all over his body.  He shivered slightly and looked around.

His eyes rested on the newly made bed where a light jumper and baggy jeans had been lain out neatly, obviously for him, his shoes were sat on the floor beside the clothing.. He looked around again, stepping up to the bed, and realised the room was empty. Potter was gone.


Harry listened to Draco in the bathroom for a moment then got up and began tidying the room. He had already removed any signs of his ‘doctoring,’ the blood covered cotton balls and sterile wipes and so on were all in the bin.

He had literally been worried about Malfoy while he was out of it. He had wished he would wake up, so he could stop worrying that maybe he never would. Now and again through the hours he had even thought of contacting a doctor, but he hadn’t.

He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he reasoned it had something to do with them both being wizards, and Malfoy waking up in a hospital would have been hell. At least this way Malfoy could just hate him for the argument and seeing him almost naked, and not for getting muggles to sew him up and treat him with strange muggle concoctions.

Yes. This was definitely preferable.

He made the bed, with half an ear on the bathroom – the shower was running now – and then rummaged through his clothes for anything that would suit – and fit – Draco. He paused, half way through his tops, suddenly realising he’d thought of him as Draco rather than Malfoy.

He frowned at himself for a moment, then shrugged it off and fished out a baggy long sleeved jumper like top in grey. It looked about the right size, and the colour shouldn’t be too offensive to the boy. He then fished out a pair of jeans slightly too small for himself that would hopefully fit the slightly shorter blonde.

He laid them neatly out on the bed, Draco’s shoes placed on the floor near them and listened intently to the bathroom. It sounded like he would be in there for a few minutes longer, so he slipped his feet into his own shoes and grabbed the bag of money and his wand from the drawer on the bedside table.

He paused at the doorway again, listening, then left, closing the door quietly behind him. He needed to get some food, so was planning on taking a quick walk down to the newsagents as he’d missed breakfast, and the hotel didn’t do lunch.

He smiled at the expensive looking woman who was once again at reception as he walked hurriedly past and out the door. The air was crisp today, not as warm as it had been the day before, and there was a bit more cloud coverage to top it off.

He hurried past people who looked hurried themselves, most dressed in suits and carrying briefcases, and he reached the roundabout quickly. He skipped past a few cars going across rather than round and stepped into the newsagents.

The old woman behind the counter smiled at him as he walked down one of the aisles, looking at the food, wandering just what it was Draco would eat. After a few minutes of fruitless wandering and thinking, he picked up three different sandwiches, three different drinks and two milk-chocolate bars, hurrying to the till.

He paid and with a smile stepped back into the street, hoping Draco was still in the shower, or if not, that he had the presence of mind to at least stay in the hotel room. He walked back just as hurriedly; passing more harassed looking people and stepped into the reception.

He stopped short, his eyes widening. His uncle was standing talking to the receptionist. There was no way he was going to be able to get past them without being seen. He tried anyway.

Just as he was sneaking past, his uncle turned and spotted him. “Harry?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously, “What are you doing?”

Harry realised he looked rather silly, and very strange to his uncle, who probably thought he was acting too weird to be seen in public with. He stopped and looked at his uncle, “Uncle Vernon. I’m just taking some lunch back to my room.”

Vernon looked at the bag he was carrying. It was overflowing of course, with all the food he’d bought. Harry hoped he would just let him go without questioning him.

Vernon wrinkled his nose, making his enormous moustache fluff up. “Fine. We will be meeting my co-worker in three days time for a meal. Be sure to be in this reception at seven o’clock, pee em. No later, as we will be leaving by taxi.”

Harry watched as his uncle stalked off, back to his own rooms, and finally breathed. He grinned at the reception lady and almost ran back to his room, relief showing plainly on his face. He unlocked and opened the door and hurried inside, hoping the other boy was still there.

He closed the door again and leaned against it a moment, his eyes closed, then he looked around. Draco was standing by the window, looking at him, one eyebrow raised. He was wearing the clothes he’d lain out earlier, and despite them being a little old, they suited him, the grey jumper almost matched his eyes.

Harry blinked, “Hey. Better?” he stood up properly and dumped the bag on the bed as Draco turned to face him.

“Much. Where the hell were you?”

Harry sat on the bed, kicking his shoes off across the room into the corner and picked the bag up. “Didn’t know what you liked, so I got a selection.” He glanced at the sandwiches, “Uh, chicken salad, egg mayo and BLT.”

Draco dropped onto the bed next to him, one eyebrow still raised, “’BLT’?”

Harry grinned despite himself, remembering wizards tended not to know much about muggle food, “Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato.”

“Ah.” The blonde leant back against the wall and looked at him. He shrugged, “We missed breakfast, and dinner last night, so I thought you’d be as hungry as I am. Which do you want?”

He watched as Draco wrinkled his nose, quite cutely he thought, as he made a decision. “Chicken salad sounds alright,” he held it out to him and the blonde tore it open and started eating hungrily, but delicately.

“I’m still pissed off at you about yesterday, you know.” Draco spoke between mouthfuls, so the sentence came out a bit disjointed. Harry hung his head slightly as he ate the egg mayo, “I’m sorry.”

He heard the springs creak slightly as Draco moved, but didn’t look up.

He saw the wrapping of Draco’s sandwich fly past and straight into the bin. They sat in silence for a while, Harry wordlessly handing over the drinks for Draco to choose which he wanted and one of the chocolate bars.

He threw his own wrapping in the bin and took one of the two drinks left and sat drinking it in silence. Eventually he heard Draco move again, the bed creaking slightly as he did so. Draco’s delicate hand came into view and Harry looked up.

“Thanks for the clothes.  And the save. But I got to go.”

Harry nodded.

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